'Dear me!' said Mr. Pickwick, starting, 'what a very--Eh?'
He stopped, for the fat boy had drawn himself up, and was,
or pretended to be, fast asleep.
'What's the matter?' inquired Wardle.
'This is such an extremely singular lad!' replied Mr. Pickwick,
looking uneasily at the boy. 'It seems an odd thing to say, but
upon my word I am afraid that, at times, he is a little deranged.'
'Oh! Mr. Pickwick, pray don't say so,' cried Emily and
Arabella, both at once.
'I am not certain, of course,' said Mr. Pickwick, amidst
profound silence and looks of general dismay; 'but his manner
to me this moment really was very alarming. Oh!' ejaculated
Mr. Pickwick, suddenly jumping up with a short scream. 'I beg
your pardon, ladies, but at that moment he ran some sharp
instrument into my leg. Really, he is not safe.'
'He's drunk,' roared old Wardle passionately. 'Ring the bell!
Call the waiters! He's drunk.'
'I ain't,' said the fat boy, falling on his knees as his master
seized him by the collar. 'I ain't drunk.'
'Then you're mad; that's worse. Call the waiters,' said the old
gentleman.
'I ain't mad; I'm sensible,' rejoined the fat boy, beginning
to cry.
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