‘Who are you, you rascal?’ said the captain, administering several pokes to Mr. Pickwick’s body with the thick stick. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Cold punch,’ murmured Mr. Pickwick, as he sank to sleep again.
‘What?’ demanded Captain Boldwig.
No reply.
‘What did he say his name was?’ asked the captain.
‘Punch, I think, sir,’ replied Wilkins.
‘That’s his impudence—that’s his confounded impudence,’ said Captain Boldwig. ‘He’s only feigning to be asleep now,’ said the captain, in a high passion. ‘He’s drunk; he’s a drunken plebeian. Wheel him away, Wilkins, wheel him away directly.’
Where shall I wheel him to, sir?’ inquired Wilkins, with great timidity.
‘Wheel him to the devil,’ replied Captain Boldwig.
‘Very well, sir,’ said Wilkins.