‘You must ha’ been wery nicely brought up,’ said Sam.
‘Oh, very, Mr. Weller, very,’ replied Job. At the recollection of the purity of his youthful days, Mr. Trotter pulled forth the pink handkerchief, and wept copiously.
‘You must ha’ been an uncommon nice boy, to go to school vith,’ said Sam.
‘I was, sir,’ replied Job, heaving a deep sigh; ‘I was the idol of the place.’
‘Ah,’ said Sam, ‘I don’t wonder at it. What a comfort you must ha’ been to your blessed mother.’
At these words, Mr. Job Trotter inserted an end of the pink handkerchief into the corner of each eye, one after the other, and began to weep copiously.
‘Wot’s the matter with the man,’ said Sam, indignantly. ‘Chelsea water-works is nothin’ to you. What are you melting vith now? The consciousness o’ willainy?’
‘I cannot keep my feelings down, Mr. Weller,’ said Job, after a short pause. ‘To think that my master should have suspected the conversation I had with yours, and so dragged me away in a post-chaise, and after persuading the sweet young lady to say she knew nothing of him, and bribing the school-mistress to do the same, deserted her for a better speculation! Oh! Mr. Weller, it makes me shudder.’
‘Oh, that was the vay, was it?’ said Mr. Weller.
‘To be sure it was,’ replied Job.