Page:The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.djvu/121

75 THE PICKWICK CLUB. 75

liiitit coiiUl have referred to ahtonishmert, curio>ity,ur any othor known hoy, and the fat hoy stared at him ; and-the longer Mr. Tupman ob- served the utter vacancy of the fat boy's countenance, the n)ore con- vinced ho became that he either did not know, or did not understand, anything' that had been going forward. Under this impression, he said with great firmness, —
 * .us>iun that aj^itates the human hn-ast. Mr. 'rui>nian j,-azc(l on the fat


 * • What do you want here, Sir?"


 * Supper's ready Sir," was the prompt reply.

" Have you just come here Sir ? " inquired Mr. Tupman, with a piercing look.

'* Just," replied the fat boy.

Mr. Tupman looked at him very hard again ; but there was not a wink in his eye, or a curve in his face.

Mr. Tupman took the arm of the spinster aunt, and walked towards the house; the fat boy followed behind.

" He knows nothing of what has happened," he whispered.

" Nothing," said the spinster aunt.

There was a sound behind them, as of an imperfectly suppressed chuckle. Mr. Tupman turned sharply round. No ; it could not have been the fat boy ; there was not a gleam of mirth, or anything but feeding in his whole visage.

" He must have been fast asleep," whispered Mr. Tupman.

" I have not the least doubt of it," replied the spinster aunt.

They both laughed heartily.

Mr. Tupman was wrong. The fat boy, for once, had not been fast asleep. He was awake — wide awake — to what had been going forward.

The supper passed off without any attempt at a general conversation. The old lady had gone to bed ; Isabella Wardle devoted herself exclu- sively to Mr. Trundle ; the spinster aunt's attentions were reserved for Mr. Tupman ; and Emily's thoughts appeared to be engrossed by some distant object — possibly they were with the absent Snodgrass.

Eleven — twelve — one o'clock had struck, and the gentlemen had not arrived. Consternation sat on every face. Could they have been way- laid and robbed? Should they send men and lanterns in every direc- tion by which they could be supposed likely to have travelled home ?

or should they Hark I there they were. What could have made

them so late? A strange voice, too I To whom could it belong? They rushed into the kitchen whither the truants had repaired, and at once obtained rather more than a glimmering of the real state of the case.

Mr. Pickwick, with his hands in his pockets and his hat cocked completely over his left eye, was leaning against the dresser, shaking his head from side to side, and producing a constant succession of the blandest and most benevolent smiles without being moved thereunto by any discernible cause or pretence whatsoever ; old Mr. W^ardle, with a highly-inflamed countenance, was grasping the hand of a sti*ange Konllcinan muttering protestations of eternal friendship; Mr. Winkle, supporting himself by the eight-day clock, was feebly invoking do: true-