“And so your family has games in the kitchen to-night, my dear, has they?” inquired Sam of Emma.
“Yes, Mr. Weller,” replied Emma; “we always have on Christmas Eve. Master wouldn’t neglect to keep it up on any account.”
“Your master’s a wery pretty notion of keepin’ anythin’ up, my dear,” said Mr. Weller; “I never see such a sensible sort of man as he is, or such a reg’lar gen’l’m’n.”
“Oh, that he is!” said the fat boy, joining in the conversation; “don’t he breed nice pork!” The fat youth gave a semi-cannibalic leer at Mr. Weller, as he thought of the roast legs and gravy.
“Oh, you’ve woke up, at last, have you?” said Sam.
The fat boy nodded.
“I’ll tell you what it is, young boa-constructer,” said Mr. Weller, impressively; “if you don’t sleep a little less, and exercise a little more, ven you come to be a man you’ll lay yourself open to the same sort of personal inconwenience as was inflicted on the old gen’l’m’n as wore the pigtail.”
“What did they do to him?” inquired the fat boy, in a faltering voice.
“I’m a goin’ to tell you,” replied Mr. Weller; “he was one o’ the largest patterns as was ever turned out—reg’lar fat man, as hadn’t caught a glimpse of his own shoes for five-and-forty year.”