Here, a sharp peal at the bell, reduced the powdered-headed footman to the ignominious necessity of putting the fox’s head in his pocket, and hastening with a humble countenance to Mr. Bantam’s “study.” By-the-bye, who ever knew a man who never read, or wrote either, who hadn’t got some small back parlour which he would call a study?
“There is the answer, sir,” said the powdered-headed footman. “I am afraid you’ll find it inconveniently large.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Sam, taking a letter with a small enclosure. “It’s just possible as exhausted nature may manage to surwive it.”
“I hope we shall meet again, sir,” said the powdered-headed footman, rubbing his hands, and following Sam out to the door-step.
“You are wery obligin’, sir,” replied Sam. “Now, don’t allow yourself to be fatigued beyond your powers; there’s a amiable bein’. Consider what you owe to society, and don’t let yourself be injured by too much work. For the sake o’ your feller creeturs, keep yourself as quiet as you can; only think what a loss you would be!” With these pathetic words, Sam Weller departed.
“A very singular young man that,” said the powdered-headed footman, looking after Mr. Weller, with a countenance which clearly showed he could make nothing of him.
Sam said nothing at all. He winked, shook his head, smiled, winked again; and with an expression of countenance which seemed to denote that he was greatly amused with something or other, walked merrily away.
