“Keep quiet, do,” said Sam, “there never vos such a old picter-card born. What are you bustin’ vith, now?”
“Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, wiping his forehead, “I’m afeerd that vun o’ these days I shall laugh myself into a appleplexy, my boy.”
“Vell then, wot do you do it for?” said Sam. “Now; wot have you got to say?”
“Who do you think’s come here with me, Samivel?” said Mr. Weller, drawing back a pace or two, pursing up his mouth, and extending his eyebrows.
“Pell?” said Sam.
Mr. Weller shook his head, and his red cheek expanded with the laughter that was endeavouring to find a vent.
“Mottled-faced man, p’r’aps?” suggested Sam.
Again Mr. Weller shook his head.
“Who then?” asked Sam.
“Your mother-in-law,” said Mr. Weller; and it was lucky he did say it, or his cheeks must inevitably have cracked from their most unnatural distension.