“What!” said Mr. Pickwick, with a sudden start.
“As a bandit,” repeated Mr. Tupman, mildly.
“You don’t mean to say,” said Mr. Pickwick, gazing with solemn sternness at his friend—“you don’t mean to say, Mr. Tupman, that it is your intention to put yourself into a green velvet jacket, with a two-inch tail?”
“Such is my intention, sir,” replied Mr. Tupman, warmly. “And why not, sir?”
“Because, sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, considerably excited, “because you are too old, sir.”
“Too old!” exclaimed Mr. Tupman.
“And if any further ground of objection be wanting,” continued Mr. Pickwick, “you are too fat, sir.”
“Sir,” said Mr. Tupman, his face suffused with a crimson glow, “this is an insult.”
“Sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick, in the same tone, “it is not half the insult to you, that your appearance in my presence in a green velvet jacket, with a two-inch tail, would be to me.”
“Sir,” said Mr. Tupman, “you’re a fellow!”