“Ah,” said Sam, “I don’t wonder at it. What a comfort you must ha’ been to your blessed mother.”
At these words, Mr. Job Trotter inserted an end of the pink handkerchief into the corner of each eye, one after the other, and began to weep copiously.
“Wot’s the matter vith the man,” said Sam, indignantly. “Chelsea water-works is nothin’ to you. What are you melting vith now? The consciousness o’ willany?”
“I cannot keep my feelings down, Mr. Weller,” said Job, after a short pause. “To think that my master should have suspected the conversation I had with yours, and so dragged me away in a post-chaise, and after persuading the sweet young lady to say she knew nothing of him, and bribing the school-mistress to do the same, deserted her for a better speculation! Oh! Mr. Weller, it makes me shudder.”
“Oh, that was the vay, was it?” said Mr. Weller.
“To be sure it was,” replied Job.
“Vell,” said Sam, as they had now arrived near the Hotel, “I vant to have a little bit o’ talk with you, Job; so if you’re not partickler engaged, I should like to see you at the Great White Horse to-night, somewheres about eight o’clock.”
“I shall be sure to come,” said Job.
“Yes, you’d better,” replied Sam, with a very meaning look, “or else I shall perhaps be asking arter you, at the other side of the green gate, and then I might cut you out, you know.”
“I shall be sure to be with you, sir,” said Mr. Trotter; and wringing Sam’s hand with the utmost fervour, he walked away.