Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 161: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

120 Pickwick Abroad. example so laudably set him by his venerated master. He had pre- sided at a Pork-chop Club, over an exclusive and fashionable party of English gentlemen, who, for the most part, were embellished with ten days’ shirts, and stockings of a like antiquity ; and as the meeting was held at a select tavern, the domestic economy and glorious unclean- liness of which were subjected to the dominion of a drunken Irish landlord, there had been no want of license in the use of the ‘“‘ crea- ture.”’ It is not, therefore, astonishing if Mr. Weller were some- what late in his diurnal, or rather matinal visit, to his master’s room on the morning that immediately followed the events so faithfully de- tailed in the preceding chapter. ‘* What’s o’clock, Sam?’ enquired Mr. Pickwick. “ Ten, Sir,” replied that gentleman, laconically. ‘¢ ‘Ten!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, sitting up in his bed: ‘‘ you don’t mean to say so.” “I vosn’t aweer that you’d any wery partickler bisness to transact — this mornin’, Sir,” said Mr. Weller, ‘“‘or I’d ha’ called you afore. The fact is, Sir, I pre-sided at a wery gen-teel swarry last evening ; and I raly don’t know how it where, but either the liquor vosn’t wery veak, or my head wery strong, and so—”’ 6 glen ‘* And so you were rather tipsy, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, coming to his dependant’s aid with the kindness of disposition that so essen- tially characterized all his trivial as well as his important deeds. ‘* Rayther, Sir,” returned Mr. Weller. ‘‘ But him as okkipies the cheer at them public meetin’s is alvays obligated to drink more than the rest; and that’s comin’ it alittle too strong, as the old ’ooman remarked ven the doctor offered her the seventeenth pill in the course of the hour.” “ofa ‘¢T purpose calling on Mr. Crashem to-day,” said Mr. Pickwick, after a pause during which he emerged from his bed. ‘Hem!’ said Mr. Weller, dubiously, and leisurely desisting from — his occupation of playing with his copper watch-chain. ‘What did you say, Sam ?’’ cried his master. “IT merely said ‘ hem,’ Sir,” returned the valet, drily. ‘‘And why did you say ‘hem?’” demanded Mr. Pickwick, as he applied an immense lather-brush to his expressive face. | “Cos, Sir,’? answered Mr. Weller, ‘‘ he ain’t no good, I’m wery much afeerd. His name’s veared out, the vaggibund! on my books, as the Sheriff’s officer said ven he refused to take Bill Styles’s bail for the gen’leman in trouble.” ‘“‘T’m sorry to hear you talk in this way, Sam,’’ said Mr. Pickwick, casting a solemn glance at his faithful attendant. ‘“‘ Can’t help von’s thoughts, Sir,” continued Mr. Weller: ‘an’ my o-pinion o’ Mr. Crashem is, that he’s hke a reg’lar dealer in decep- tions, in a hallegorical sense.” r ‘¢ A story-teller, I suppose, Sam ?”’ enquired Mr. Pickwick. ‘¢ Just ke von o’ them chaps as sells brass ornimints for gold vons,’’ explained Mr. Weller. : ‘* Ah!” cried Mr. Pickwick, who probably more thar half sus- pected that his sagacious servant was not far wrong. ‘* But he isa stranger in a strange land, Sam—he has no friends—”’ ‘* Exactly vot the costermonger re-marked, ven he volloped his EORMIC NOVO KS (El)