This roused Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been hitherto quite paralysed by the frenzy of his companion. With that gentleman’s assistance, Mr. Pickwick raised Ben Allen to his feet. Mr. Martin, finding himself alone on the floor, got up, and looked about him.
“Mr. Allen,” said Mr. Pickwick, “what is the matter, sir?”
“Never mind, sir!” replied Mr. Allen, with haughty defiance.
“What is it?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, looking at Bob Sawyer. “Is he unwell?”
Before Bob could reply, Mr. Ben Allen seized Mr. Pickwick by the hand, and murmured in sorrowful accents, “My sister, my dear sir; my sister.”
“Oh, is that all?” said Mr. Pickwick. “We shall easily arrange that matter, I hope. Your sister is safe and well, and I am here, my dear sir, to——”
“Sorry to do anythin’ as may cause an interruption to such wery pleasant proceedin’s, as the king said ven he dissolved the parliament,” interposed Mr. Weller, who had been peeping through the glass door; “but there’s another experiment here, sir. Here’s a wenerable old lady a lyin’ on the carpet waiting for dissection, or galwinism, or some other rewivin’ and scientific inwention.”
“I forgot,” exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen. “It is my aunt.”
“Dear me!” said Mr. Pickwick. “Poor lady! Gently, Sam, gently.”
“Strange sitivation for one o’ the family,” observed Sam Weller, hoisting the aunt into a chair. “Now, depitty Sawbones, bring out the wollatilly!”