Long before Mr. Pickwick was weary of dancing, the newly-
married couple had retired from the scene. There was a glorious
supper downstairs, notwithstanding, and a good long sitting
after it; and when Mr. Pickwick awoke, late the next morning,
he had a confused recollection of having, severally and
confidentially, invited somewhere about five-and-forty people to dine
with him at the George and Vulture, the very first time they came
to London; which Mr. Pickwick rightly considered a pretty
certain indication of his having taken something besides exercise,
on the previous night.
'And so your family has games in the kitchen to-night, my
dear, has they?' inquired Sam of Emma.
'Yes, Mr. Weller,' replied Emma; 'we always have on Christmas
Eve. Master wouldn't neglect to keep it up on any account.'
'Your master's a wery pretty notion of keeping anythin' up,
my dear,' said Mr. Weller; 'I never see such a sensible sort of
man as he is, or such a reg'lar gen'l'm'n.'
'Oh, that he is!' said the fat boy, joining in the conversation;
'don't he breed nice pork!' The fat youth gave a semi-cannibalic
leer at Mr. Weller, as he thought of the roast legs and gravy.
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