‘And if any further ground of objection be wanting,’ continued Mr. Pickwick, ‘you are too fat, sir.’
‘Sir,’ said Mr. Tupman, his face suffused with a crimson glow, ‘this is an insult.’
‘Sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, in the same tone, ‘it is not half the insult to you, that your appearance in my presence in a green velvet jacket, with a two-inch tail, would be to me.’
‘Sir,’ said Mr. Tupman, ‘you’re a fellow.’
‘Sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘you’re another!’
Mr. Tupman advanced a step or two, and glared at Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick returned the glare, concentrated into a focus by means of his spectacles, and breathed a bold defiance. Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle looked on, petrified at beholding such a scene between two such men.
‘Sir,’ said Mr. Tupman, after a short pause, speaking in a low, deep voice, ‘you have called me old.’
‘I have,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘And fat.’
‘I reiterate the charge.’