“Wery good power o’ suction, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller the elder, looking into the pot, when his firstborn had set it down half empty. “You’d ha’ made an uncommon fine oyster, Sammy, if you’d been born in that station o’ life.”

“Yes, I des-say, I should ha’ managed to pick up a respectable livin’,” replied Sam applying himself to the cold beef, with considerable vigour.

“I’m wery sorry, Sammy,” said the elder Mr. Weller, shaking up the ale, by describing small circles with the pot, preparatory to drinking. “I’m wery sorry, Sammy, to hear from your lips, as you let yourself be gammoned by that ’ere mulberry man. I always thought, up to three days ago, that the names of Veller and gammon could never come into contract, Sammy, never.”

“Always exceptin’ the case of a widder, of course,” said Sam.