stooping so as to bring his head on a level with that of Mr. Pickwick,
pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, and made the most horrible and
hideous face that was ever seen out of a Christmas pantomime.

'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.

'Then, what the devil did you run sharp instruments into Mr. Pickwick's
legs for?' inquired Wardle angrily.

'He wouldn't look at me,' replied the boy. 'I wanted to speak to him.'

'What did you want to say?' asked half a dozen voices at once.

The fat boy gasped, looked at the bedroom door, gasped again, and wiped
two tears away with the knuckle of each of his forefingers.

'What did you want to say?' demanded Wardle, shaking him.

'Stop!' said Mr. Pickwick; 'allow me. What did you wish to communicate
to me, my poor boy?'

'I want to whisper to you,' replied the fat boy.

'You want to bite his ear off, I suppose,' said Wardle. 'Don't come near
him; he's vicious; ring the bell, and let him be taken downstairs.'

Just as Mr. Winkle caught the bell-rope in his hand, it was arrested
by a general expression of astonishment; the captive lover, his face
burning with confusion, suddenly walked in from the bedroom, and made a
comprehensive bow to the company.

'Hollo!' cried Wardle, releasing the fat boy's collar, and staggering
back. 'What's this?'

'I have