‘Stay, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘before you apply those epithets to the gentleman in question, consider, dispassionately, the extent of his fault, and above all remember that he is a friend of mine.’
‘What!’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer. ‘His name!’ cried Ben Allen. ‘His name!’
‘Mr. Nathaniel Winkle,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
Mr. Benjamin Allen deliberately crushed his spectacles beneath the heel of his boot, and having picked up the pieces, and put them into three separate pockets, folded his arms, bit his lips, and looked in a threatening manner at the bland features of Mr. Pickwick.
‘Then it’s you, is it, Sir, who have encouraged and brought about this match?’ inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen at length.
‘And it’s this gentleman’s servant, I suppose,’ interrupted the old lady, ‘who has been skulking about my house, and endeavouring to entrap my servants to conspire against their mistress.—Martin!’
‘Well?’ said the surly man, coming forward.
‘Is that the young man you saw in the lane, whom you told me about, this morning?’
Mr. Martin, who, as it has already appeared, was a man of few words, looked at Sam Weller, nodded his head, and growled forth, ‘That’s the man.’ Mr. Weller, who was never proud, gave a smile of friendly recognition as his eyes encountered those of the surly groom, and admitted in courteous terms, that he had ‘knowed him afore.’
‘And this is the faithful creature,’ exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen, ‘whom I had nearly suffocated!—Mr. Pickwick, how dare you allow your fellow to be employed in the abduction of my sister? I demand that you explain this matter, sir.’