and order 'em up, one at a time." Having delivered this defiance with great volubility, Mr. Weller struck his open palm emphatically with his clenched fist, and winked pleasantly on Miss Tomkins: the intensity of whose horror at his supposing it within the bounds of possibility that there could be any men on the premises of Westgate House Establishment for Young Ladies, it is impossible to describe.
Mr. Pickwick's explanation having already been partially made, was soon concluded. But neither in the course of his walk home with his friends, nor afterwards when seated before a blazing fire at the supper he so much needed, could a single observation be drawn from him. He seemed bewildered and amazed. Once and only once, he turned round to Mr. Wardle, and said
"How did you come here?"
"Trundle and I came down here, for some good shooting on the first," replied Wardle. "We arrived to-night, and were astonished to hear from your servant that you were here too. But I am glad you are," said the old fellow, slapping him on the back. "I am glad you are. We shall have a jovial party on the first, and we'll give Winkle another chance—eh, old boy?"
Mr. Pickwick made no reply; he did not even ask after his friends at Dingley Dell, and shortly afterwards retired for the night, desiring Sam to fetch his candle when he rung.
The bell did ring in due course, and Mr. Weller presented himself.
"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, looking out from under the bed-clothes.
"Sir," said Mr. Weller. Mr. Pickwick paused, and Mr. Weller snuffed the candle.
"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick again, as if with a desperate effort.
"Sir," said Mr. Weller, once more.
"Where is that Trotter?"
"Job, sir?"
