“You’d better not,” replied Sam.
Mr. Weller reflected for a short time, and then, buttoning up his coat with great determination, said:
“I’ll keep a pike.”
“Wot!” exclaimed Sam.
“A pike,” rejoined Mr. Weller, through his set teeth: “I’ll keep a pike. Say good-bye to your father, Samivel. I devote the remainder o’ my days to’ a pike.”
This threat was such an awful one, and Mr. Weller, besides appearing fully resolved to carry it into execution, seemed so deeply mortified by Mr. Pickwick’s refusal, that that gentleman after a short reflection, said:
“Well, well, Mr. Weller, I will keep the money. I can do more good with it, perhaps, than you can.”
“Just the wery thing, to be sure,” said Mr. Weller, brightening up; “o’ course you can, sir.”
“Say no more about it,” said Mr. Pickwick, locking the pocket-book in his desk; “I am heartily obliged to you, my good friend. Now sit down again. I want to ask your advice.”
The internal laughter occasioned by the triumphant success of his visit, which had convulsed not only Mr. Weller’s face, but his arms, legs, and body also, during the locking up of the pocket-book, suddenly gave place to the most dignified gravity as he heard these words.