ake this little villain away,' said the agonised Mr. Pickwick, 'he's
mad.'

'What is the matter?' said the three tongue-tied Pickwickians.

'I don't know,' replied Mr. Pickwick pettishly. 'Take away the boy.'
(Here Mr. Winkle carried the interesting boy, screaming and struggling,
to the farther end of the apartment.) 'Now help me, lead this woman
downstairs.'

'Oh, I am better now,' said Mrs. Bardell faintly.

'Let me lead you downstairs,' said the ever-gallant Mr. Tupman.

'Thank you, sir--thank you;' exclaimed Mrs. Bardell hysterically. And
downstairs she was led accordingly, accompanied by her affectionate son.

'I cannot conceive,' said Mr. Pickwick when his friend returned--'I
cannot conceive what has been the matter with that woman. I had merely
announced to her my intention of keeping a man-servant, when she
fell into the extraordinary paroxysm in which you found her. Very
extraordinary thing.'

'Very,' said his three friends.

'Placed me in such an extremely awkward situation,' continued Mr.
Pickwick.

'Very,' was the reply of his followers, as they coughed slightly, and
looked dubiously at each other.

This behaviour was not lost upon Mr. Pickwick. He remarked their
incredulity. They evidently suspected him.

'There is a man in the passage now,' said Mr. Tupman.

'It's the man I spoke to you about,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'I sent for
him to the Borough this morning. Have the goodness to call him up,
Snodgrass.'

Mr. Snodgrass did as he was desired; and Mr. Samuel Weller forthwith
presented himself.

'Oh--you remember me, I suppose?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'I should think so,' replied Sam, with a patronising wink. 'Queer start
that 'ere, but he was one too many for you, warn't he? Up to snuff and a
pinch or two over--eh?'

'Never mind that matter now,' said Mr. Pickwick hastily; 'I want to
speak to you about something else. Sit down.'

'Thank'ee, sir,' said Sam. And down he sat without further bidding,
having previously deposited his old white hat on the landing outside
the door. ''Tain't a wery good 'un to look at,' said Sam, 'but it's an
astonishin' 'un to wear; and afore the brim went, it was a wery handsome
tile. Hows'ever it's lighter without it, that's one thing, and every
hole lets in some air, that's another--wentilation gossamer I calls it.'
On the delivery of this sentiment, Mr. Weller smiled agreeably upon the
assembled Pickwickians.

'Now with regard to the matter on which I, with th