Bob Sawyer.
'Oh, it's quite impossible to dine at half-past eleven o'clock in
the day,' replied Mr. Pickwick, looking at his watch.
'So it is,' rejoined Bob, 'lunch is the very thing. Hollo, you sir!
Lunch for three, directly; and keep the horses back for a quarter
of an hour. Tell them to put everything they have cold, on the
table, and some bottled ale, and let us taste your very best
Madeira.' Issuing these orders with monstrous importance and
bustle, Mr. Bob Sawyer at once hurried into the house to superintend
the arrangements; in less than five minutes he returned
and declared them to be excellent.
The quality of the lunch fully justified the eulogium which
Bob had pronounced, and very great justice was done to it, not
only by that gentleman, but Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Pickwick
also. Under the auspices of the three, the bottled ale and the
Madeira were promptly disposed of; and when (the horses being
once more put to) they resumed their seats, with the case-bottle
full of the best substitute for milk-punch that could be procured
on so short a notice, the key-bugle sounded, and the red flag
waved, without the slightest opposition on Mr.
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