“Of course I do, of course I do,” replied the old gentleman. “I am heartily glad to see him, notwithstanding. I will not lose sight of him again, in a hurry.”
With these words, Wardle shook Mr. Pickwick’s hand once more, and having done the same by Perker, threw himself into an arm-chair, his jolly red face shining again with smiles and health.
“Well!” said Wardle. “Here are pretty goings on—a pinch of your snuff, Perker, my boy—never were such times, eh?”
“What do you mean?” inquired Mr. Pickwick.
“Mean!” replied Wardle. “Why, I think the girls are all running mad; that’s no news, you’ll say? Perhaps it’s not; but it’s true, for all that.”
“You have not come up to London, of all places in the world, to tell us that, my dear sir, have you?” inquired Perker.
“No, not altogether,” replied Wardle; “though it was the main cause of my coming. How’s Arabella?”
“Very well,” replied Mr. Pickwick, “and will be delighted to see you, I am sure.”
“Black-eyed little jilt!” replied Wardle, “I had a great idea of marrying her myself, one of these odd days. But I am glad of it too, very glad.”