This threat was such an awful one, and Mr. Weller, besides appearing fully resolved to carry it into execution, seemed so deeply mortified by Mr. Pickwick’s refusal, that that gentleman, after a short reflection, said—
‘Well, well, Mr. Weller, I will keep your money. I can do more good with it, perhaps, than you can.’
‘Just the wery thing, to be sure,’ said Mr. Weller, brightening up; ‘o’ course you can, sir.’
‘Say no more about it,’ said Mr. Pickwick, locking the pocket-book in his desk; ‘I am heartily obliged to you, my good friend. Now sit down again. I want to ask your advice.’
The internal laughter occasioned by the triumphant success of his visit, which had convulsed not only Mr. Weller’s face, but his arms, legs, and body also, during the locking up of the pocket-book, suddenly gave place to the most dignified gravity as he heard these words.
‘Wait outside a few minutes, Sam, will you?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
Sam immediately withdrew.
Mr. Weller looked uncommonly wise and very much amazed, when Mr. Pickwick opened the discourse by saying—
‘You are not an advocate for matrimony, I think, Mr. Weller?’
Mr. Weller shook his head. He was wholly unable to speak; vague thoughts of some wicked widow having been successful in her designs on Mr. Pickwick, choked his utterance.