Young Lord Mutanhed.'
'You don't say so?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Yes. You'll hear his voice in a moment, Mr. Pickwick. He'll
speak to me. The other gentleman with him, in the red under-
waistcoat and dark moustache, is the Honourable Mr. Crushton,
his bosom friend. How do you do, my Lord?'
'Veway hot, Bantam,' said his Lordship.
'It IS very warm, my Lord,' replied the M.C.
'Confounded,' assented the Honourable Mr. Crushton.
'Have you seen his Lordship's mail-cart, Bantam?' inquired the
Honourable Mr. Crushton, after a short pause, during which
young Lord Mutanhed had been endeavouring to stare Mr.
Pickwick out of countenance, and Mr. Crushton had been
reflecting what subject his Lordship could talk about best.
'Dear me, no,' replied the M.C.'A mail-cart! What an excellent
idea. Re-markable!'
'Gwacious heavens!' said his Lordship, 'I thought evewebody
had seen the new mail-cart; it's the neatest, pwettiest, gwacefullest
thing that ever wan upon wheels. Painted wed, with a
cweam piebald.'
'With a real box for the letters, and all complete,' said the
Honourable Mr. Crushton.
'And a little seat in fwont, with an iwon wail, for the dwiver,'
added his Lordship.
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