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Chapter XLVIII
Relates How Mr Pickwick, With The Assistance Of Samuel Weller,
Essayed To Soften The Heart Of Mr Benjamin Allen, And To
Mollify The Wrath Of Mr Robert Sawyer
Mr Ben Allen and Mr Bob Sawyer sat together in the little surgery
behind the shop, discussing minced veal and future prospects, when
the discourse, not unnaturally, turned upon the practice acquired by
Bob the aforesaid, and his present chances of deriving a competent
independence from the honourable profession to which he had
devoted himself.
'Which, I think,' observed Mr Bob Sawyer, pursuing the thread of the
subject - 'which, I think, Ben, are rather dubious.'
'What's rather dubious?' inquired Mr Ben Allen, at the same time
sharpening his intellect with a draught of beer. 'What's dubious?'
'
'
Why, the chances,' responded Mr Bob Sawyer.
I forgot,' said Mr Ben Allen. 'The beer has reminded me that I forgot,
Bob - yes; they ARE dubious.'
'
It's wonderful how the poor people patronise me,' said Mr Bob Sawyer
reflectively. 'They knock me up, at all hours of the night; they take
medicine to an extent which I should have conceived impossible; they
put on blisters and leeches with a perseverance worthy of a better
cause; they make additions to their families, in a manner which is
quite awful. Six of those last-named little promissory notes, all due on
the same day, Ben, and all intrusted to me!'
'
It's very gratifying, isn't it?' said Mr Ben Allen, holding his plate for
some more minced veal.
'
Oh, very,' replied Bob; 'only not quite so much so as the confidence of
patients with a shilling or two to spare would be. This business was
capitally described in the advertisement, Ben. It is a practice, a very
extensive practice - and that's all.'
'Bob,' said Mr Ben Allen, laying down his knife and fork, and fixing his
eyes on the visage of his friend, 'Bob, I'll tell you what it is.'
'What is it?' inquired Mr Bob Sawyer.
'
You must make yourself, with as little delay as possible, master of
Arabella's one thousand pounds.'
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