'
'Think not, sir?' inquired Mr. Weller.
'You see how these fellows drink, and smoke, and roar,'
replied Mr. Pickwick. 'It's quite impossible that they can mind
it much.'
'Ah, that's just the wery thing, Sir,' rejoined Sam, 'they don't
mind it; it's a reg'lar holiday to them--all porter and skittles.
It's the t'other vuns as gets done over vith this sort o' thing;
them down-hearted fellers as can't svig avay at the beer, nor play
at skittles neither; them as vould pay if they could, and gets low
by being boxed up. I'll tell you wot it is, sir; them as is always
a-idlin' in public-houses it don't damage at all, and them as is
alvays a-workin' wen they can, it damages too much. "It's
unekal," as my father used to say wen his grog worn't made half-
and-half: "it's unekal, and that's the fault on it."'
'I think you're right, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, after a few
moments' reflection, 'quite right.'
'P'raps, now and then, there's some honest people as likes it,'
observed Mr. Weller, in a ruminative tone, 'but I never heerd o'
one as I can call to mind, 'cept the little dirty-faced man in the
brown coat; and that was force of habit.
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