England -- Fiction; Humorous stories; Male friendship -- Fiction; Men -- Societies and clubs -- Fiction
‘Ashamed of themselves!’ said Mrs. Raddle. ‘Why don’t you go down and
knock ‘em every one downstairs? You would if you was a man.’
I should if I was a dozen men, my dear,’ replied Mr. Raddle pacifically,
‘but they have the advantage of me in numbers, my dear.’
‘Ugh, you coward!’ replied Mrs. Raddle, with supreme contempt. ‘_Do_ you
mean to turn them wretches out, or not, Mr. Sawyer?’
‘They’re going, Mrs. Raddle, they’re going,’ said the miserable Bob. ‘I
am afraid you’d better go,’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer to his friends. ‘I
thought you were making too much noise.’
‘It’s a very unfortunate thing,’ said the prim man. ‘Just as we were
getting so comfortable too!’ The prim man was just beginning to have a
dawning recollection of the story he had forgotten.
‘It’s hardly to be borne,’ said the prim man, looking round. ‘Hardly to
be borne, is it?’
‘Not to be endured,’ replied Jack Hopkins; ‘let’s have the other verse,
Bob. Come, here goes!’
‘No, no, Jack, don’t,’ interposed Bob Sawyer; ‘it’s a capital song, but
I am afraid we had better not have the other verse. They are very
violent people, the people of the house.’
‘Shall I step upstairs, and pitch into the landlord?’ inquired Hopkins,
‘or keep on ringing the bell, or go and groan on the staircase? You may
command me, Bob.’
‘I am very much indebted to you for your friendship and good-nature,
Hopkins,’ said the wretched Mr. Bob Sawyer, ‘but I think the best plan
to avoid any further dispute is for us to break up at once.’
‘Now, Mr. Sawyer,’ screamed the shrill voice of Mrs. Raddle, ‘are them
brutes going?’
‘They’re only looking for their hats, Mrs. Raddle,’ said Bob; ‘they are
going directly.’
‘Going!’ said Mrs. Raddle, thrusting her nightcap over the banisters
just as Mr. Pickwick, followed by Mr. Tupman, emerged from the sitting-
room. ‘Going! what did they ever come for?’
‘My dear ma’am,’ remonstrated Mr. Pickwick, looking up.
‘Get along with you, old wretch!’ replied Mrs. Raddle, hastily
withdrawing the nightcap. ‘Old enough to be his grandfather, you willin!
You’re worse than any of ‘em.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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