“You’re given to nervousness, ain’t you, Sir?” inquired Mr. Weller, senior, eyeing the stranger askance, as he mounted to his place.

“Yes; I always am rather about these little matters,” said the stranger, “but I am all right now⁠—quite right.”

“Well, that’s a blessin’,” said Mr. Weller. “Sammy, help your master up to the box; t’other leg, Sir, that’s it; give us your hand, Sir. Up with you. You was a lighter weight when you was a boy, sir.”

“True enough, that, Mr. Weller,” said the breathless Mr. Pickwick good-humouredly, as he took his seat on the box beside him.