What a merry dog it is!' said Mr Pickwick, looking round at his

companion, with the bottle in his hand.

He is,' said Mr Allen.

You cannot possibly be angry with him,' remarked Mr Pickwick.

Quite out of the question,' observed Benjamin Allen.

During this short interchange of sentiments, Mr Pickwick had, in an

abstracted mood, uncorked the bottle.

'What is it?' inquired Ben Allen carelessly.

I don't know,' replied Mr Pickwick, with equal carelessness. 'It smells,

I think, like milk-punch.' 'Oh, indeed?' said Ben.

I THINK so,' rejoined Mr Pickwick, very properly guarding himself

against the possibility of stating an untruth; 'mind, I could not

undertake to say certainly, without tasting it.'

'You had better do so,' said Ben; 'we may as well know what it is.'

Do you think so?' replied Mr Pickwick. 'Well; if you are curious to

know, of course I have no objection.'

Ever willing to sacrifice his own feelings to the wishes of his friend, Mr

Pickwick at once took a pretty long taste.

What is it?' inquired Ben Allen, interrupting him with some

impatience.

'Curious,' said Mr Pickwick, smacking his lips, 'I hardly know, now.

Oh, yes!' said Mr Pickwick, after a second taste. 'It IS punch.'

Mr Ben Allen looked at Mr Pickwick; Mr Pickwick looked at Mr Ben

Allen; Mr Ben Allen smiled; Mr Pickwick did not.

'It would serve him right,' said the last-named gentleman, with some

severity - 'it would serve him right to drink it every drop.'

'The very thing that occurred to me,' said Ben Allen.

Is it, indeed?' rejoined Mr Pickwick. 'Then here's his health!' With

these words, that excellent person took a most energetic pull at the

bottle, and handed it to Ben Allen, who was not slow to imitate his

example. The smiles became mutual, and the milk-punch was

gradually and cheerfully disposed of.

The Pickwick Papers