Walker, if you had but
known how I have looked forward to this meeting! It is too
much, Mr. Walker; I cannot bear it, indeed I cannot.' And with
these words, Mr. Trotter burst into a regular inundation of tears,
and, flinging his arms around those of Mr. Weller, embraced him
closely, in an ecstasy of joy.
'Get off!' cried Sam, indignant at this process, and vainly
endeavouring to extricate himself from the grasp of his
enthusiastic acquaintance. 'Get off, I tell you. What are you crying
over me for, you portable engine?'
'Because I am so glad to see you,' replied Job Trotter, gradually
releasing Mr. Weller, as the first symptoms of his pugnacity
disappeared. 'Oh, Mr. Walker, this is too much.'
'Too much!' echoed Sam, 'I think it is too much--rayther!
Now, what have you got to say to me, eh?'
Mr. Trotter made no reply; for the little pink pocket-handkerchief
was in full force.
'What have you got to say to me, afore I knock your head off?'
repeated Mr. Weller, in a threatening manner.
'Eh!' said Mr. Trotter, with a look of virtuous surprise.
'What have you got to say to me?'
'I, Mr. Walker!'
'Don't call me Valker; my name's Veller; you know that vell
enough.
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