Pointed with his thumb over his shoulder
“Dear me!” said Mr. Pickwick, starting, “what a very—eh?” He stopped, for the fat boy had drawn himself up, and was, or pretended to be, fast asleep.
“What’s the matter?” inquired Wardle.
“This is such an extremely singular lad!” replied Mr. Pickwick, looking uneasily at the boy. “It seems an odd thing to say, but upon my word I am afraid that, at times, he is a little deranged.”
“Oh! Mr. Pickwick, pray don’t say so,” cried Emily and Arabella, both at once.
“I am not certain, of course,” said Mr. Pickwick, amidst profound silence, and looks of general dismay; “but his manner to me this moment was really very alarming. Oh!” ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, suddenly jumping up with a short scream. “I beg your pardon, ladies, but at that moment he ran some sharp instrument into my leg. Really he is not safe.”
“He’s drunk,” roared old Wardle, passionately. “Ring the bell! Call the waiters! He’s drunk.”