wenerable old lady a - lyin' on the carpet waitin' for dissection, or

galwinism, or some other rewivin' and scientific inwention.'

I forgot,' exclaimed Mr Ben Allen. 'It is my aunt.'

Dear me!' said Mr Pickwick. 'Poor lady! Gently Sam, gently.'

Strange sitivation for one o' the family,' observed Sam Weller, hoisting

the aunt into a chair. 'Now depitty sawbones, bring out the wollatilly!'

The latter observation was addressed to the boy in gray, who, having

handed over the fly to the care of the street-keeper, had come back to

see what all the noise was about. Between the boy in gray, and Mr

Bob Sawyer, and Mr Benjamin Allen (who having frightened his aunt

into a fainting fit, was affectionately solicitous for her recovery) the old

lady was at length restored to consciousness; then Mr Ben Allen,

turning with a puzzled countenance to Mr Pickwick, asked him what

he was about to say, when he had been so alarmingly interrupted.

'We are all friends here, I presume?' said Mr Pickwick, clearing his

voice, and looking towards the man of few words with the surly

countenance, who drove the fly with the chubby horse.

This reminded Mr Bob Sawyer that the boy in gray was looking on,

with eyes wide open, and greedy ears. The incipient chemist having

been lifted up by his coat collar, and dropped outside the door, Bob

Sawyer assured Mr Pickwick that he might speak without reserve.

'Your sister, my dear Sir,' said Mr Pickwick, turning to Benjamin

Allen, 'is in London; well and happy.'

Her happiness is no object to me, sir,' said Benjamin Allen, with a

flourish of the hand.

Her husband IS an object to ME, Sir,' said Bob Sawyer. 'He shall be

an object to me, sir, at twelve paces, and a pretty object I'll make of

him, sir - a mean-spirited scoundrel!' This, as it stood, was a very

pretty denunciation, and magnanimous withal; but Mr Bob Sawyer

rather weakened its effect, by winding up with some general

observations concerning the punching of heads and knocking out of

eyes, which were commonplace by comparison.

'Stay, sir,' said Mr Pickwick; 'before you apply those epithets to the

gentleman in question, consider, dispassionately, the extent of his

fault, and above all remember that he is a friend of mine.'

What!' said Mr Bob Sawyer. 'His name!' cried Ben Allen. 'His name!'

The Pickwick Papers