“Now, Betsy,” said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with great suavity, and dispersing, at the same time, the tumultuous little mob of glasses that the girl had collected in the center of the table; “Now, Betsy, the warm water; be brisk, there’s a good girl.”

“You can’t have no warm water,” replied Betsy.

“No warm water!” exclaimed Mr. Bob Sawyer.

“No,” said the girl, with a shake of the head which expressed a more decided negative than the most copious language could have conveyed.  “Missis Raddle said you wasn’t to have none.”

The surprise depicted on the countenances of his guests imparted new courage to the host.

“Bring up the warm water instantly—­instantly!” said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with desperate sternness.

“No; I can’t,” replied the girl.  “Missis Raddle raked out the kitchen fire afore she went to bed, and locked up the kettle.”

“O, never mind, never mind.  Pray don’t disturb yourself about such a trifle,” said Mr. Pickwick, observing the conflict of Bob Sawyer’s passions, as depicted on his countenance, “cold water will do very well.”

“O, admirably,” said Mr. Benjamin Allen.

“My landlady is subject to slight attacks of mental derangement,” remarked Bob Sawyer, with a ghastly smile; “I fear I must give her warning.”

“No, don’t,” said Ben Allen.

“I fear I must,” said Bob, with heroic firmness.  “I’ll pay her what I owe her and give her warning to-morrow morning.”

Poor fellow!  How devoutly he wished he could!...It was at the end of the chorus to the first verse that Mr. Pickwick held up his hand in a listening attitude, and said, as soon as silence was restored, “Hush!  I beg your pardon.  I thought I heard somebody calling from up-stairs.”

A profound silence immediately ensued, and Mr. Bob Sawyer was observed to turn pale.

“I think I hear it now,” said Mr. Pickwick.  “Have the goodness to open the door.”

The door was no sooner opened than all doubt on the subject was removed.

“Mr. Sawyer—­Mr. Sawyer,” screamed a voice from the two-pair landing.

“It’s my landlady,” said Bob Sawyer, looking round him with great dismay.  “Yes, Mrs. Raddle.”

“What do you mean by this, Mr. Sawyer?” replied the voice, with great shrillness and rapidity of utterance. “’Aint it enough to be swindled out of one’s rent, and money lent out of pocket besides, and abused and insulted by your friends that dares to call themselves men, without having the house turned out of window, and noise enough made to bring the fire-engines here at two o’clock in the morning?  Turn them wretches away.”

“You ought to be ashamed of yourselves,” said the voice of Mr. Raddle, which appeared to proceed from beneath some distant bed-clothes.

“Ashamed of themselves!” said Mrs. Raddle.  “Why don’t you go down and knock ’em every one down-stairs?  You would, if you was a man.”