Seeing that he was confused and agitated, and uncertain what to do, Mr. Pickwick cut the matter short by drawing the invalided stroller’s arm through his, and leading him away, without saying another word about it.
During the whole of this time the countenance of Mr. Samuel Weller had exhibited an expression of the most overwhelming and absorbing astonishment that the imagination can portray. After looking from Job to Jingle, and from Jingle to Job in profound silence, he softly ejaculated the words, ‘Well, I am damn’d!’ which he repeated at least a score of times; after which exertion, he appeared wholly bereft of speech, and again cast his eyes, first upon the one and then upon the other, in mute perplexity and bewilderment.
‘Now, Sam!’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking back.
‘I’m a-comin’, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, mechanically following his master; and still he lifted not his eyes from Mr. Job Trotter, who walked at his side in silence.
Job kept his eyes fixed on the ground for some time. Sam, with his glued to Job’s countenance, ran up against the people who were walking about, and fell over little children, and stumbled against steps and railings, without appearing at all sensible of it, until Job, looking stealthily up, said—
‘How do you do, Mr. Weller?’
‘It is him!’ exclaimed Sam; and having established Job’s identity beyond all doubt, he smote his leg, and vented his feelings in a long, shrill whistle.
‘Things has altered with me, sir,’ said Job.
‘I should think they had,’ exclaimed Mr. Weller, surveying his companion’s rags with undisguised wonder. ‘This is rayther a change for the worse, Mr. Trotter, as the gen’l’m’n said, wen he got two doubtful shillin’s and sixpenn’orth o’ pocket-pieces for a good half-crown.’
‘It is indeed,’ replied Job, shaking his head. ‘There is no deception now, Mr. Weller. Tears,’ said Job, with a look of momentary slyness—‘tears are not the only proofs of distress, nor the best ones.’