That's a clincher,' said Mr Weller, aside.

Then this garden,' resumed Mr Pickwick. 'How am I to get into it?'

The wall is very low, sir, and your servant will give you a leg up.' 'My

servant will give me a leg up,' repeated Mr Pickwick mechanically.

'You will be sure to be near this door that you speak of?'

You cannot mistake it, Sir; it's the only one that opens into the

garden. Tap at it when you hear the clock strike, and I will open it

instantly.'

I don't like the plan,' said Mr Pickwick; 'but as I see no other, and as

the happiness of this young lady's whole life is at stake, I adopt it. I

shall be sure to be there.'

Thus, for the second time, did Mr Pickwick's innate good- feeling

involve him in an enterprise from which he would most willingly have

stood aloof.

What is the name of the house?' inquired Mr Pickwick.

Westgate House, Sir. You turn a little to the right when you get to the

end of the town; it stands by itself, some little distance off the high

road, with the name on a brass plate on the gate.'

I know it,' said Mr Pickwick. 'I observed it once before, when I was in

this town. You may depend upon me.'

Mr Trotter made another bow, and turned to depart, when Mr

Pickwick thrust a guinea into his hand.

'You're a fine fellow,' said Mr Pickwick, 'and I admire your goodness of

heart. No thanks. Remember - eleven o'clock.'

There is no fear of my forgetting it, sir,' replied Job Trotter. With these

words he left the room, followed by Sam.

I say,' said the latter, 'not a bad notion that 'ere crying. I'd cry like a

rain-water spout in a shower on such good terms. How do you do it?'

It comes from the heart, Mr Walker,' replied Job solemnly. 'Good-

morning, sir.'

'You're a soft customer, you are; we've got it all out o' you, anyhow,'

thought Mr Weller, as Job walked away.

The Pickwick Papers