‘They’ll hardly know what she’s meant for; will they?’ inquired Mr. Snodgrass.
‘Of course they will,’ replied Mr. Winkle indignantly. ‘They’ll see her lyre, won’t they?’
‘True; I forgot that,’ said Mr. Snodgrass.
‘I shall go as a bandit,’ interposed Mr. Tupman.
‘What!’ said Mr. Pickwick, with a sudden start.
‘As a bandit,’ repeated Mr. Tupman, mildly.
‘You don’t mean to say,’ said Mr. Pickwick, gazing with solemn sternness at his friend—‘you don’t mean to say, Mr. Tupman, that it is your intention to put yourself into a green velvet jacket, with a two-inch tail?’
‘Such is my intention, Sir,’ replied Mr. Tupman warmly. ‘And why not, sir?’
‘Because, Sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, considerably excited—‘because you are too old, Sir.’
‘Too old!’ exclaimed Mr. Tupman.