The blinds were pulled down, and the shutters partly
closed; of the knot of loungers that usually collected about the
door, not one was to be seen; the place was silent and desolate.
Seeing nobody of whom he could ask any preliminary
questions, Sam walked softly in, and glancing round, he quickly
recognised his parent in the distance.
The widower was seated at a small round table in the little
room behind the bar, smoking a pipe, with his eyes intently
fixed upon the fire. The funeral had evidently taken place that
day, for attached to his hat, which he still retained on his head,
was a hatband measuring about a yard and a half in length,
which hung over the top rail of the chair and streamed negligently
down. Mr. Weller was in a very abstracted and contemplative
mood. Notwithstanding that Sam called him by name several
times, he still continued to smoke with the same fixed and quiet
countenance, and was only roused ultimately by his son's placing
the palm of his hand on his shoulder.
'Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, 'you're welcome.'
'I've been a-callin' to you half a dozen times,' said Sam,
hanging his hat on a peg, 'but you didn't hear me.
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