“No, no,” said Mr. Trotter, in conclusion, “that’s not to be told to everybody. That is a secret—a great secret, Mr. Walker.”
As the mulberry man said this, he turned his glass upside down, as a means of reminding his companion that he had nothing left wherewith to slake his thirst. Sam observed the hint; and feeling the delicate manner in which it was conveyed, ordered the pewter vessel to be refilled, whereat the small eyes of the mulberry man glistened.
“And so it’s a secret?” said Sam.
“I should rather suspect it was,” said the mulberry man, sipping his liquor, with a complacent face.
“I suppose your mas’r’s wery rich?” said Sam.
Mr. Trotter smiled, and holding his glass in his left hand, gave four distinct slaps on the pocket of his mulberry indescribables with his right, as if to intimate that his master might have done the same without alarming anybody much by the chinking of coin.
“Ah,” said Sam, “that’s the game, is it?”
The mulberry man nodded significantly.
“Well, and don’t you think, old feller,” remonstrated Mr. Weller, “that if you let your master take in this here young lady, you’re a precious rascal?”