“Wy, you don’t mean to say you’re a-goin’ old feller?” said Sam Weller to his friend, Mr. John Smauker.

“I must, indeed,” said Mr. Smauker; “I promised Bantam.”

“Oh, wery well,” said Sam; “that’s another thing. P’raps he’d resign if you disappinted him. You ain’t a-goin’, Blazes?”

“Yes, I am,” said the man with the cocked hat.

“Wot, and leave three-quarters of a bowl of punch behind you!” said Sam; “nonsense, set down agin.”