Such were the two worthies to whom Mr. Pickwick was introduced, as he took his seat at the breakfast table on Christmas morning.
“Splendid morning, gentlemen,” said Mr. Pickwick.
Mr. Bob Sawyer slightly nodded his assent to the proposition, and asked Mr. Benjamin Allen for the mustard.
“Have you come far this morning, gentlemen?” inquired Mr. Pickwick.
“Blue Lion at Muggleton,” briefly responded Mr. Allen.
“You should have joined us last night,” said Mr. Pickwick.
“So we should,” replied Bob Sawyer, “but the brandy was too good to leave in a hurry: wasn’t it, Ben?”
“Certainly,” said Mr. Benjamin Allen; “and the cigars were not bad, or the pork chops either: were they, Bob?”
“Decidedly not,” said Bob. And the particular friends resumed their attack upon the breakfast, more freely than before, as if the recollection of last night’s supper had imparted a new relish to the meal.
“Peg away, Bob,” said Mr. Allen to his companion, encouragingly.