would have sent 'em before, only I was afraid they might be broken in

the wagon, sir?'

'Don't overwhelm the gentlemen with ordinary civilities when you see

he's anxious to have something to drink,' said the gentleman with the

whiskers, with a jocose air. 'Why don't you ask the gentleman what

he'll take?'

Dear me, I quite forgot,' replied the other. 'What will you take, sir?

Will you take port wine, sir, or sherry wine, sir? I can recommend the

ale, sir; or perhaps you'd like to taste the porter, sir? Allow me to have

the felicity of hanging up your nightcap, Sir.'

With this, the speaker snatched that article of dress from Mr

Pickwick's head, and fixed it in a twinkling on that of the drunken

man, who, firmly impressed with the belief that he was delighting a

numerous assembly, continued to hammer away at the comic song in

the most melancholy strains imaginable.

Taking a man's nightcap from his brow by violent means, and

adjusting it on the head of an unknown gentleman, of dirty exterior,

however ingenious a witticism in itself, is unquestionably one of those

which come under the denomination of practical jokes. Viewing the

matter precisely in this light, Mr Pickwick, without the slightest

intimation of his purpose, sprang vigorously out of bed, struck the

Zephyr so smart a blow in the chest as to deprive him of a

considerable portion of the commodity which sometimes bears his

name, and then, recapturing his nightcap, boldly placed himself in an

attitude of defence.

Now,' said Mr Pickwick, gasping no less from excitement than from

the expenditure of so much energy, 'come on - both of you - both of

you!' With this liberal invitation the worthy gentleman communicated

a revolving motion to his clenched fists, by way of appalling his

antagonists with a display of science.

It might have been Mr Pickwick's very unexpected gallantry, or it

might have been the complicated manner in which he had got himself

out of bed, and fallen all in a mass upon the hornpipe man, that

touched his adversaries. Touched they were; for, instead of then and

there making an attempt to commit man- slaughter, as Mr Pickwick

implicitly believed they would have done, they paused, stared at each

other a short time, and finally laughed outright.

Well, you're a trump, and I like you all the better for it,' said the

Zephyr. 'Now jump into bed again, or you'll catch the rheumatics. No

malice, I hope?' said the man, extending a hand the size of the yellow

clump of fingers which sometimes swings over a glover's door.

The Pickwick Papers