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 perpetual motion, 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.

The Pickwick Papers