The barber declared that Mr. Weller had related one of the most interesting stories that had ever come within his knowledge, in which opinion the housekeeper entirely concurred.
‘Are you a married man, sir?’ inquired Sam.
The barber replied that he had not that honour.
‘I s’pose you mean to be?’ said Sam.
‘Well,’ replied the barber, rubbing his hands smirkingly, ‘I don’t know, I don’t think it’s very likely.’
‘That’s a bad sign,’ said Sam; ‘if you’d said you meant to be vun o’ these days, I should ha’ looked upon you as bein’ safe. You’re in a wery precarious state.’
‘I am not conscious of any danger, at all events,’ returned the barber.
‘No more wos I, sir,’ said the elder Mr. Weller, interposing; ‘those vere my symptoms, exactly. I’ve been took that vay twice. Keep your vether eye open, my friend, or you’re gone.’
There was something so very solemn about this admonition, both in its matter and manner, and also in the way in which Mr. Weller still kept his eye fixed upon the unsuspecting victim, that nobody cared to speak for some little time, and might not have cared to do so for some time longer, if the housekeeper had not happened to sigh, which called off the old gentleman’s attention and gave rise to a gallant inquiry whether ‘there wos anythin’ wery piercin’ in that ’ere little heart?’
‘Dear me, Mr. Weller!’ said the housekeeper, laughing.