"Waiter," said the gentleman with the whiskers.
"Sir?" replied a man with a dirty complexion, and a towel of the same, emerging from the kennel before mentioned.
"Some more toast."
"Yes, sir."
"Buttered toast, mind," said the gentleman, fiercely.
"D'rectly, sir," replied the waiter.
The gentleman with the whiskers hummed a tune in the same manner as before, and pending the arrival of the toast, advanced to the front of the fire, and, taking his coat tails under his arms, looked at his boots, and ruminated.
"I wonder whereabouts in Bath this coach puts up," said Mr. Pickwick, mildly addressing Mr. Winkle.
"Hum—eh—what's that?" said the strange man.
"I made an observation to my friend, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick, always ready to enter into conversation. "I wondered at what house the Bath coach put up. Perhaps you can inform me."
"Are you going to Bath?" said the strange man.
"I am, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick.
"And those other gentlemen?"
"They are going also," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Not inside—I'll be damned if you're going inside," said the strange man.
"Not all of us," said Mr. Pickwick.
"No, not all of you," said the strange man emphatically. "I've taken two places. If they try to squeeze six people into an infernal box that only holds four, I'll take a post-chaise and bring an action. I've paid my fare. It won't do; I told the clerk when I took my places that it wouldn't do. I know these things have been done. I know they are done every day; but I never was done, and I never will be. Those who know me best, best know it; crush me!" Here the fierce gentleman rang the bell with great violence, and told the waiter he'd better bring the toast in five seconds, or he'd know the reason why.
