Page:The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.djvu/306

240 '240 "OSTHUNfOUS PAPERS OF

nonsense. Yon ain't' so vvery 'ansome that you can afford to throw avay many o' your good looks. Bring- them 'ere eyes o' your'n back into their proper places, or I'll knock 'em out of your head. Dy'e hear ? "

As Mr. Weller appeared fully disposed to act up to the spirit of this address, Mr. Trotter gradually allowed his face to resume its natural expression ; and then giving a start of joy, exclaimed, '^ What do I see ? Mr. Walker ! "

''Ah," replied Sam—" You're wery glad to see me, ain't you?" "Glad!" exclaimed Job Trotter—" Oh, Mr. Walker, if you had but known how I have looked forward to this meeting ! It is too much, Mr. Walker ; I cannot bear it, indeed I cannot." And with these words, Mr. Trotter burst into a regular inundation of tears, and, flinging his arms round those of Mr. Weller, embraced him closely, in an ecstacy of joy.

" Get off," cried Sam, highly indignant at this process, and vainly endeavouring to extricate himself from the grasp of his enthusiastic acquaintance — " Get off, I tell you. What are you crying over me for, you portable ingine?"

" Because I am so glad to see you," replied Job Trotter, gradually releasing Mr. Weller, as the first symptoms of his pugnacity disappeared.
 * ' Oh, Mr. Walker, this is too much."

" Too much !" echoed Sam, " I think it is too much — rayther. Now what have you got to say to me, eh ? "

Mr. Trotter made no reply ; for the little pink pocket handkerchief was in full force.

" What have you got to say to me, afore I knock your head off? repeated Mr. Vv^eller, in a threatening manner.

" Eh !" said Mr. Trotter, with a look of virtuous surprise. '* What have you got to say to me?" « I, Mr. W'alker!"

" Don't call me Valker ; my name's Veller ; you know that veil enough. What have you got to say to me?"

" Bless you, Mr. Walker — W^eller I mean — a great many things, if you will come away somewhere, vv'he"e we can talk comfortably. If you knew how I have looked for you, Mr. Weller — " " Wery hard, indeed, Is'pose?" said Sam, drily. " Very, very. Sir," replied Mr. Trotter, without moving a muscle of his face. '* But shake hands, Mr. Weller."

Sam eyed his companion for a few seconds, and then, as if actuated by d sudden impulse, complied with his request.

" How," said Job Trotter, as they walked away — " How is your dear, good master? Oh, he is a worthy gentleman, Mr. Weller. I hope he didn't catch cold, that dreadful night, Sir."

There was a momentary look of deep slyness in Job Trotter's eye, as he said this, which ran a thrill through Mr. Weller's clenched fist as he burnt with a desire to make a demonstration on his ribs. Sam constrained himself, however, and replied that his master was extremely well.