“He von’t begin, sir,” rejoined Mr. Weller; “he knows I ain’t ekal to ex-pressin’ myself ven there’s anythin’ partickler to be done, and yet he’ll stand and see me a settin’ here takin’ up your walable time, and makin’ a reg’lar spectacle o’ myself, rayther than help me out vith a syllable. It ain’t filial conduct, Samivel,” said Mr. Weller, wiping his forehead; “wery far from it.”
“You said you’d speak,” replied Sam; “how should I know you wos done up at the wery beginnin’?”
“You might ha’ seen I warn’t able to start,” rejoined his father; “I’m on the wrong side of the road, and backin’ into the palin’s, and all manner of unpleasantness, and yet you von’t put out a hand to help me. I’m ashamed on you, Samivel.”
“The fact is, sir,” said Sam, with a slight bow, “the gov’ner’s been a drawin’ his money.”
“Wery good, Samivel, wery good,” said Mr. Weller, nodding his head with a satisfied air, “I didn’t mean to speak harsh to you, Sammy. Wery good. That’s the vay to begin. Come to the pint at once. Wery good indeed, Samivel.”
Mr. Weller nodded his head an extraordinary number of times, in the excess of his gratification, and waited in a listening attitude for Sam to resume his statement.
“You may sit down, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, apprehending that the interview was likely to prove rather longer than he had expected.
Sam bowed again and sat down; his father looking round, he continued:
“The gov’ner, sir, has drawn out five hundred and thirty pound.”