“My good fellow,” said Mr. Winkle, extending his hand; his teeth chattering all the time he spoke, for he had been standing, during the whole of Mr. Weller’s lecture, in his night-gear; “my good fellow, I respect your attachment to my excellent friend, and I am very sorry indeed, to have added to his causes for disquiet. There, Sam, there!”
“Well,” said Sam, rather sulkily, but giving the proffered hand a respectful shake at the same time: “well, so you ought to be, and I am very glad to find you air; for, if I can help it, I won’t have him put upon by nobody, and that’s all about it.”
“Certainly not, Sam,” said Mr. Winkle. “There! Now go to bed, Sam, and we’ll talk further about this in the morning.”
“I’m wery sorry,” said Sam, “but I can’t go to bed.”
“Not go to bed!” repeated Mr. Winkle.
“No,” said Sam, shaking his head. “Can’t be done.”
“You don’t mean to say you’re going back to-night, Sam?” urged Mr. Winkle, greatly surprised.
“Not unless you particklerly wish it,” replied Sam; “but mustn’t leave this here room. The governor’s orders was peremptory.”
“Nonsense, Sam,” said Mr. Winkle, “I must stop here two or three days; and more than that, Sam, you must stop here too, to assist me in gaining an interview with a young lady—Miss Allen, Sam; you remember her—whom I must and will see before I leave Bristol.”
But in reply to each of these positions, Sam shook his head with great firmness, and energetically replied, “It can’t be done.”