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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
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