“Old one,” said Mr. Pickwick. “What old one?”

“My father, sir,” replied Mr. Weller. “How are you, my ancient?” And with this beautiful ebullition of filial affection, Mr. Weller made room on the seat beside him, for the stout man, who advanced pipe in mouth and pot in hand, to greet him.

“Wy, Sammy,” said the father, “I ha’n’t seen you, for two year and better.”

“Nor more you have, old codger,” replied the son. “How’s mother-in-law?”