“Why, damn their audacity, so they have,” said Captain Boldwig, as the crumbs and fragments that were strewn upon the grass met his eye. “They have actually been devouring their food here. I wish I had the vagabonds here!” said the captain, clenching the thick stick.

“I wish I had the vagabonds here,” said the captain wrathfully.

“Beg your pardon, sir,” said Wilkins, “but⁠—”

“But what? Eh?” roared the captain; and following the timid glance of Wilkins, his eyes encountered the wheelbarrow and Mr. Pickwick.

“Who are you, you rascal?” said the captain, administering several pokes to Mr. Pickwick’s body with the thick stick. “What’s your name?”