There was a momentary look of deep slyness in Job Trotter’s eye, as he said this, which ran a thrill through Mr. Weller’s 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.’