After a great many jokes about squeezing the ladies' sleeves, and a vast quantity of blushing at sundry jocose proposals, that the ladies should sit in the gentlemen's laps, the whole party were stowed down in the barouche; and the stout gentleman proceeded to hand the things from the fat boy (who had mounted up behind for the purpose) into the carriage.
'Now, Joe, knives and forks.' The knives and forks were handed in, and the ladies and gentlemen inside, and Mr.Winkle on the box, were each furnished with those useful instruments.
'Plates, Joe, plates.' A similar process employed in the distribution of the crockery.
'Now, Joe, the fowls.

Damn that boy; he's gone to sleep again.

Joe! Joe!' (Sundry taps on the head with a stick, and the fat boy, with some difficulty, roused from his lethargy.) 'Come, hand in the eatables.' There was something in the sound of the last word which roused the unctuous boy.

He jumped up, and the leaden eyes which twinkled behind his mountainous cheeks leered horribly upon the food as he unpacked it from the basket.
'Now make haste,' said Mr.Wardle; for the fat boy was hanging fondly over a capon, which he seemed wholly unable to part with.

The boy sighed deeply, and, bestowing an ardent gaze upon its plumpness, unwillingly consigned it to his master.
'That's right--look sharp.