‘Quite out of the question,’ observed Benjamin Allen.
During this short interchange of sentiments, Mr. Pickwick had, in an abstracted mood, uncorked the bottle.
‘What is it?’ inquired Ben Allen carelessly.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, with equal carelessness. ‘It smells, I think, like milk-punch.’
Oh, indeed?’ said Ben.
‘I think so,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick, very properly guarding himself against the possibility of stating an untruth; ‘mind, I could not undertake to say certainly, without tasting it.’
‘You had better do so,’ said Ben; ‘we may as well know what it is.’
‘Do you think so?’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘Well; if you are curious to know, of course I have no objection.’
Ever willing to sacrifice his own feelings to the wishes of his friend, Mr. Pickwick at once took a pretty long taste.
‘What is it?’ inquired Ben Allen, interrupting him with some impatience.