“This is pleasant,” said Bob Sawyer, turning up his coat collar, and pulling the shawl over his mouth to concentrate the fumes of a glass of brandy just swallowed.
“Wery,” replied Sam, composedly.
“You don’t seem to mind it?” observed Bob.
“Vy, I don’t exactly see no good my mindin’ on it ’ud do, sir,” replied Sam.
“That’s an unanswerable reason, anyhow,” said Bob.
“Yes, sir,” rejoined Mr. Weller. “Wotever is, is right, as the young nobleman sveetly remarked ven they put him down in the pension list ’cos his mother’s uncle’s vife’s grandfather vunce lit the king’s pipe vith a portable tinder-box.”
“Not a bad notion that, Sam,” said Mr. Bob Sawyer, approvingly.
“Just wot the young nobleman said ev’ry quarter-day arterward for the rest of his life,” replied Mr. Weller.
“Wos you ever called in,” inquired Sam, glancing at the driver, after a short silence, and lowering his voice to a mysterious whisper, “wos you ever called in, ven you wos ’prentice to a sawbones, to wisit a postboy?”
“I don’t remember that I ever was,” replied Bob Sawyer.