n such a
dreadful state of nervous alarm that Mr. Tupman found that _he_ was
obliged to put his arm about _her_ waist to keep her up at all. Everyone
was excited with the exception of the fat boy, and he slept as soundly
as if the roaring of cannon were his ordinary lullaby.

"Joe! Joe!" called Mr. Wardle. "Drat that boy! He's gone asleep again.
Pinch him in the leg, if you please. Nothing else wakens him. Thank you.
Get out the lunch, Joe." The fat boy, who had been effectually aroused
by Mr. Winkle, proceeded to unpack the hamper with more quickness than
could have been expected from his previous inactivity.

"Now Joe, knives and forks." The knives and forks were handed in and
each one was furnished with these useful implements.

"Now Joe, the fowls. Drat that boy! He's gone asleep again. Joe! Joe!"
Numerous taps on the head with a stick and the fat boy with some
difficulty was awakened. "Go hand in the eatables." There was something
in the sound of the last word which aroused him. He jumped up with
reddened eyes which twinkled behind his mountainous cheeks, and feasted
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 chicken which he seemed wholly unable to part with. The boy
sighed deeply and casting an ardent gaze upon its plumpness, unwillingly
handed it to his master.

"A very extraordinary boy, that," said Mr. Pickwick. "Does he always
sleep in this way?"

"Sleep!" said the old gentleman. "He's always sleeping. Goes on errands
fast asleep and snores as he waits at table."

"How very odd," said Mr. Pickwick.

"Ah! odd indeed," returned the old gentleman. "I'm proud of that boy.
Wouldn't part with him on any account. He's a natural curiosity. Here,
Joe, take these things away and open another bottle. Do you hear?" The
fat boy aroused, opened his eyes, started and finished the piece of pie
he was in the act of eating when he fell fast asleep, and slowly obeyed
his master's orders, looking intently upon the remains of the feast as
he removed the plates and stowed them in the hamper. At last Mr. Wardle
and his party mounted the coach and prepared to drive off.

"Now mind," he said, as he shook hands with Mr. Pickwick, "we expect to
see you all to-morrow. You have the address?"

"Manor Farm, Dingley Dell," said Mr. Pickwick, consulting his
pocket-book.

"That's it," said the old gentleman. "You must come for at least a week.
If