ntered it. Alas!
how many sad and unhappy beings had he left behind!

A happy evening was that for at least one party in the George and
Vulture; and light and cheerful were two of the hearts that emerged from
its hospitable door next morning. The owners thereof were Mr. Pickwick
and Sam Weller, the former of whom was speedily deposited inside a
comfortable post-coach, with a little dickey behind, in which the latter
mounted with great agility.

'Sir,' called out Mr. Weller to his master.

'Well, Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick, thrusting his head out of the window.

'I wish them horses had been three months and better in the Fleet, Sir.'

'Why, Sam?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Wy, Sir,' exclaimed Mr. Weller, rubbing his hands, 'how they would go
if they had been!'

CHAPTER XLVIII. RELATES HOW Mr. PICKWICK, WITH THE ASSISTANCE OF SAMUEL
WELLER, ESSAYED TO SOFTEN THE HEART OF Mr. BENJAMIN ALLEN, AND TO
MOLLIFY THE WRATH OF Mr. ROBERT SAWYER

Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer sat together in the little surgery
behind the shop, discussing minced veal and future prospects, when the
discourse, not unnaturally, turned upon the practice acquired by Bob the
aforesaid, and his present chances of deriving a competent independence
from the honourable profession to which he had devoted himself.

'Which, I think,' observed Mr. Bob Sawyer, pursuing the thread of the
subject--'which, I think, Ben, are rather dubious.'

'What's rather dubious?' inquired Mr. Ben Allen, at the same time
sharpening his intellect with a draught of beer. 'What's dubious?'

'Why, the chances,' responded Mr. Bob Sawyer.

'I forgot,' said Mr. Ben Allen. 'The beer has reminded me that I forgot,
Bob--yes; they ARE dubious.'

'It's wonderful how the poor people patronise me,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer
reflectively. 'They knock me up, at all hours of the night; they take
medicine to an extent which I should have conceived impossible; they put
on blisters and leeches with a perseverance worthy of a better cause;
they make additions to their families, in a manner which is quite awful.
Six of those last-named little promissory notes, all due on the same
day, Ben, and all intrusted to me!'

'It's very gratifying, isn't it?' said Mr. Ben Allen, holding his plate
for some more minced veal.

'Oh, very,' replied Bob; 'only not quite so much so as the confidence
of patients with a shilling or two to spare would be. This business was
capitally described in the adve