Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

A pleasant Day with an unpleasant Termination

           

           ‘Certainlynot,Sir.’So,bywayofindemnification,Mr.Wellercontortedhisfeaturesfrombehindthewheel-barrow,fortheexclusiveamusementoftheboywiththeleggings,whothereuponburstintoaboisterouslaugh,andwassummarilycuffedbythelonggamekeeper,whowantedapretextforturninground,tohidehisownmerriment.

           ‘Bravo,oldfellow!’saidWardletoMr.Tupman;‘youfiredthattime,atallevents.’

           ‘Oh,yes,’repliedMr.Tupman,withconsciouspride.‘Iletitoff.’

           ‘Welldone.You’llhitsomethingnexttime,ifyoulooksharp.Veryeasy,ain’tit?’

           ‘Yes,it’sveryeasy,’saidMr.Tupman.‘Howithurtsone’sshoulder,though.Itnearlyknockedmebackwards.Ihadnoideathesesmallfirearmskickedso.’

           ‘Ah,’saidtheoldgentleman,smiling,‘you’llgetusedtoitintime.Nowthenallreadyallrightwiththebarrowthere?’

           ‘Allright,Sir,’repliedMr.Weller.

           ‘Comealong,then.’

           ‘Holdhard,Sir,’saidSam,raisingthebarrow.

           ‘Aye,aye,’repliedMr.Pickwick;andontheywent,asbrisklyasneedbe.

           ‘Keepthatbarrowbacknow,’criedWardle,whenithadbeenhoistedoverastileintoanotherfield,andMr.Pickwickhadbeendepositedinitoncemore.

           ‘Allright,sir,’repliedMr.Weller,pausing.

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