“I consider you, sir,” said Mr. Pott, moved by this sarcasm, “I consider you a viper. I look upon you, sir, as a man who has placed himself beyond the pale of society, by his most audacious, disgraceful, and abominable public conduct. I view you, sir, personally and politically, in no other light than as a most unparalleled and unmitigated viper.”

The indignant Independent did not wait to hear the end of this personal denunciation; for, catching up his carpetbag, which was well stuffed with movables, he swung it in the air as Pott turned away, and, letting it fall with a circular sweep on his head, just at that particular angle of the bag where a good thick hairbrush happened to be packed, caused a sharp crash to be heard throughout the kitchen, and brought him at once to the ground.

“Gentlemen,” cried Mr. Pickwick, as Pott started up and seized the fire-shovel⁠—“gentlemen! Consider, for Heaven’s sake⁠—help⁠—Sam⁠—here⁠—pray, gentlemen⁠—interfere, somebody.”