“What’s this?” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.

“It looks like a case-bottle”; remarked Ben Allen, eyeing the object in question through his spectacles with some interest; “I rather think it belongs to Bob.”

The impression was perfectly accurate; for Mr. Bob Sawyer, having attached the case-bottle to the end of the walking-stick, was battering the window with it, in token of his wish, that his friends inside would partake of its contents, in all good-fellowship and harmony.

“What’s to be done?” said Mr. Pickwick, looking at the bottle. “This proceeding is more absurd than the other.”