Ah!' observed Mr Pickwick, rubbing his hands, 'overflowing with

kindly feelings and animal spirits. Just what I like to see.' 'And one on

em,' said Sam, not noticing his master's interruption, 'one on 'em's

got his legs on the table, and is a-drinking brandy neat, vile the t'other

one - him in the barnacles - has got a barrel o' oysters atween his

knees, which he's a-openin' like steam, and as fast as he eats 'em, he

takes a aim vith the shells at young dropsy, who's a sittin' down fast

asleep, in the chimbley corner.'

Eccentricities of genius, Sam,' said Mr Pickwick. 'You may retire.'

Sam did retire accordingly. Mr Pickwick at the expiration of the

quarter of an hour, went down to breakfast.

Here he is at last!' said old Mr Wardle. 'Pickwick, this is Miss Allen's

brother, Mr Benjamin Allen. Ben we call him, and so may you, if you

like. This gentleman is his very particular friend, Mr - '

'Mr Bob Sawyer,'interposed Mr Benjamin Allen; whereupon Mr Bob

Sawyer and Mr Benjamin Allen laughed in concert.

Mr Pickwick bowed to Bob Sawyer, and Bob Sawyer bowed to Mr

Pickwick. Bob and his very particular friend then applied themselves

most assiduously to the eatables before them; and Mr Pickwick had

an opportunity of glancing at them both.

Mr Benjamin Allen was a coarse, stout, thick-set young man, with

black hair cut rather short, and a white face cut rather long. He was

embellished with spectacles, and wore a white neckerchief. Below his

single-breasted black surtout, which was buttoned up to his chin,

appeared the usual number of pepper- and-salt coloured legs,

terminating in a pair of imperfectly polished boots. Although his coat

was short in the sleeves, it disclosed no vestige of a linen wristband;

and although there was quite enough of his face to admit of the

encroachment of a shirt collar, it was not graced by the smallest

approach to that appendage. He presented, altogether, rather a

mildewy appearance, and emitted a fragrant odour of full-flavoured

Cubas.

Mr Bob Sawyer, who was habited in a coarse, blue coat, which,

without being either a greatcoat or a surtout, partook of the nature

and qualities of both, had about him that sort of slovenly smartness,

and swaggering gait, which is peculiar to young gentlemen who smoke

in the streets by day, shout and scream in the same by night, call

waiters by their Christian names, and do various other acts and deeds

of an equally facetious description. He wore a pair of plaid trousers,

and a large, rough, double-breasted waistcoat; out of doors, he carried

The Pickwick Papers