Mr. Wardle Quotes in The Pickwick Papers
‘We were trespassing, it seems,’ said Wardle.
‘I don’t care,’ said Mr Pickwick, ‘I’ll bring the action.’
‘No, you won’t,’ said Wardle.
‘I will, by – ’ but as there was a humorous expression in Wardle’s face, Mr Pickwick checked himself, and said – ‘Why not?’
‘Because,’ said old Wardle, half-bursting with laughter, ‘because they might turn round on some of us, and say we had taken too much cold punch.’
Do what he would, a smile would come into Mr Pickwick’s face; the smile extended into a laugh, the laugh into a roar, and the roar became general. So, to keep up their good humour, they stopped at the first road-side tavern they came to, and ordered a glass of brandy and water all round, with a magnum of extra strength, for Mr Samuel Weller.’
‘Our invariable custom,’ replied Mr Wardle. ‘Every body sits down with us on Christmas eve, as you see them now – servants and all; and here we wait till the clock strikes twelve, to usher Christmas in, and while away the time with forfeits and old stories. Trundle, my boy, rake up the fire.’
Mr Pickwick is somewhat infirm now; but he retains all his former juvenility of spirit, and may still be frequently seen, contemplating the pictures in the Dulwich Gallery, or enjoying a walk about the pleasant neighbourhood on a fine day. He is known by all the poor people about, who never fail to take their hats off, as he passes, with great respect. The children idolise him, and so indeed does the whole neighbourhood. Every year he repairs to a large family merry-making at Mr Wardle’s; on this, as on all other occasions, he is invariably attended by the faithful Sam, between whom and his master there exists a steady and reciprocal attachment which nothing but death will sever.
Mr. Wardle Quotes in The Pickwick Papers
‘We were trespassing, it seems,’ said Wardle.
‘I don’t care,’ said Mr Pickwick, ‘I’ll bring the action.’
‘No, you won’t,’ said Wardle.
‘I will, by – ’ but as there was a humorous expression in Wardle’s face, Mr Pickwick checked himself, and said – ‘Why not?’
‘Because,’ said old Wardle, half-bursting with laughter, ‘because they might turn round on some of us, and say we had taken too much cold punch.’
Do what he would, a smile would come into Mr Pickwick’s face; the smile extended into a laugh, the laugh into a roar, and the roar became general. So, to keep up their good humour, they stopped at the first road-side tavern they came to, and ordered a glass of brandy and water all round, with a magnum of extra strength, for Mr Samuel Weller.’
‘Our invariable custom,’ replied Mr Wardle. ‘Every body sits down with us on Christmas eve, as you see them now – servants and all; and here we wait till the clock strikes twelve, to usher Christmas in, and while away the time with forfeits and old stories. Trundle, my boy, rake up the fire.’
Mr Pickwick is somewhat infirm now; but he retains all his former juvenility of spirit, and may still be frequently seen, contemplating the pictures in the Dulwich Gallery, or enjoying a walk about the pleasant neighbourhood on a fine day. He is known by all the poor people about, who never fail to take their hats off, as he passes, with great respect. The children idolise him, and so indeed does the whole neighbourhood. Every year he repairs to a large family merry-making at Mr Wardle’s; on this, as on all other occasions, he is invariably attended by the faithful Sam, between whom and his master there exists a steady and reciprocal attachment which nothing but death will sever.