“Now then, sir,” said Sam, in an encouraging tone; “off vith you, and show ’em how to do it.”
“Stop, Sam, stop!” said Mr. Winkle, trembling violently, and clutching hold of Sam’s arms with the grasp of a drowning man. “How slippery it is, Sam!”
“Not an uncommon thing upon ice, sir,” replied Mr. Weller. “Hold up, sir!”
This last observation of Mr. Weller’s bore reference to a demonstration Mr. Winkle made at the instant, of a frantic desire to throw his feet in the air, and dash the back of his head on the ice.
“These—these—are very awkward skates; ain’t they, Sam?” inquired Mr. Winkle, staggering.
“Now then, sir,” said Sam, “off vith you, and show ’em how to do it”
“I’m afeerd there’s a orkard gen’l’m’n in ’em, sir,” replied Sam.
“Now, Winkle,” cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious that there was anything the matter. “Come; the ladies are all anxiety.”