'Yes; I always am rather about these little matters,' said the
stranger, 'but I am all right now--quite right.'
'Well, that's a blessin', said Mr. Weller. 'Sammy, help your
master up to the box; t'other leg, Sir, that's it; give us your hand,
Sir. Up with you. 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. Let 'em alone.' And away went
the coach up Whitechapel, to the admiration of the whole
population of that pretty densely populated quarter.
'Not a wery nice neighbourhood, this, Sir,' said Sam, with a
touch of the hat, which always preceded his entering into
conversation with his master.
'It is not indeed, Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick, surveying the
crowded and filthy street through which they were passing.
'It's a wery remarkable circumstance, Sir,' said Sam, 'that
poverty and oysters always seem to go together.'
'I don't understand you, Sam,' said Mr.
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