“Or drunk,” said Mr. Winkle.
“Or both,” said Mr. Tupman.
“Come on!” said the cab-driver, sparring away like clock-work. “Come on—all four on you.”
“Here’s a lark!” shouted half-a-dozen hackney coachmen. “Go to vork, Sam,”—and they crowded with great glee round the party.
“What’s the row, Sam?” inquired one gentleman in black calico sleeves.
“Row!” replied the cabman, “what did he want my number for?”
“I didn’t want your number,” said the astonished Mr. Pickwick.
“What did you take it for, then?” inquired the cabman.
“I didn’t take it,” said Mr. Pickwick, indignantly.