Accompanying these words with a gentle rap on the head of the young gentleman before noticed, who, unconscious of his close vicinity to the person in request, was screaming “Weller!” with all his might, Sam hastened across the ground, and ran up the steps into the hall. Here, the first object that met his eyes was his beloved father sitting on a bottom stair, with his hat in his hand, shouting out “Weller!” in his very loudest tone, at half-minute intervals.

“Wot are you a-roarin’ at?” said Sam impetuously, when the old gentleman had discharged himself of another shout; “making yourself so precious hot that you looks like a aggrawated glassblower. Wot’s the matter?”

“Aha!” replied the old gentleman, “I began to be afeerd that you’d gone for a walk round the Regency Park, Sammy.”

“Come,” said Sam, “none o’ them taunts agin the wictim o’ avarice, and come off that ’ere step. Wot are you a-settin’ down there for? I don’t live there.”