‘The fact is, my young friend,’ said Mr. Stiggins solemnly, ‘he has an obderrate bosom. Oh, my young friend, who else could have resisted the pleading of sixteen of our fairest sisters, and withstood their exhortations to subscribe to our noble society for providing the infant negroes in the West Indies with flannel waistcoats and moral pocket-handkerchiefs?’
‘What’s a moral pocket-ankercher?’ said Sam; ‘I never see one o’ them articles o’ furniter.’
‘Those which combine amusement With instruction, my young friend,’ replied Mr. Stiggins, ‘blending select tales with wood-cuts.’
‘Oh, I know,’ said Sam; ‘them as hangs up in the linen-drapers’ shops, with beggars’ petitions and all that ‘ere upon ‘em?’
Mr. Stiggins began a third round of toast, and nodded assent.
‘And he wouldn’t be persuaded by the ladies, wouldn’t he?’ said Sam.
‘Sat and smoked his pipe, and said the infant negroes were—what did he say the infant negroes were?’ said Mrs. Weller.
‘Little humbugs,’ replied Mr. Stiggins, deeply affected.
‘Said the infant negroes were little humbugs,’ repeated Mrs. Weller. And they both groaned at the atrocious conduct of the elder Mr. Weller.
A great many more iniquities of a similar nature might have been disclosed, only the toast being all eaten, the tea having got very weak, and Sam holding out no indications of meaning to go, Mr. Stiggins suddenly recollected that he had a most pressing appointment with the shepherd, and took himself off accordingly.