Mr. Pickwick was
not to be found. After some hours of fruitless search, they
arrived at the unwelcome conclusion that they must go home
without him.
Meanwhile Mr. Pickwick had been wheeled to the pound, and
safely deposited therein, fast asleep in the wheel-barrow, to the
immeasurable delight and satisfaction not only of all the boys in
the village, but three-fourths of the whole population, who had
gathered round, in expectation of his waking. If their most
intense gratification had been awakened by seeing him wheeled
in, how many hundredfold was their joy increased when, after a
few indistinct cries of 'Sam!' he sat up in the barrow, and gazed
with indescribable astonishment on the faces before him.
A general shout was of course the signal of his having woke up;
and his involuntary inquiry of 'What's the matter?' occasioned
another, louder than the first, if possible.
'Here's a game!' roared the populace.
'Where am I?' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
'In the pound,' replied the mob.
'How came I here? What was I doing? Where was I brought from?'
'Boldwig! Captain Boldwig!' was the only reply.
'Let me out,' cried Mr. Pickwick.
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