No, that's just the very thing,' replied Bob, seizing Mr Pickwick by the

lappel of his coat. 'That's the joke.'

'Oh, that's the joke, is it?' said Mr Pickwick.

Of course,' replied Bob. 'It's the whole point of the thing, you know -

that, and leaving the business to take care of itself, as it seems to

have made up its mind not to take care of me.' With this explanation

of the phenomenon of the shutters, Mr Bob Sawyer pointed to the

shop, and relapsed into an ecstasy of mirth.

Bless me, you are surely not mad enough to think of leaving your

patients without anybody to attend them!' remonstrated Mr Pickwick

in a very serious tone.

Why not?' asked Bob, in reply. 'I shall save by it, you know. None of

them ever pay. Besides,' said Bob, lowering his voice to a confidential

whisper, 'they will be all the better for it; for, being nearly out of

drugs, and not able to increase my account just now, I should have

been obliged to give them calomel all round, and it would have been

certain to have disagreed with some of them. So it's all for the best.'

There was a philosophy and a strength of reasoning about this reply,

which Mr Pickwick was not prepared for. He paused a few moments,

and added, less firmly than before -

'But this chaise, my young friend, will only hold two; and I am pledged

to Mr Allen.'

Don't think of me for a minute,' replied Bob. 'I've arranged it all; Sam

and I will share the dickey between us. Look here. This little bill is to

be wafered on the shop door: ‘Sawyer, late Nockemorf. Inquire of Mrs.

Cripps over the way.’ Mrs. Cripps is my boy's mother. ‘Mr Sawyer's

very sorry,’ says Mrs. Cripps, ‘couldn't help it - fetched away early this

morning to a consultation of the very first surgeons in the country -

couldn't do without him - would have him at any price - tremendous

operation.’ The fact is,' said Bob, in conclusion, 'it'll do me more good

than otherwise, I expect. If it gets into one of the local papers, it will

be the making of me. Here's Ben; now then, jump in!'

With these hurried words, Mr Bob Sawyer pushed the postboy on one

side, jerked his friend into the vehicle, slammed the door, put up the

steps, wafered the bill on the street door, locked it, put the key in his

pocket, jumped into the dickey, gave the word for starting, and did the

whole with such extraordinary precipitation, that before Mr Pickwick

had well begun to consider whether Mr Bob Sawyer ought to go or not,

they were rolling away, with Mr Bob Sawyer thoroughly established as

part and parcel of the equipage.

The Pickwick Papers