Page:The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.djvu/396

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his pace until he was close at Mr, Pickwick's heels ; and, pointing up at a house they were passing, said,


 * ' Wery nice pork-shop that 'ere. Sir."

" Yes, it seems so," said Mr. Pickwick.

" Celebrated Sassage factory," said Sara.

'* Is it ? " said Mr. Pickwick.

"Is it!" reiterated Sam with some indignation; "I should rayther think it was. Why sir, bless your innocent eyebrows, that's vere the mysterious disappearance of a respectable tradesman took place, four year ago."

" You don't mean to say he was burked, Sam ?" said Mr. Pickwick, looking hastily round.

than that. He was the master o' that 'ere shop, Sir, and the inwenter o* the patent-never-leavin-off sassage steam 'ingine, as ud swaller up a pavin' stone if you put it too near, and grind it into sassages as easy as if it was a tender young babby. Wery proud o' that machine he was, as it was nat'ral he should be ; and he'd stand down in the celler a lookin' at it, ven it was in full play, till he got quite melancholy with joy, A wery happy man he'd ha* been, Sir, in the procession o' that 'ere ingine and two more lovely hinfants besides, if it hadn't been for his wife, who was a most ow-dacious wixin. She was always a follerin' him about, and dinnin' in his ears 'till at last he couldn't stand it no longer, ' I'll tell you what it is, my dear,' he says one day ; ' If you persewere in this here sort of amusement,' he says, ' I'm blessed if I don't go away to 'Merriker ; and that's all about it.' ' You're a idle willin,' says she, ' and I wish the 'Merrikins joy of their bargin.' Arter vich she keeps on abusin' him for half an hour, and then runs into the little parlour behind the shop, sets to a screarain', says he'll be the death on her, and falls in a fit, which lasts for three good hours — one o' them fits which is all screamin' and kickin*. Well, next mornin', the husband was missin'. He hadn't taken nothin' from the till, — hadn't even put on his great coat, so it was quite clear he warn't gone to 'Merriker. Didn't come back next day, didn't come back next week ; the Missis had bills printed sayin' that, if he'd come back, he should be forgiven everything (which was very liberal, seein' that he hadn't done nothin' at all,) all the canals was dragged, and for two months arterwards venever a body turned up, it was carried, as a reg'lar thing, straight off to the sassage shop. Hows'- ever none on 'em answered, so they gave out that he'd run avay, and she kept on the bis'ness. One Saturday night, a little thin old gen'lm'n comes into the shop in a great passion and says, ' Are you the missis o' this here shop ?' ' Yes I am,' says she. * Well Ma'am,' says he, ' then I've just looked in to say, that me and my family ain't a goin' to be choaked for nothin' ; and more than that Ma'am,' he says, ' you'll allow me to observe, that as you don't use the primest parts of the meat in the manafacter o' sassages, I think you'd find beef come nearly as cheap as buttons.' * Buttons, Sir !' says she. * Buttons, Ma'am,' says the little old gentleman, unfolding a bit of paper, and she win' twenty or thirty halves o' buttons. * Nice seasonin* for sassages, is trousers' buttons,
 * ' No I don't indeed, Sir," replied Mr. Weller, " I vish I did ; far worse