“Do you hear this here?” said Sam. “Lady wants to know vether nothin’ ’ull do you good.”
“Wery much indebted to Mrs. Weller for her po-lite inquiries, Sammy,” replied the old gentleman. “I think a pipe vould benefit me a good deal. Could I be accommodated, Sammy?”
Here Mrs. Weller let fall some more tears, and Mr. Stiggins groaned.
“Hallo! Here’s this unfort’nate gen’l’m’n took ill agin,” said Sam, looking round. “Vere do you feel it now, sir?”
“In the same place, young man,” rejoined Mr. Stiggins: “in the same place.”
“Vere may that be, sir?” inquired Sam, with great outward simplicity.
“In the buzzim, young man,” replied Mr. Stiggins, placing his umbrella on his waistcoat.
At this affecting reply, Mrs. Weller, being wholly unable to suppress her feelings, sobbed aloud, and stated her conviction that the red-nosed man was a saint; whereupon Mr. Weller senior ventured to suggest, in an undertone, that he must be the representative of the united parishes of St. Simon Without and St. Walker Within.
“I’m afeerd, mum,” said Sam, “that this here gen’l’m’n, with the twist in his countenance, feels rayther thirsty, with the melancholy spectacle afore him. Is it the case, mum?”