“Vell, then, wot do you say to some wittles?” inquired Sam.

“Thanks to your worthy governor, Sir,” said Mr. Trotter, “we have half a leg of mutton, baked, at a quarter before three, with the potatoes under it to save boiling.”

“Wot! Has he been a-purwidin’ for you?” asked Sam emphatically.

“He has, Sir,” replied Job. “More than that, Mr. Weller; my master being very ill, he got us a room⁠—we were in a kennel before⁠—and paid for it, Sir; and come to look at us, at night, when nobody should know. Mr. Weller,” said Job, with real tears in his eyes, for once, “I could serve that gentleman till I fell down dead at his feet.”