I got rather savage at this, so I takes a step or two for’ard and says, ‘My friend,’ says I, ‘did you apply that ’ere obserwation to me?’ ’Stead of beggin’ my pardon as any gen’l’m’n would ha’ done, he got more abusive than ever:⁠—called me a wessel, Sammy⁠—a wessel of wrath⁠—and all sorts o’ names. So my blood being reg’larly up, I first gave him two or three for himself, and then two or three more to hand over to the man with the red nose, and walked off. I wish you could ha’ heard how the women screamed, Sammy, ven they picked up the shepherd from underneath the table⁠—Hallo! here’s the governor, the size of life.”

As Mr. Weller spoke, Mr. Pickwick dismounted from a cab, and entered the yard.

“Fine mornin’, Sir,” said Mr. Weller, senior.