‘Mr. Pickwick’s servant!’ said Mrs. Bardell, turning pale.
‘Bless my soul!’ said Mrs. Cluppins.
‘Well, I raly would not ha’ believed it, unless I had ha’ happened to ha’ been here!’ said Mrs. Sanders.
Mrs. Cluppins was a little, brisk, busy-looking woman; Mrs. Sanders was a big, fat, heavy-faced personage; and the two were the company.
Mrs. Bardell felt it proper to be agitated; and as none of the three exactly knew whether under existing circumstances, any communication, otherwise than through Dodson & Fogg, ought to be held with Mr. Pickwick’s servant, they were all rather taken by surprise. In this state of indecision, obviously the first thing to be done, was to thump the boy for finding Mr. Weller at the door. So his mother thumped him, and he cried melodiously.
‘Hold your noise—do—you naughty creetur!’ said Mrs. Bardell.
‘Yes; don’t worrit your poor mother,’ said Mrs. Sanders.
‘She’s quite enough to worrit her, as it is, without you, Tommy,’ said Mrs. Cluppins, with sympathising resignation.
‘Ah! worse luck, poor lamb!’ said Mrs. Sanders.
At all which moral reflections, Master Bardell howled the louder.