It was with feelings of no small astonishment, when the carriage drew up before the door with the red lamp, and the very legible inscription of “Sawyer, late Nockemorf,” that Mr. Pickwick saw, on popping his head out of the coach window, the boy in the grey livery very busily engaged in putting up the shutters: the which, being an unusual and un-business-like proceeding at that hour in the morning, at once suggested to his mind two inferences; the one, that some good friend and patient of Mr. Bob Sawyer’s was dead; the other, that Mr. Bob Sawyer himself was bankrupt.
“What is the matter?” said Mr. Pickwick to the boy.
“Nothing’s the matter, sir,” replied the boy, expanding his mouth to the whole breadth of his countenance.
“All right, all right!” cried Bob Sawyer, suddenly appearing at the door with a small leathern knapsack, limp and dirty, in one hand, and a rough coat and shawl thrown over the other arm. “I’m going, old fellow.”
“You!” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
“Yes,” replied Bob Sawyer, “and a regular expedition we’ll make of it. Here, Sam! Look out!” Thus briefly bespeaking Mr. Weller’s attention, Mr. Bob Sawyer jerked the leathern knapsack into the dickey, where it was immediately stowed away, under the seat, by Sam, who regarded the proceeding with great admiration. This done, Mr. Bob Sawyer, with the assistance of the boy, forcibly worked himself into a rough coat, which was a few sizes too small for him, and then advancing to the coach window thrust in his head, and laughed boisterously.
“What a start it is, isn’t it?” cried Bob, wiping the tears out of his eyes, with one of the cuffs of the rough coat.
“My dear sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, with some embarrassment, “I had no idea of your accompanying us.”
“No, that’s just the very thing,” replied Bob, seizing Mr. Pickwick by the lappel of the coat. “That’s the joke.”
“Oh, that’s the joke?” said Mr. Pickwick.