leg, if you please; nothing else wakes him-thank you. Undo the hamper, Joe."
The fat boy, who had been effectually roused by the compression of a portion of his deg, between the finger and thumb of Mr. Winkle, rolled off the box once again, and proceeded to unpack the hamper, with more expedition than could have been expected from his previous inactivity.
Now, we must sit close," said the stout gentleman. After a great many jokes about squeezing the ladies' sleeves, and a vast quantity of blushing at sundry jocose proposals, that the ladies should sit in the gentlemen's laps, the whole party were stowed down in the barouche; and the stout gentleman proceeded to hand the things from the fat boy (who had mounted up behind for the purpose) into the carriage.
"Now, Joe, knives and forks." The knives and forks were handed in, and the ladies and gentlemen inside, and Mr. Winkle on the box, were each furnished with those useful implements
"Plates, Joe, plates." A similar process employed in the distribution of the crockery.
"Now, Joe, the fowls. Damn that boy; he's gone to sleep again. Joe! Joe!" (Sundry taps on the head with a stick, and the fat boy, with some difficulty, roused from his lethargy). Come, hand in the eatables."
There was something in the sound of the last word, which roused the unctuous boy. He jumped up: and the leaden eyes, which twinkled behind his mountainous cheeks, leered horribly upon the food as he unpacked it from the basket.
"Now, make haste," said Mr. Wardle; for the fat boy was hanging fondly over a capon, which he seemed wholly unable to part with. The boy sighed deeply, and, bestowing an ardent gaze upon its plumpness, unwillingly consigned it to his master.
"That's right-look sharp. Now the tongue-now the pigeon-pie. Take care of that veal and ham-mind the lobsters-take the salad out of the cloth-give me the dressing." Such were the hurried orders which issued from the lips of Mr. Wardle, as he handed in the different articles described, and placed dishes in everybody's hands, and on everybody's knees, in endless number.
"Now, aint this capital?" inquired that jolly personage, when the work of destruction had commenced.
Capital!" said Mr. Winkle, who was carving a fowl on the box.
"Glass of wine?"
"With the greatest pleasure."
"You'd better have a bottle to yourself, up there, hadn't you?"
"You're very good."
"Joe !"
"Yes, Sir." (He wasn't asleep this time, having just succeeded in abstracting a veal patty).
"Bottle of wine to the gentleman on the box. Glad to see you, Sir."
"Thankee." Mr. Winkle emptied his glass, and placed the bottle on the coach-box, by his side.
