Pickwick Abroad: A Companion to the Pickwick Papers — page 16: what you’re looking at

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't &. - 7 10 ~ £ “ ny friend the vaiter; ‘here is,some prime uns, and sure enow I seed some pertaties cut into slices, and kivered over vith butter and parsely, jist ready to sarve up.” “$i ingular !” said Mr. Pickwick, who had listened with deep attention to Mr. Weller’s recital ;—“ very singular ! _ tell you just now, Winkle ?” Mr. Winkle was about to reply, when * the entrance of the waiter and the luncheon nm attracted the attention of the three gentle- men to the repast which was now brought in—and which was to be the first that either had ever yet eaten of in France. “Dear me,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ why— this is a dinner !” “Dejeuner a la fourchette,” cried the waiter; and having ranged half-a-dozen dishes upon the table, he pr roceeded to draw the corks of three bottles of wine, and place them (the bottles, not the corks) upon the same convivial board. “ Meat-pie” said Mr. Pickwick, uncover- ing the dish opposite to him, and glancing curiously at a little fabric of paste standing in a very little piece of crockery-ware. Vol-au-vent aux grenouilles !” observed the waiter. “ Mutton-chops and vegetables,” cried Mr. Tupman, disencumbering his dish of its tegument. “ Cotelettes a la yardiniere,’ said the waiter. “ Hash and young lobsters,” exclaimed Mr. Winkle. “ Tete de veau a la tortue, et des ecrevisses,” chaunted the waiter in a sing-song tone of voice. “ Chopped cabbages,” said Mr. Weller, as he lifted up the cover of a dish containing spinage. “ And some o’ them identical per- taties,” continued Sam, disclosing the con- tents of another plate, “ consarning vich I vos hedificated just now. Kolliflour and melted butter isthe third—and a admirable display they air too. Good appetite, gen- lemen, as the skipper said to the sailors ven they vos short of perwisions, and he give ’em each a ounce 0’ salt-pork.” “This chicken-pie is excellent,” said Mr. Pickwick, helping himself a second time to the attractive dish before him :—“ I never tasted anything so tender. You really can eat the very bones !” “Indeed !” observed Mr. trouble you for a piece, then.” “With pleasure,” returned Mr. Pickwick. “ Tupman—try this dish of mine ?” Winkle; «Ti 4 PICKWICK ABROAD. But what did I. ' _— . P Cy + rr don’t care if I do,” said Mr. Tupman and having been copiously helped, he as liberally indulged himself in the consump- tion of the delicate food. “ Winkle, aliglass'of wine,” said Mr. Pick- wick. “With pleasure,” said Mr. Winkle; ; pte the Burgundy was accor dingly poured oR | and drank. « Blder-wine—is it not?” Oe - Mr. Pickwick, emptying. his glass, and smacking" his lips with a peculiar relish. “Bur gundy, sir,” said the rie best. Burgundy.” “T was just going to tell you. SO,’ Ob. served Mr. Winkle ; “and a very ge ittent glass of wine it 1s.” In the meantime Mr. Pickwick had helped himself a third time to the pie before him, and was about to commence a vigorous at- 4. tack thereon, when his attention was sud © deuly attracted to Mr. Tupman, whose , features were screwed up in a most extra- ordinary manner, and seemed to indicate | every appearance of a desire to vomit on the part of that gentleman. “Tupman—are you ill?” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, laying down his: knife and for! ‘and helping himself to a glass of wine ina momentary fit of absence caused by the alarming situation of his friend. _ “Pray, don’t be sick, Tupman—now, don’t, there’s a good fellow,” cried Mr. Win- kle, in amiable commisseration of that a. tleman’s indis aden Se te . groaned Mr. Tupman, retching most ‘frightfally, while the tears ran down his cheeks. “ Waiter!” said Mr. Pickwick in an angry tone of voice: then, fearful that his rising choler might overcome the equanimity of his temper, he tossed off the wine he had poured out in order to allow himself time for reflection. “Yes—sir,” said the waiter, stepping forward from the side-table where he was ‘stationed. “What is in that pie, waiter?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. “Yes—what is in it?” demanded te Winkle, menacingly. “In mercy, waiter—what was it eae of?” murmured Mr. Tupman, whose face was now ghastly pale. “Made of, sir ?” repeated the waiter. “Yes—made of,” cried Mr. Winkle, very angrily, and in a tone which seemed to assure ae ng the waiter that he would not be trifled with . | boo Goim CS (E(0)