‘That ’ere Tony is the blessedest boy,’ said Mr. Weller, heedless of this rebuff, ‘the blessedest boy as ever I see in my days! of all the charmin’est infants as ever I heerd tell on, includin’ them as was kivered over by the robin-redbreasts arter they’d committed sooicide with blackberries, there never wos any like that ’ere little Tony. He’s alvays a playin’ vith a quart pot, that boy is! To see him a settin’ down on the doorstep pretending to drink out of it, and fetching a long breath artervards, and smoking a bit of firevood, and sayin’, “Now I’m grandfather,”—to see him a doin’ that at two year old is better than any play as wos ever wrote. “Now I’m grandfather!” He wouldn’t take a pint pot if you wos to make him a present on it, but he gets his quart, and then he says, “Now I’m grandfather!”’
Mr. Weller was so overpowered by this picture that he straightway fell into a most alarming fit of coughing, which must certainly have been attended with some fatal result but for the dexterity and promptitude of Sam, who, taking a firm grasp of the shawl just under his father’s chin, shook him to and fro with great violence, at the same time administering some smart blows between his shoulders. By this curious mode of treatment Mr. Weller was finally recovered, but with a very crimson face, and in a state of great exhaustion.
‘He’ll do now, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, who had been in some alarm himself.
‘He’ll do, sir!’ cried Sam, looking reproachfully at his parent. ‘Yes, he will do one o’ these days,—he’ll do for his-self and then he’ll wish he hadn’t. Did anybody ever see sich a inconsiderate old file,—laughing into conwulsions afore company, and stamping on the floor as if he’d brought his own carpet vith him and wos under a wager to punch the pattern out in a given time? He’ll begin again in a minute. There—he’s a goin’ off—I said he would!’
In fact, Mr. Weller, whose mind was still running upon his precocious grandson, was seen to shake his head from side to side, while a laugh, working like an earthquake, below the surface, produced various extraordinary appearances in his face, chest, and shoulders,—the more alarming because unaccompanied by any noise whatever. These emotions, however, gradually subsided, and after three or four short relapses he wiped his eyes with the cuff of his coat, and looked about him with tolerable composure.
‘Afore the governor vith-draws,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘there is a pint, respecting vich Sammy has a qvestion to ask. Vile that qvestion is a perwadin’ this here conwersation, p’raps the genl’men vill permit me to re-tire.’
‘Wot are you goin’ away for?’ demanded Sam, seizing his father by the coat-tail.
‘I never see such a undootiful boy as you, Samivel,’ returned Mr. Weller. ‘Didn’t you make a solemn promise, amountin’ almost to a speeches o’ wow, that you’d put that ’ere qvestion on my account?’
‘Well, I’m agreeable to do it,’ said Sam, ‘but not if you go cuttin’ away like that, as the bull turned round and mildly observed to the drover ven they wos a goadin’ him into the butcher’s door. The fact is, sir,’ said Sam, addressing me, ‘that he wants to know somethin’ respectin’ that ’ere lady as is housekeeper here.’