Take what? In the ordinary acceptation of such language, it should have been a blow. As the world runs, it ought to have been a sound, hearty cuff; for Mr. Pickwick had been duped, deceived, and wronged by the destitute outcast who was now wholly in his power. Must we tell the truth? It was something from Mr. Pickwick’s waistcoat-pocket, which chinked as it was given into Job’s hand, and the giving of which, somehow or other, imparted a sparkle to the eye, and a swelling to the heart, of our excellent old friend, as he hurried away.
Sam had returned when Mr. Pickwick reached his own room, and was inspecting the arrangements that had been made for his comfort, with a kind of grim satisfaction which was very pleasant to look upon. Having a decided objection to his master’s being there at all, Mr. Weller appeared to consider it a high moral duty not to appear too much pleased with anything that was done, said, suggested, or proposed.
“Well, Sam?” said Mr. Pickwick.
“Well, sir?” replied Mr. Weller.
“Pretty comfortable now, eh, Sam?”
“Pretty vell, sir,” responded Sam, looking round him in a disparaging manner.
“Have you seen Mr. Tupman and our other friends?”
“Yes, I have seen ’em, sir, and they’re a comin’ to-morrow, and wos wery much surprised to hear they warn’t to come to-day,” replied Sam.
“You have brought the things I wanted?”
Mr. Weller in reply pointed to various packages which he had arranged, as neatly as he could, in a corner of the room.