'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'ner if he's left alone. Don't you see any way 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 sank 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'll that do?' inquired Mr. Weller.



'Never mind,' replied Sam. 'P'raps you may ask for it five minits



arterwards; p'raps I may say I von't pay, and cut up rough. You



von't think o' arrestin' your own son for the money, and sendin'



him off to the Fleet, will you, you unnat'ral wagabone?'



At this reply of Sam's, the father and son exchanged a complete



code of telegraph nods and gestures, after which, the elder Mr.



Weller sat himself down on a stone step and laughed till he was



purple.



'Wot a old image it is!' exclaimed Sam, indignant at this loss of



time. 'What are you a-settin' down there for, con-wertin' your face



into a street-door knocker, wen there's so much to be done.



Where's the money?'



'In the boot, Sammy, in the boot,' replied Mr. Weller,



composing his features. 'Hold my hat, Sammy.'



Having divested himself of this encumbrance, Mr. Weller gave



his body a sudden wrench to one side, and by a dexterous twist,



contrived to get his right hand into a most capacious pocket, from



whence, after a great deal of panting and exertion, he extricated a



pocket-book of the large octavo size, fastened by a huge leathern



strap. From this ledger he drew forth a couple of whiplashes, three



or four buckles, a little sample-bag of corn, and, finally, a small roll



of very dirty bank-notes, from which he selected the required



amount, which he handed over to Sam.



'And now, Sammy,' said the old gentleman, when the whip-



lashes, and the buckles, and the samples, had been all put back,



and the book once more deposited at the bottom of the same



pocket, 'now, Sammy, I know a gen'l'm'n here, as'll do the rest o'



the bisness for us, in no time―a limb o' the law, Sammy, as has



got brains like the frogs, dispersed all over his body, and reachin'



to the wery tips of his fingers; a friend of the Lord



Chancellorship's, Sammy, who'd only have to tell him what he



wanted, and he'd lock you up for life, if that wos all.'



'I say,' said Sam, 'none o' that.'



'None o' wot?' inquired Mr. Weller.



'Wy, none o' them unconstitootional ways o' doin' it,' retorted



Sam. 'The have-his-carcass, next to the perpetualmotion, is vun of



the blessedest things as wos ever made. I've read that 'ere in the



newspapers wery of'en.'



'Well, wot's that got to do vith it?' inquired Mr. Weller.



'Just this here,' said Sam, 'that I'll patronise the inwention, and



go in, that vay. No visperin's to the Chancellorship―I don't like



the notion. It mayn't be altogether safe, vith reference to gettin'



out agin.'



Deferring to his son's feeling upon this point, Mr. Weller at once



sought the erudite Solomon Pell, and acquainted him with his



desire to issue a writ, instantly, for the sum of twenty-five pounds,



and costs of process; to be executed without delay upon the body



of one Samuel Weller; the charges thereby incurred, to be paid in



advance to Solomon Pell.



The attorney was in high glee, for the embarrassed coach-



horser was ordered to be discharged forthwith. He highly



approved of Sam's attachment to his master; declared that it



strongly reminded him of his own feelings of devotion to his



friend, the Chancellor; and at once led the elder Mr. Weller down



to the Temple, to swear the affidavit of debt, which the boy, with



the assistance of the blue bag, had drawn up on the spot.



Meanwhile, Sam, having been formally introduced to the



whitewashed gentleman and his friends, as the offspring of Mr.



Weller, of the Belle Savage, was treated with marked distinction,



and invited to regale himself with them in honour of the



occasion―an invitation which he was by no means backward in



accepting.



The mirth of gentlemen of this class is of a grave and quiet



character, usually; but the present instance was one of peculiar



festivity, and they relaxed in proportion. After some rather



tumultuous toasting of the Chief Commissioner and Mr. Solomon



Pell, who had that day displayed such transcendent abilities, a



mottled-faced gentleman in a blue shawl proposed that somebody



should sing a song. The obvious suggestion was, that the mottled-



faced gentleman, being anxious for a song, should sing it himself;



but this the mottled-faced gentleman sturdily, and somewhat



offensively, declined to do. Upon which, as is not unusual in such



cases, a rather angry colloquy ensued.



'Gentlemen,' said the coach-horser, 'rather than disturb the



harmony of this delightful occasion, perhaps Mr. Samuel Weller



will oblige the company.'



'Raly, gentlemen,' said Sam, 'I'm not wery much in the habit o'



singin' without the instrument; but anythin' for a quiet life, as the



man said wen he took the sitivation at the lighthouse.'



With this prelude, Mr. Samuel Weller burst at once into the



following wild and beautiful legend, which, under the impression



that it is not generally known, we take the liberty of quoting. We



would beg to call particular attention to the monosyllable at the



end of the second and fourth lines, which not only enables the



singer to take breath at those points, but greatly assists the metre.



Bold Turpin vunce, on Hounslow Heath,



His bold mare Bess bestrode―er;



Ven there he see'd the Bishop's coach



A-coming along the road―er.



So he gallops close to the 'orse's legs,



And he claps his head vithin;



And the Bishop says, 'Sure as eggs is eggs,



This here's the bold Turpin!'



CHORUS



And the Bishop says, 'Sure as eggs is eggs,



This here's the bold Turpin!'



II



Says Turpin, 'You shall eat your words,



With a sarse of leaden bul-let;'



So he puts a pistol to his mouth,



And he fires it down his gul-let.



The coachman he not likin' the job,



Set off at full gal-lop,



But Dick put a couple of balls in his nob,



And perwailed on him to stop.



