“I know that,” said Job Trotter, turning upon his companion a countenance of deep contrition, and groaning slightly. “I know that, and that’s what it is that preys upon my mind. But what am I to do?”
“Do!” said Sam; “di-wulge to the missis, and give up your master.”
“Who’d believe me?” replied Job Trotter. “The young lady’s considered the very picture of innocence and discretion. She’d deny it, and so would my master. Who’d believe me? I should lose my place, and get indicted for a conspiracy, or some such thing; that’s all I should take by my motion.”
“There’s somethin’ in that,” said Sam, ruminating; “there’s somethin’ in that.”
“If I knew any respectable gentleman who would take the matter up,” continued Mr. Trotter, “I might have some hope of preventing the elopement; but there’s the same difficulty, Mr. Walker, just the same. I know no gentleman in this strange place, and ten to one if I did, whether he would believe my story.”
“Come this way,” said Sam, suddenly jumping up, and grasping the mulberry man by the arm. “My mas’r’s the man you want, I see.” And after a slight resistance on the part of Job Trotter, Sam led his newly-found friend to the apartment of Mr. Pickwick, to whom he presented him, together with a brief summary of the dialogue we have just repeated.
“I am very sorry to betray my master, sir,” said Job Trotter, applying to his eyes a pink checked pocket-handkerchief about six inches square.
“The feeling does you a great deal of honour,” replied Mr. Pickwick; “but it is your duty, nevertheless.”
“I know it is my duty, sir,” replied Job, with great emotion. “We should all try to discharge our duty, sir, and I humbly endeavour to discharge mine, sir; but it is a hard trial to betray a master, sir, whose clothes you wear, and whose bread you eat, even though he is a scoundrel, sir.”
“You are a very good fellow,” said Mr. Pickwick, much affected, “an honest fellow.”