‘And a fellow.’
‘So you are!’
There was a fearful pause.
‘My attachment to your person, sir,’ said Mr. Tupman, speaking in a voice tremulous with emotion, and tucking up his wristbands meanwhile, ‘is great—very great—but upon that person, I must take summary vengeance.’
‘Come on, Sir!’ replied Mr. Pickwick. Stimulated by the exciting nature of the dialogue, the heroic man actually threw himself into a paralytic attitude, confidently supposed by the two bystanders to have been intended as a posture of defence.
‘What!’ exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass, suddenly recovering the power of speech, of which intense astonishment had previously bereft him, and rushing between the two, at the imminent hazard of receiving an application on the temple from each—‘what! Mr. Pickwick, with the eyes of the world upon you! Mr. Tupman! who, in common with us all, derives a lustre from his undying name! For shame, gentlemen; for shame.’
The unwonted lines which momentary passion had ruled in Mr. Pickwick’s clear and open brow, gradually melted away, as his young friend spoke, like the marks of a black-lead pencil beneath the softening influence of india-rubber. His countenance had resumed its usual benign expression, ere he concluded.
‘I have been hasty,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘very hasty. Tupman; your hand.’
The dark shadow passed from Mr. Tupman’s face, as he warmly grasped the hand of his friend.
‘I have been hasty, too,’ said he.