“You ain’t got nothin’ on your mind, as makes you fret yourself, have you?” inquired Sam.
“Not as I knows on,” replied the boy.
“I should rayther ha’ thought, to look at you, that you was a labourin’ under an unrequited attachment to some young ’ooman,” said Sam.
The fat boy shook his head.
“Vell,” said Sam, “I’m glad to hear it. Do you ever drink anythin’?”
“I likes eating, better,” replied the boy.
“Ah,” said Sam, “I should ha’ s’posed that; but what I mean is, should you like a drop of anythin’ as’d warm you? but I s’pose you never was cold, with all them elastic fixtures, was you?”
“Sometimes,” replied the boy; “and I likes a drop of something, when it’s good.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” said Sam, “come this vay, then.”
The Blue Lion tap was soon gained, and the fat boy swallowed a glass of liquor without so much as winking,—a feat which considerably advanced him in Mr. Weller’s good opinion. Mr. Weller having transacted a similar piece of business on his own account, they got into the cart.