‘ Old who?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘ Old Fireworks, Sir; by which, I’ve no doubt, they meant you, Sir.’
There is nothing positively vile or atrocious in the appellation of ‘old Fireworks,’ but still it is by no means a respectful or flattering designation. The recollection of all the wrongs he had sustained at Jingle’s hands, had crowded on Mr. Pickwick’s mind, the moment Mr. Weller began to speak; it wanted but a feather to turn the scale, and ‘old Fireworks’ did it.
‘ I’ll follow him,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with an emphatic blow on the table.
‘ I shall work down to Ipswich the day arter to-morrow, Sir,’ said Mr. Weller the elder, ‘from the Bull in Whitechapel; and if you really mean to go, you’d better go with me.’
‘ So we had,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘very true; I can write to Bury, and
