第244章

Mr.Weller, being stout, cast himself at once into the crowd, with the desperate hope of ultimately turning up in some place which would suit him.His success was not quite equal to his expectations; for having neglected to take his hat off, it was knocked over his eyes by some unseen person, upon whose toes he had alighted with considerable force.Apparently, this individual regretted his impetuosity immediately afterwards; for, muttering an indistinct exclamation of surprise, he dragged the old man out into the hall, and, after a violent struggle, released his head and face.

"Samivel!" exclaimed Mr.Weller, when he was thus enabled to behold his rescuer.

"Sam nodded.

"You're a dutiful and affectionate little boy, you are, ain't you?"said Mr.Weller, "to come a bonnetin' your father in his old age?""How should I know who you wos?" responded the son."Do you s'pose Iwos to tell you by the weight o' your foot?""Vell, that's wery true, Sammy," replied Mr.Weller, mollified at once;"but wot are you a doin' on here? Your gov'nor can't do no good here, Sammy.

They won't pass that werdick, they won't pass it, Sammy." And Mr.Weller shook his head, with legal solemnity.

"Wot a perwerse old file it is!" exclaimed Sam, "alvays a goin' on about werdicks and alleybis, and that.Who said anything about the werdick?"Mr.Weller made no reply, but once more shook his head most learnedly.

"Leave off rattlin' that 'ere nob o' yourn, if you don't want it to come off the springs altogether," said Sam impatiently, "and behave reasonable.

I vent all the vay down to the Markis o' Granby, arter you, last night.""Did you see the Marchioness o' Granby, Sammy?" inquired Mr.Weller, with a sigh.

"Yes, I, did," replied Sam.

"How wos the dear creetur a lookin'?"

"Wery queer," said Sam, "I think she's a injurin' herself gradivally vith too much o' that 'ere pine-apple rum, and other strong medicines o'

the same natur."

"You don't mean that, Sammy?" said the senior, earnestly.

"I do, indeed," replied the junior.

Mr.Weller seized his son's hand, clasped it, and let it fall.There was an expression on his countenance in doing so--not of dismay or apprehension, but partaking more of the sweet and gentle character of hope.A gleam of resignation, and even of cheerfulness, passed over his face too, as he slowly said, "I ain't quite certain, Sammy; I wouldn't like to say I wos altogether positive, in case of any subsekent disappintment, but I rayther think, my boy, I rayther think, that the shepherd's got the liver complaint!""Does he look bad?" inquired Sam.

"He's uncommon pale," replied his father, "'cept about the nose, wich is redder than ever.His appetite is wery so-so, but he imbibes wunderful."Some thoughts of the rum appeared to obtrude themselves on Mr.Weller's mind, as he said this; for he looked gloomy and thoughtful; but he very shortly recovered, as was testified by a perfect alphabet of winks, in which he was only wont to indulge when particularly pleased.

"Vell, now," said Sam, "about my affair.Just open them ears o' yourn, and don't say nothin' till I've done." With this brief preface, Sam related, as succinctly as he could, the last memorable conversation he had had with Mr.Pickwick.

"Stop there by himself, poor creetur!" exclaimed the elder Mr.Weller, "without nobody to take his part! It can't be done, Samivel, it can't be done.""O' course it can't," asserted Sam: "I know'd that, afore I came.""Wy, they'll eat him up alive, Sammy," exclaimed Mr.Weller.

Sam nodded his concurrence in the opinion.

"He goes in rayther raw, Sammy," said Mr.Weller metaphorically, "and he'll come out, done so ex-ceedin' brown, that his most familiar friends won't know him.Roast pigeon's nothin' to it, Sammy."Again Sam Weller nodded.

"It oughtn't to be, Samivel," said Mr.Weller, gravely.

"It mustn't be," said Sam.

"Cert'nly not," said Mr.Weller.

"Vell now," said Sam, "you've been a prophecyin' away, wery fine, like a red-faced Nixon as the sixpenny books gives picters on.""Who wos he, Sammy?" inquired Mr.Weller.

"Never mind who he was," retorted Sam; "he warn't a coachman; that's enough for you.""I know'd a ostler o' that name," said Mr.Weller, musing.

"It warn't him," said Sam."This here gen'l'm'n was a prophet.""Wot's a prophet?" inquired Mr.Weller, looking sternly on his son.

"Wy, a man as tells what's a goin' to happen," replied Sam.

"I wish I'd know'd him, Sammy," said Mr.Weller."P'raps he might ha'

throw'd a small light on that 'ere liver complaint as we wos a speakin'

on, just now.Hows'ever, if he's dead, and ain't left the bisness to nobody, there's an end on it.Go on, Sammy," said Mr.Weller, with a sigh.

"Well," said Sam, "you've been a prophecyin' avay, about wot'll happen to the gov'nor if he's left alone.Don't you see any vay o' takin' care on him?""No, I don't, Sammy," said Mr.Weller, with a reflective visage.

"No vay at all?" inquired Sam.

"No vay," said Mr.Weller, "unless"--and a gleam of intelligence lighted up his countenance as he sunk his voice to a whisper, and applied his mouth to the ear of his offspring: "unless it is getting him out in a turn-up bedstead, unbeknown to the turnkeys, Sammy, or dressin' him up like a old 'ooman vith a green wail."Sam Weller received both of these suggestions with unexpected contempt, and again propounded his question.

"No," said the old gentleman; "if he von't let you stop there, I see no vay at all.It's no thoroughfare, Sammy, no thoroughfare.""Well, then, I'll tell you wot it is," said Sam, "I'll trouble you for the loan of five-and-twenty pound.""Wot good 'ull that do?" inquired Mr.Weller.

"Never mind," replied Sam."P'raps you may ask for it, five minits artervards;p'raps I may say I von't pay, and cut up rough.You von't think o' arrestin'