‘Come on,’ said Sam; ‘come on!’ He deigned no further explanation till they reached the tap, and then called for a pot of porter, which was speedily produced.
‘Now,’ said Sam, ‘drink that up, ev’ry drop on it, and then turn the pot upside down, to let me see as you’ve took the medicine.’
‘But, my dear Mr. Weller,’ remonstrated Job.
‘Down vith it!’ said Sam peremptorily.
Thus admonished, Mr. Trotter raised the pot to his lips, and, by gentle and almost imperceptible degrees, tilted it into the air. He paused once, and only once, to draw a long breath, but without raising his face from the vessel, which, in a few moments thereafter, he held out at arm’s length, bottom upward. Nothing fell upon the ground but a few particles of froth, which slowly detached themselves from the rim, and trickled lazily down.
‘Well done!’ said Sam. ‘How do you find yourself arter it?’
‘Better, Sir. I think I am better,’ responded Job.
‘O’ course you air,’ said Sam argumentatively. ‘It’s like puttin’ gas in a balloon. I can see with the naked eye that you gets stouter under the operation. Wot do you say to another o’ the same dimensions?’
‘I would rather not, I am much obliged to you, Sir,’ replied Job—‘much rather not.’
‘Vell, then, wot do you say to some wittles?’ inquired Sam.