Weller, once more.
'Where is that Trotter?'
'Job, sir?'
'Yes.
'Gone, sir.'
'With his master, I suppose?'
'Friend or master, or whatever he is, he's gone with him,'
replied Mr. Weller. 'There's a pair on 'em, sir.'
'Jingle suspected my design, and set that fellow on you, with
this story, I suppose?' said Mr. Pickwick, half choking.
'Just that, sir,' replied Mr. Weller.
'It was all false, of course?'
'All, sir,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Reg'lar do, sir; artful dodge.'
'I don't think he'll escape us quite so easily the next time, Sam!'
said Mr. Pickwick.
'I don't think he will, Sir.'
'Whenever I meet that Jingle again, wherever it is,' said Mr.
Pickwick, raising himself in bed, and indenting his pillow with a
tremendous blow, 'I'll inflict personal chastisement on him, in
addition to the exposure he so richly merits. I will, or my name
is not Pickwick.'
'And venever I catches hold o' that there melan-cholly chap
with the black hair,' said Sam, 'if I don't bring some real water
into his eyes, for once in a way, my name ain't Weller. Good-
night, Sir!'
CHAPTER XVII
SHOWING THAT AN ATTACK OF RHEUMATISM, IN SOME
CASES, ACTS AS A QUICKENER TO INVENTIVE GENIUS
The constitution of Mr.
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