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The Pickwick Papers 155







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The Pickwick Papers

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Bring them ere eyes o yourn back into their proper places, or Ill knock em out of your head. Dye hear? As Mr. Weller appeared fully disposed to act up to the spirit of this address, Mr. Trotter gradually allowed his face to resume its natural expression; and then giving a start of joy, exclaimed, What do I see? Mr. Walker! Ah, replied Sam. Youre wery glad to see me, aint you? Glad! exclaimed Job Trotter; oh, Mr. Walker, if you had but known how I have looked forward to this meeting! It is too much, Mr. Walker; I cannot bear it, indeed I cannot. And with these words, Mr. Trotter burst into a regular inundation of tears, and, flinging his arms around those of Mr. Weller, embraced him closely, in an ecstasy of joy. Get off! cried Sam, indignant at this process, and vainly endeavouring to extricate himself from the grasp of his enthusiastic acquaintance. Get off, I tell you. What are you crying over me for, you portable engine? Because I am so glad to see you, replied Job Trotter, gradually releasing Mr. Weller, as the first symptoms of his pugnacity disappeared. Oh, Mr. Walker, this is too much. Too much! echoed Sam, I think it is too much--rayther! Now, what have you got to say to me, eh? Mr. Trotter made no reply; for the little pink pocket-handkerchief was in full force. What have you got to say to me, afore I knock your head off? repeated Mr. Weller, in a threatening manner. Eh! said Mr. Trotter, with a look of virtuous surprise. What have you got to say to me? I, Mr. Walker! Dont call me Valker; my names Veller; you know that vell enough. What have you got to say to me? Bless you, Mr. Walker--Weller, I mean--a great many things, if you will come away somewhere, where we can talk comfortably. If you knew how I have looked for you, Mr. Weller-- Wery hard, indeed, I spose? said Sam drily. Very, very, Sir, replied Mr. Trotter, without moving a muscle of his face. But shake hands, Mr. Weller. Sam eyed his companion for a few seconds, and then, as if actuated by a sudden impulse, complied with his request. How, said Job Trotter, as they walked away, how is your dear, good master? Oh, he is a worthy gentleman, Mr. Weller! I hope he didnt catch cold, that dreadful night, Sir. There was a momentary look of deep slyness in Job Trotters eye, as he said this, which ran a thrill through Mr. Wellers clenched fist, as he burned with a desire to make a demonstration on his ribs. Sam constrained himself, however, and replied that his master was extremely well. Oh, I am so glad, replied Mr. Trotter; is he here? Is yourn? asked Sam, by way of reply. Oh, yes, he is here, and I grieve to say, Mr. Weller, he is going on worse than ever. Ah, ah! said Sam. Oh, shocking--terrible! At a boarding-school? said Sam. No, not at a boarding-school, replied Job Trotter, with the same sly look which Sam had noticed before; not at a boarding-school. At the house with the green gate? said Sam, eyeing his companion closely. No, no--oh, not there, replied Job, with a quickness very unusual to him, not there. What was you a-doin there? asked Sam, with a sharp glance. Got inside the gate by accident, perhaps? Why, Mr. Weller, replied Job, I dont mind telling you my little secrets, because, you know, we took such a fancy for each other when we first met. You recollect how pleasant we were that morning? Oh, yes, said Sam, impatiently. I remember. Well? Well, replied Job, speaking with great precision, and in the low tone of a man who communicates an important secret; in that house with the green gate, Mr. Weller, they keep a good many servants. So I should think, from the look on it, interposed Sam. Yes, continued Mr. Trotter, and one of them is a cook, who has saved up a little money, Mr. Weller, and is desirous, if she can establish herself in life, to open a little shop in the chandlery way, you see. Yes. Yes, Mr. Weller. Well, Sir, I met her at a chapel that I go to; a very neat little chapel in this town, Mr. Weller, where they sing the number four collection of hymns, which I generally carry about with me, in a little book, which you may perhaps have seen in my hand--and I got a little intimate with her,

The Pickwick Papers page 154        The Pickwick Papers page 156