‘It looks like a case-bottle;’ remarked Ben Allen, eyeing the object in question through his spectacles with some interest; ‘I rather think it belongs to Bob.’
The impression was perfectly accurate; for Mr. Bob Sawyer, having attached the case-bottle to the end of the walking-stick, was battering the window with it, in token of his wish, that his friends inside would partake of its contents, in all good-fellowship and harmony.
‘What’s to be done?’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking at the bottle. ‘This proceeding is more absurd than the other.’
‘I think it would be best to take it in,’ replied Mr. Ben Allen; ‘it would serve him right to take it in and keep it, wouldn’t it?’
‘It would,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘shall I?’
‘I think it the most proper course we could possibly adopt,’ replied Ben.
This advice quite coinciding with his own opinion, Mr. Pickwick gently let down the window and disengaged the bottle from the stick; upon which the latter was drawn up, and Mr. Bob Sawyer was heard to laugh heartily.
‘What a merry dog it is!’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking round at his companion, with the bottle in his hand.
‘He is,’ said Mr. Allen.
‘You cannot possibly be angry with him,’ remarked Mr. Pickwick.