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"Buttons, ma'am," says the little, old gentleman, unfolding a bit of paper, and showin' twenty or thirty halves o' buttons. "Nice seasonin' for sassages, is trousers' buttons, ma'am." "They're my husband's buttons!" says the widder beginnin' to faint, "What!" screams the little old gen'l'm'n, turnin' wery pale.
You was a lighter weight when you was a boy, sir. 'True enough, that, Mr. Weller, said the breathless Mr. Pickwick good-humouredly, as he took his seat on the box beside him. 'Jump up in front, Sammy, said Mr. Weller. 'Now Villam, run 'em out. Take care o' the archvay, gen'l'm'n. "Heads," as the pieman says. That'll do, Villam.
'Precisely what my uncle said, ven he vent into the public line, remarked Sam, 'and wery right the old gen'l'm'n wos, for he drank hisself to death in somethin' less than a quarter. Mr.
"That's wery odd," says the gen'l'm'n." "Wery," says my father. "You must have a bad mem'ry, Mr. Weller," says the gen'l'm'n. "Well, it is a wery bad 'un," says my father. "I thought so," says the gen'l'm'n. So then they pours him out a glass of wine, and gammons him about his driving, and gets him into a reg'lar good humour, and at last shoves a twenty-pound note into his hand.
So uncommon grand with it too! "POST arter the next gen'l'm'n," he sings out ev'ry day ven he comes in.
Weller, senior, ventured to suggest, in an undertone, that he must be the representative of the united parishes of St. Simon Without and St. Walker Within. 'I'm afeered, mum, said Sam, 'that this here gen'l'm'n, with the twist in his countenance, feels rather thirsty, with the melancholy spectacle afore him. Is it the case, mum? The worthy lady looked at Mr.
Apparently his master's reception of the card had impressed the powdered-headed footman in Sam's favour, for when he came back from delivering it, he smiled in a friendly manner, and said that the answer would be ready directly. 'Wery good, said Sam. 'Tell the old gen'l'm'n not to put himself in a perspiration. No hurry, six-foot. I've had my dinner.
So he begins a-chucklin' wery hearty, wen, all of a sudden, the little boy leaves hold of the pickpocket's arm, and rushes head foremost straight into the old gen'l'm'n's stomach, and for a moment doubles him right up with the pain. "Murder!" says the old gen'l'm'n. "All right, Sir," says the pickpocket, a-wisperin' in his ear.
'I ain't a-goin' to say nothin' on that 'ere pint, sir, replied Sam, 'but merely this here. P'raps that gen'l'm'n may think as there wos a priory 'tachment; but there worn't nothin' o' the sort, for the young lady said in the wery beginnin' o' the keepin' company, that she couldn't abide him. Nobody's cut him out, and it 'ud ha' been jist the wery same for him if the young lady had never seen Mr.
You never saw such a good house, Steerforth. It's made out of a boat! 'Made out of a boat, is it? said Steerforth. 'It's the right sort of a house for such a thorough-built boatman. 'So 'tis, sir, so 'tis, sir, said Ham, grinning. 'You're right, young gen'l'm'n! Mas'r Davy bor', gen'l'm'n's right. A thorough-built boatman! Hor, hor! That's what he is, too! Mr.
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