Can't promise, my dear Sir, can't promise,' replied Perker. 'I'll look in,

in the evening, at all events.'

I shall expect you at five,' said Wardle. 'Now, Joe!' And Joe having

been at length awakened, the two friends departed in Mr Wardle's

carriage, which in common humanity had a dickey behind for the fat

boy, who, if there had been a footboard instead, would have rolled off

and killed himself in his very first nap.

Driving to the George and Vulture, they found that Arabella and her

maid had sent for a hackney-coach immediately on the receipt of a

short note from Emily announcing her arrival in town, and had

proceeded straight to the Adelphi. As Wardle had business to transact

in the city, they sent the carriage and the fat boy to his hotel, with the

information that he and Mr Pickwick would return together to dinner

at five o'clock.

Charged with this message, the fat boy returned, slumbering as

peaceably in his dickey, over the stones, as if it had been a down bed

on watch springs. By some extraordinary miracle he awoke of his own

accord, when the coach stopped, and giving himself a good shake to

stir up his faculties, went upstairs to execute his commission.

Now, whether the shake had jumbled the fat boy's faculties together,

instead of arranging them in proper order, or had roused such a

quantity of new ideas within him as to render him oblivious of

ordinary forms and ceremonies, or (which is also possible) had proved

unsuccessful in preventing his falling asleep as he ascended the

stairs, it is an undoubted fact that he walked into the sitting-room

without previously knocking at the door; and so beheld a gentleman

with his arms clasping his young mistress's waist, sitting very lovingly

by her side on a sofa, while Arabella and her pretty handmaid feigned

to be absorbed in looking out of a window at the other end of the

room. At the sight of this phenomenon, the fat boy uttered an

interjection, the ladies a scream, and the gentleman an oath, almost

simultaneously.

Wretched creature, what do you want here?' said the gentleman, who

it is needless to say was Mr Snodgrass.

To this the fat boy, considerably terrified, briefly responded, 'Missis.'

What do you want me for,' inquired Emily, turning her head aside,

you stupid creature?'

'Master and Mr Pickwick is a-going to dine here at five,' replied the fat

boy.

The Pickwick Papers