 executing it
in a satisfactory manner, were by no means lessened by the voluntary
companionship of Mr. Bob Sawyer. Truth to tell, Mr. Pickwick felt that his
presence on the occasion, however considerate and gratifying, was by no means an
honour he would willingly have sought; in fact, he would cheerfully have given a
reasonable sum of money to have had Mr. Bob Sawyer removed to any place at not
less than fifty miles' distance, without delay.
    Mr. Pickwick had never held any personal communication with Mr. Winkle,
senior, although he had once or twice corresponded with him by letter, and
returned satisfactory answers to his inquiries concerning the moral character
and behaviour of his son; he felt nervously sensible that to wait upon him, for
the first time, attended by Bob Sawyer and Ben Allen, both slightly fuddled, was
not the most ingenious and likely means that could have been hit upon to
prepossess him in his favour.
    »However,« said Mr. Pickwick, endeavouring to re-assure himself, »I must do
the best I can. I must see him to-night, for I faithfully promised to do so. If
they persist in accompanying me, I must make the interview as brief as possible,
and be content to hope that, for their own sakes, they will not expose
themselves.«
    As he comforted himself with these reflections, the chaise stopped at the
door of the Old Royal. Ben Allen having been partially awakened from a
stupendous sleep, and dragged out by the collar by Mr. Samuel Weller, Mr.
Pickwick was enabled to alight. They were shown to a comfortable apartment, and
Mr. Pickwick at once propounded a question to the waiter concerning the
whereabout of Mr. Winkle's residence.
    »Close by, sir,« said the waiter, »not above five hundred yards, sir. Mr.
Winkle is a wharfinger, sir, at the canal, sir. Private residence is not - oh
dear no, sir, not five hundred yards, sir.« Here the waiter blew a candle out,
and made a feint of lighting it again, in order to afford Mr. Pickwick an
opportunity of asking any further questions, if he felt so disposed.
    »Take anything now, sir?« said the waiter, lighting the candle in
desperation at Mr. Pickwick's silence. »Tea or coffee, sir? Dinner, sir?«
    »Nothing now.«
    »Very good, sir. Like to order supper, sir?«
    »Not just now.«
    »Very good, sir
