Ben Allen suddenly arose from his chair, and, seizing the black bottle, drank the toast so heartily, that, the liquor being strong, he became nearly as black in the face as the bottle. Finally, the black bottle went round till it was empty, and there was so much shaking of hands and interchanging of compliments, that even the metal-visaged Mr. Martin condescended to smile.

“And now,” said Bob Sawyer, rubbing his hands, “we’ll have a jolly night.”

“I am sorry,” said Mr. Pickwick, “that I must return to my inn. I have not been accustomed to fatigue lately, and my journey has tired me exceedingly.”

“You’ll take some tea, Mr. Pickwick?” said the old lady, with irresistible sweetness.