“Perhaps he’d better come in here?” said Mrs. Bardell.
“To be sure,” replied Mrs. Cluppins, eagerly catching at the idea. “Walk in, young man; and shut the street door first, please.”
Mr. Weller immediately took the hint; and presenting himself in the parlour, explained his business to Mrs. Bardell thus:
“Wery sorry to ’casion any personal inconwenience, ma’am, as the housebreaker said to the old lady when he put her on the fire; but as me and my governor’s jest come to town, and is jest going away again, it can’t be helped, you see.”
“Of course the young man can’t help the faults of his master,” said Mrs. Cluppins, much struck by Mr. Weller’s appearance and conversation.
“Certainly not,” chimed in Mrs. Sanders, who, from certain wistful glances at the little tin saucepan, seemed to be engaged in a mental calculation of the probable extent of the pettitoes, in the event of Sam’s being asked to stop to supper.
“So all I’ve come about, is jest this here,” said Sam, disregarding the interruption: “First, to give my governor’s notice—there it is. Secondly, to pay the rent—here it is. Thirdly, to say as all his things is to be put together, and give to anybody as we sends for ’em. Fourthly, that you may let the place as soon as you like—and that’s all.”
“Whatever has happened,” said Mrs. Bardell, “I always have said, and always will say, that in every respect but one, Mr. Pickwick has always behaved himself like a perfect gentleman. His money always was as good as the bank: always.”
As Mrs. Bardell said this, she applied her handkerchief to her eyes, and went out of the room to get the receipt.
Sam well knew that he had only to remain quiet, and the women were sure to talk; so he looked alternately at the tin saucepan, the toasted cheese, the wall, and the ceiling, in profound silence.