mb of Mr. Winkle, rolled
off the box once again, and proceeded to unpack the hamper with more
expedition than could have been expected from his previous inactivity.

'Now we must sit close,' said the stout gentleman. After a great many
jokes about squeezing the ladies' sleeves, and a vast quantity of
blushing at sundry jocose proposals, that the ladies should sit in the
gentlemen's laps, the whole party were stowed down in the barouche; and
the stout gentleman proceeded to hand the things from the fat boy (who
had mounted up behind for the purpose) into the carriage.

'Now, Joe, knives and forks.' The knives and forks were handed in, and
the ladies and gentlemen inside, and Mr. Winkle on the box, were each
furnished with those useful instruments.

'Plates, Joe, plates.' A similar process employed in the distribution of
the crockery.

'Now, Joe, the fowls. Damn that boy; he's gone to sleep again. Joe!
Joe!' (Sundry taps on the head with a stick, and the fat boy, with some
difficulty, roused from his lethargy.) 'Come, hand in the eatables.'

There was something in the sound of the last word which roused the
unctuous boy. He jumped up, and the leaden eyes which twinkled behind
his mountainous cheeks leered horribly upon the food as he unpacked it
from the basket.

'Now make haste,' said Mr. Wardle; for the fat boy was hanging fondly
over a capon, which he seemed wholly unable to part with. The boy sighed
deeply, and, bestowing an ardent gaze upon its plumpness, unwillingly
consigned it to his master.

'That's right--look sharp. Now the tongue--now the pigeon pie. Take
care of that veal and ham--mind the lobsters--take the salad out of the
cloth--give me the dressing.' Such were the hurried orders which issued
from the lips of Mr. Wardle, as he handed in the different articles
described, and placed dishes in everybody's hands, and on everybody's
knees, in endless number. 'Now ain't this capital?' inquired that jolly
personage, when the work of destruction had commenced.

'Capital!' said Mr. Winkle, who was carving a fowl on the box.

'Glass of wine?'

'With the greatest pleasure.' 'You'd better have a bottle to yourself up
there, hadn't you?'

'You're very good.'

'Joe!'

'Yes, Sir.' (He wasn't asleep this time, having just succeeded in
abstracting a veal patty.)

'Bottle of wine to the gentleman on the box. Glad to see you, Sir.'

'Thank'ee.' Mr. Winkle emptied his glass, and placed the bottle on the
co