‘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!’
‘Don’t call me Valker; my name’s 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 s’pose?’ 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 didn’t catch cold, that dreadful night, Sir.’