‘Yes, it’s very easy,’ said Mr. Tupman. ‘How it hurts one’s shoulder, though. It nearly knocked me backwards. I had no idea these small firearms kicked so.’
‘Ah,’ said the old gentleman, smiling, ‘you’ll get used to it in time. Now then—all ready—all right with the barrow there?’
‘All right, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
‘Come along, then.’
‘Hold hard, Sir,’ said Sam, raising the barrow.
‘Aye, aye,’ replied Mr. Pickwick; and on they went, as briskly as need be.
‘Keep that barrow back now,’ cried Wardle, when it had been hoisted over a stile into another field, and Mr. Pickwick had been deposited in it once more.
‘All right, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, pausing.
‘Now, Winkle,’ said the old gentleman, ‘follow me softly, and don’t be too late this time.’
‘Never fear,’ said Mr. Winkle. ‘Are they pointing?’