“Reduced counsels,” interposed Mr. Weller senior, in an undertone.
“It don’t much matter vether it’s reduced counsels, or wot not,” said Sam; “five hundred and thirty pound is the sum, ain’t it?”
“All right, Samivel,” replied Mr. Weller.
“To vich sum, he has added for the house and bis’ness——”
“Lease, good-vill, stock, and fixters,” interposed Mr. Weller.
—“As much as makes it,” continued Sam, “altogether, eleven hundred and eighty pound.”
“Indeed!” said Mr. Pickwick. “I am delighted to hear it. I congratulate you, Mr. Weller, on having done so well.”
“Vait a minit, sir,” said Mr. Weller, raising his hand in a deprecatory manner. “Get on, Samivel.”
“This here money,” said Sam, with a little hesitation, “he’s anxious to put someveres, vere he knows it’ll be safe, and I’m wery anxious too, for if he keeps it, he’ll go a lendin’ it to somebody, or inwestin’ property in horses, or droppin’ his pocket-book down a airy, or makin’ a Egyptian mummy of his-self in some vay or another.”
“Wery good, Samivel,” observed Mr. Weller, in as complacent a manner as if Sam had been passing the highest eulogiums on his prudence and foresight. “Wery good.”