“Ay! ay! ay!” replied three voices at once.
“Good! Bless you! Now, as there’s nothing like ‘taking time by the fetlock ,’ as Winkle characteristically observes, allow me to present the new member;” and, to the dismay of the rest of the club, Jo threw open the door of the closet, and displayed Laurie sitting on a ragbag, flushed and twinkling with suppressed laughter.
“You rogue! you traitor! Jo, how could you?” cried the three girls, as Snodgrass led her friend triumphantly forth; and, producing both a chair and a badge, installed him in a jiffy.
“The coolness of you two rascals is amazing,” began Mr. Pickwick, trying to get up an awful frown, and only succeeding in producing an amiable smile. But the new member was equal to the occasion; and, rising, with a grateful salutation to the Chair, said, in the most engaging manner, “ Mr. President and ladies—I beg pardon, gentlemen—allow me to introduce myself as Sam Weller, the very humble servant of the club.”
“Good! good!” cried Jo, pounding with the handle of the old warming-pan on which she leaned.
“My faithful friend and noble patron,” continued Laurie, with a wave of the hand, “who has so flatteringly presented me, is not to be blamed for the base stratagem of tonight. I planned it, and she only gave in after lots of teasing.”
“Come now, don’t lay it all on yourself; you know I proposed the cupboard,” broke in Snodgrass, who was enjoying the joke amazingly.
“Never you mind what she says. I’m the wretch that did it, sir,” said the new member, with a Welleresque nod to Mr. Pickwick. “But on my honor, I never will do so again, and henceforth dewote myself to the interest of this immortal club.”
“Hear! hear!” cried Jo, clashing the lid of the warming-pan like a cymbal.