"I wish I had the vagabonds here," said the Captain, wrathfully.
"Beg your pardon, sir," said Wilkins, "but—"
"But what? Eh?" roared the Captain; and following the timid glance of Wilkins, his eyes encountered the wheelbarrow and Mr. Pickwick.
"Who are you, you rascal?" said the Captain, administering several pokes to Mr. Pickwick's body with the thick stick. "What's your name?"
"Cold punch," murmured Mr. Pickwick, as he sunk to sleep again.
"What?" demanded Captain Boldwig.
No reply.
"What did he say his name was?" asked the Captain.
"Punch, I think, sir," replied Wilkins.
"That's his impudence, that's his confounded impudence," said Captain Boldwig. "He's only feigning to be asleep now," said the Captain, in a high passion. "He's drunk; he's a drunken plebeian. Wheel him away, Wilkins, wheel him away directly."
"Where shall I wheel him to, sir?" inquired Wilkins, with great timidity.
"Wheel him to the Devil," replied Captain Boldwig.
"Very well, sir," said Wilkins.
"Stay," said the Captain. Wilkins stopped accordingly.
"Wheel him," said the Captain, "wheel him to the pound; and let us see whether he calls himself Punch when he comes to himself. He shall not bully me, he shall not bully me. Wheel him away."
Away Mr. Pickwick was wheeled in compliance with this imperious mandate; and the great Captain Boldwig, swelling with indignation, proceeded on his walk.
Inexpressible was the astonishment of the little party when they returned, to find that Mr. Pickwick had disappeared, and taken the wheelbarrow with him. It was the most
