Sam nodded, and Mr Weller the elder gave vent to an extraordinary

sound, which, being neither a groan, nor a grunt, nor a gasp, nor a

growl, seemed to partake in some degree of the character of all four.

Mr Stiggins, encouraged by this sound, which he understood to

betoken remorse or repentance, looked about him, rubbed his hands,

wept, smiled, wept again, and then, walking softly across the room to

a well-remembered shelf in one corner, took down a tumbler, and with

great deliberation put four lumps of sugar in it. Having got thus far,

he looked about him again, and sighed grievously; with that, he

walked softly into the bar, and presently returning with the tumbler

half full of pine-apple rum, advanced to the kettle which was singing

gaily on the hob, mixed his grog, stirred it, sipped it, sat down, and

taking a long and hearty pull at the rum-and-water, stopped for

breath.

The elder Mr Weller, who still continued to make various strange and

uncouth attempts to appear asleep, offered not a single word during

these proceedings; but when Stiggins stopped for breath, he darted

upon him, and snatching the tumbler from his hand, threw the

remainder of the rum-and-water in his face, and the glass itself into

the grate. Then, seizing the reverend gentleman firmly by the collar,

he suddenly fell to kicking him most furiously, accompanying every

application of his top-boot to Mr Stiggins's person, with sundry violent

and incoherent anathemas upon his limbs, eyes, and body.

'Sammy,' said Mr Weller, 'put my hat on tight for me.'

Sam dutifully adjusted the hat with the long hatband more firmly on

his father's head, and the old gentleman, resuming his kicking with

greater agility than before, tumbled with Mr Stiggins through the bar,

and through the passage, out at the front door, and so into the street -

the kicking continuing the whole way, and increasing in vehemence,

rather than diminishing, every time the top-boot was lifted.

It was a beautiful and exhilarating sight to see the red-nosed man

writhing in Mr Weller's grasp, and his whole frame quivering with

anguish as kick followed kick in rapid succession; it was a still more

exciting spectacle to behold Mr Weller, after a powerful struggle,

immersing Mr Stiggins's head in a horse- trough full of water, and

holding it there, until he was half suffocated.

There!' said Mr Weller, throwing all his energy into one most

complicated kick, as he at length permitted Mr Stiggins to withdraw

his head from the trough, 'send any vun o' them lazy shepherds here,

and I'll pound him to a jelly first, and drownd him artervards! Sammy,

help me in, and fill me a small glass of brandy. I'm out o' breath, my

boy.'

The Pickwick Papers