but Mr. Winkle had conveyed the intelligence of the fancy ball there, before him.
"Mrs. Pott's going," were the first words with which he saluted his leader.
"Is she?" said Mr. Pickwick.
"As Apollo," replied Mr. Winkle. "Only Pott objects to the tunic.
"He is right. He is quite right," said Mr. Pickwick emphatically.
"Yes;—so she's going to wear a white satin gown with gold spangles."
"They'll hardly know what she's meant for; will they?" inquired Mr. Snodgrass.
"Of course they will," replied Mr. Winkle indignantly. "They'll see her lyre, won't they?"
"True; I forgot that," said Mr. Snodgrass.
"I shall go as a Bandit," interrupted Mr. Tupman.
"What!" said Mr. Pickwick, with a sudden start.
"As a bandit," repeated Mr. Tupman, mildly.
"You don't mean to say," said Mr. Pickwick, gazing with solemn sternness at his friend, "You don't mean to say Mr. Tupman, that it is your intention to put yourself into a green velvet jacket, with a two-inch tail?"
"Such is my intention, sir," replied Mr. Tupman warmly. "And why not, sir?"
"Because, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, considerably excited. "Because you are too old, sir."
"Too old!" exclaimed Mr. Tupman.
"And if any further ground of objection be wanting," continued Mr. Pickwick, "you are too fat, sir."
"Sir," said Mr. Tupman, his face suffused with a crimson glow. "This is an insult."
"Sir," replied Mr. Pickwick in the same tone, "It is not half the insult to you, that your appearance in my presence in a green velvet jacket, with a two-inch tail, would be to a two-inch tail, me."
