A Discovery and a Chase

           Thesupperwasreadylaid,thechairsweredrawnroundthetable,bottles,jugs,andglasseswerearrangeduponthesideboard,andeverythingbetokenedtheapproachofthemostconvivialperiodinthewholefour-and-twentyhours.

           ‘Where’sRachael?’saidMr.Wardle.

           ‘Ay,andJingle?’addedMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Dearme,’saidthehost,‘IwonderIhaven’tmissedhimbefore.Why,Idon’tthinkI’veheardhisvoicefortwohoursatleast.Emily,mydear,ringthebell.’

           Thebellwasrung,andthefatboyappeared.

           ‘Where’sMissRachael?’Hecouldn’tsay.‘Where’sMr.Jingle,then?’Hedidn’tknow.Everybodylookedsurprised.Itwaslatepasteleveno’clock.Mr.Tupmanlaughedinhissleeve.Theywereloiteringsomewhere,talkingabouthim.Ha,ha!capitalnotionthatfunny.

           ‘Nevermind,’saidWardle,afterashortpause.‘They’llturnuppresently,Idaresay.Ineverwaitsupperforanybody.’

           ‘Excellentrule,that,’saidMr.Pickwick—‘admirable.’

           ‘Pray,sitdown,’saidthehost.

           ‘Certainly’saidMr.Pickwick;anddowntheysat.

           Therewasagiganticroundofcoldbeefonthetable,andMr.Pickwickwassuppliedwithaplentifulportionofit.Hehadraisedhisforktohislips,andwasontheverypointofopeninghismouthforthereceptionofapieceofbeef,whenthehumofmanyvoicessuddenlyaroseinthekitchen.

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