CHORUS (sarcastically)



But Dick put a couple of balls in his nob,



And perwailed on him to stop.



'I maintain that that 'ere song's personal to the cloth,' said the



mottled-faced gentleman, interrupting it at this point. 'I demand



the name o' that coachman.'



'Nobody know'd,' replied Sam. 'He hadn't got his card in his



pocket.'



'I object to the introduction o' politics,' said the mottled-faced



gentleman. 'I submit that, in the present company, that 'ere song's



political; and, wot's much the same, that it ain't true. I say that



that coachman did not run away; but that he died game―game as



pheasants; and I won't hear nothin' said to the contrairey.'



As the mottled-faced gentleman spoke with great energy and



determination, and as the opinions of the company seemed



divided on the subject, it threatened to give rise to fresh



altercation, when Mr. Weller and Mr. Pell most opportunely



arrived.



'All right, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller.



'The officer will be here at four o'clock,' said Mr. Pell. 'I suppose



you won't run away meanwhile, eh? Ha! ha!'



'P'raps my cruel pa 'ull relent afore then,' replied Sam, with a



broad grin.



'Not I,' said the elder Mr. Weller.



'Do,' said Sam.



'Not on no account,' replied the inexorable creditor.



'I'll give bills for the amount, at sixpence a month,' said Sam.



'I won't take 'em,' said Mr. Weller.



'Ha, ha, ha! very good, very good,' said Mr. Solomon Pell, who



was making out his little bill of costs; 'a very amusing incident



indeed! Benjamin, copy that.' And Mr. Pell smiled again, as he



called Mr. Weller's attention to the amount.



'Thank you, thank you,' said the professional gentleman, taking



up another of the greasy notes as Mr. Weller took it from the



pocket-book. 'Three ten and one ten is five. Much obliged to you,



Mr. Weller. Your son is a most deserving young man, very much so



indeed, sir. It's a very pleasant trait in a young man's character,



very much so,' added Mr. Pell, smiling smoothly round, as he



buttoned up the money.



'Wot a game it is!' said the elder Mr. Weller, with a chuckle. 'A



reg'lar prodigy son!'



'Prodigal―prodigal son, sir,' suggested Mr. Pell, mildly.



'Never mind, sir,' said Mr. Weller, with dignity. 'I know wot's



o'clock, sir. Wen I don't, I'll ask you, sir.'



By the time the officer arrived, Sam had made himself so



extremely popular, that the congregated gentlemen determined to



see him to prison in a body. So off they set; the plaintiff and



defendant walking arm in arm, the officer in front, and eight stout



coachmen bringing up the rear. At Serjeant's Inn Coffee-house the



whole party halted to refresh, and, the legal arrangements being



completed, the procession moved on again.



Some little commotion was occasioned in Fleet Street, by the



pleasantry of the eight gentlemen in the flank, who persevered in



walking four abreast; it was also found necessary to leave the



mottled-faced gentleman behind, to fight a ticket-porter, it being



arranged that his friends should call for him as they came back.



Nothing but these little incidents occurred on the way. When they



reached the gate of the Fleet, the cavalcade, taking the time from



the plaintiff, gave three tremendous cheers for the defendant, and,



after having shaken hands all round, left him.



Sam, having been formally delivered into the warder's custody,



to the intense astonishment of Roker, and to the evident emotion



of even the phlegmatic Neddy, passed at once into the prison,



walked straight to his master's room, and knocked at the door.



'Come in,' said Mr. Pickwick.



Sam appeared, pulled off his hat, and smiled.



'Ah, Sam, my good lad!' said Mr. Pickwick, evidently delighted



to see his humble friend again; 'I had no intention of hurting your



feelings yesterday, my faithful fellow, by what I said. Put down



your hat, Sam, and let me explain my meaning, a little more at



length.'



'Won't presently do, sir?' inquired Sam.



'Certainly,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but why not now?'



'I'd rayther not now, sir,' rejoined Sam.



'Why?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.



''Cause―' said Sam, hesitating.



'Because of what?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, alarmed at his



follower's manner. 'Speak out, Sam.'



''Cause,' rejoined Sam―''cause I've got a little bisness as I want



to do.'



'What business?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, surprised at Sam's



confused manner.



'Nothin' partickler, sir,' replied Sam.



'Oh, if it's nothing particular,' said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile,



'you can speak with me first.'



'I think I'd better see arter it at once,' said Sam, still hesitating.



Mr. Pickwick looked amazed, but said nothing.



'The fact is―' said Sam, stopping short.



'Well!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Speak out, Sam.'



'Why, the fact is,' said Sam, with a desperate effort, 'perhaps I'd



better see arter my bed afore I do anythin' else.'



'Your bed!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, in astonishment.



'Yes, my bed, sir,' replied Sam, 'I'm a prisoner. I was arrested



this here wery arternoon for debt.'



'You arrested for debt!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, sinking into a



chair.



'Yes, for debt, sir,' replied Sam. 'And the man as puts me in, 'ull



never let me out till you go yourself.'



'Bless my heart and soul!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. 'What do



you mean?'



'Wot I say, sir,' rejoined Sam. 'If it's forty years to come, I shall



be a prisoner, and I'm very glad on it; and if it had been Newgate,



it would ha' been just the same. Now the murder's out, and,



damme, there's an end on it!'



With these words, which he repeated with great emphasis and



violence, Sam Weller dashed his hat upon the ground, in a most



unusual state of excitement; and then, folding his arms, looked



firmly and fixedly in his master's face.

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