"And a wery good name it is--only one I know, that ain't got a nickname to it.What's the other name?""Trotter," said the stranger."What is yours?"Sam bore in mind his master's caution, and replied--"My name's Walker; my master's name's Wilkins.Will you take a drop o' somethin' this mornin', Mr.Trotter?"Mr.Trotter acquiesced in this agreeable proposal: and having deposited his book in his coat-pocket, accompanied Mr.Weller to the tap, where they were soon occupied in discussing an exhilarating compound, formed by mixing together, in a pewter vessel, certain quantities of British Hollands, and the fragrant essence of the clove.
"And what sort of a place have you got?" inquired Sam, as he filled his companion's glass, for the second time.
"Bad," said Job, smacking his lips, "very bad.""You don't mean that?" said Sam.
"I do, indeed.Worse than that, my master's going to be married.""No."
"Yes; and worse than that, too, he's going to run away with an immense rich heiress, from boarding-school.""What a dragon!" said Sam, refilling his companion's glass."It's some boarding-school in this town, I suppose, a'nt it?"Now, although this question was put in the most careless tone imaginable, Mr.Job Trotter plainly showed by gestures, that he perceived his new friend's anxiety to draw forth an answer to it.He emptied his glass, looked mysteriously at his companion, winked both of his small eyes, one after the other, and finally made a motion with his arm, as if he were working an imaginary pump-handle: thereby intimating that he (Mr.Trotter) considered himself as undergoing the process of being pumped, by Mr.Samuel Weller.
"No, no," said Mr.Trotter, in conclusion, "that's not to be told to everybody.That is a secret--a great secret, Mr.Walker."As the mulberry man said this, he turned his glass upside down, as a means of reminding his companion that he had nothing left wherewith to slake his thirst.Sam observed the hint; and feeling the delicate manner in which it was conveyed, ordered the pewter vessel to be refilled, whereat the small eyes of the mulberry man glistened.
"And so it's a secret?" said Sam.
"I should rather suspect it was," said the mulberry man, sipping his liquor, with a complacent face.
"I suppose your mas'r's wery rich?" said Sam.
Mr.Trotter smiled, and holding his glass in his left hand, gave four distinct slaps on the pocket of his mulberry indescribables with his right, as if to intimate that his master might have done the same without alarming anybody much by the chinking of coin.
"Ah," said Sam, "that's the game, is it?"The mulberry man nodded significantly.
"Well, and don't you think, old feller," remonstrated Mr.Weller, "that if you let your master take in this here young lady, you're a precious rascal?""I know that," said Job Trotter, turning upon his companion a countenance of deep contrition, and groaning slightly."I know that, and that's what it is that preys upon my mind.But what am I to do?""Do!" said Sam; "di-wulge to the missis, and give up your master.""Who'd believe me?" replied Job Trotter."The young lady's considered the very picture of innocence and discretion.She'd deny it, and so would my master.Who'd believe me? I should lose my place, and get indicated for a conspiracy, or some such thing; that's all I should take by my motion.""There's somethin' in that," said Sam, ruminating; "there's somethin'
in that."
"If I knew any respectable gentleman who would take the matter up,"continued Mr.Trotter, "I might have some hope of preventing the elopement;but there's the same difficulty, Mr.Walker, just the same.I know no gentleman in this strange place, and ten to one if I did, whether he would believe my story.""Come this way," said Sam, suddenly jumping up, and grasping the mulberry man by the arm."My mas'r's the man you want, I see." And after a slight resistance on the part of Job Trotter, Sam led his newly-found friend to the apartment of Mr.Pickwick, to whom he presented him, together with a brief summary of the dialogue we have just repeated.
"I am very sorry to betray my master, sir," said Job Trotter, applying to his eyes a pink checked pocket handkerchief about six inches square.
"The feeling does you a great deal of honour," replied Mr.Pickwick;"but it is your duty, nevertheless."
"I know it is my duty, sir," replied Job, with great emotion."We should all try to discharge our duty, sir, and I humbly endeavour to discharge mine, sir; but it is a hard trial to betray a master, sir, whose clothes you wear, and whose bread you eat, even though he is a scoundrel, sir.""You are a very good fellow," said Mr.Pickwick, much affected, "an honest fellow.""Come, come," interposed Sam, who had witnessed Mr.Trotter's tears with considerable impatience, "blow this here water-cart bis'ness.It won't do no good, this won't.""Sam," said Mr.Pickwick, reproachfully, "I am sorry to find that you have so little respect for this young man's feelings.""His feelin's is all wery well, sir," replied Mr.Weller; "and as they're so wery fine, and it's a pity he should lose 'em, I think he'd better keep 'em in his own buzzum, than let 'em ewaporate in hot water, 'specially as they do no good.Tears never yet wound up a clock, or worked a steam ingen'.The next time you go out to a smoking party, young fellow, fill your pipe with that 'ere reflection; and for the present just put that bit of pink gingham into your pocket.'T'an't so handsome that you need keep waving it about, as if you was a tight-rope dancer.""My man is in the right," said Mr.Pickwick, accosting Job, "although his mode of expressing his opinion is somewhat homely, and occasionally incomprehensible.""He is, sir, very right," said Mr.Trotter, "and I will give way no longer.""Very well," said Mr.Pickwick."Now, where is this boarding-school?""It is a large, old, red-brick house, just outside the town, sir," replied Job Trotter.