“And I’d give him somethin’ as ’ud turpentine and bees’-vax his memory for the next ten year or so, if I wos you,” interposed Sam.
“Stop a minute,” said Mr. Weller; “I wos a going to say, he always brings now, a flat bottle as holds about a pint and a half and fills it vith the pine-apple rum afore he goes avay.”
“And empties it afore he comes back, I s’pose?” said Sam.
“Clean!” replied Mr. Weller; “never leaves nothin’ in it but the cork and the smell; trust him for that, Sammy. Now, these here fellows, my boy, are a goin’ to-night to get up the monthly meetin’ o’ the Brick Lane Branch o’ the United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association. Your mother-in-law wos a goin’, Sammy, but she’s got the rheumatics, and can’t; and I, Sammy—I’ve got the two tickets as wos sent her.” Mr. Weller communicated his secret with great glee, and winked so indefatigably after doing so, that Sam began to think he must have got the tic doloureux in his right eye-lid.
“Well?” said that young gentleman.
“Well,” continued his progenitor, looking round him very cautiously, “you and I’ll go, punctival to the time. The deputy shepherd won’t, Sammy; the deputy shepherd won’t.” Here Mr. Weller was seized with a paroxysm of chuckles, which gradually terminated in as near an approach to a choke as an elderly gentleman can, with safety, sustain.
“Well, I never see sitch an old ghost in all my born days,” exclaimed Sam, rubbing the old gentleman’s back, hard enough to set him on fire with friction. “What are you a laughin’ at, corpilence?”
“Hush! Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, looking round him with increased caution, and speaking in a whisper: “Two friends o’ mine, as works the Oxford Road, and is up to all kinds o’ games, has got the deputy shepherd safe in tow, Sammy; and ven he does come to the Ebenezer Junction (vich he’s sure to do: for they’ll see him to the door, and shove him in if necessary), he’ll be as far gone in rum and water, as ever he wos at the Markis o’ Granby, Dorkin’, and that’s not sayin’ a little neither.” And with this, Mr. Weller once more laughed immoderately, and once more relapsed into a state of partial suffocation, in consequence.
Nothing could have been more in accordance with Sam Weller’s feelings, than the projected exposure of the real propensities and qualities of the red-nosed man; and it being very near the appointed hour of meeting, the father and son took their way at once to Brick Lane: Sam not forgetting to drop his letter into a general post-office as they walked along.