“I say!” said Sam, “I’ll trouble you, my friend! None o’ that!”

Job Trotter looked amazed.

“None o’ that, I say, young feller,” repeated Sam firmly. “No man serves him but me. And now we’re upon it, I’ll let you into another secret besides that,” said Sam, as he paid for the beer. “I never heerd, mind you, or read of in storybooks, nor see in picters, any angel in tights and gaiters⁠—not even in spectacles, as I remember, though that may ha’ been done for anythin’ I know to the contrairey⁠—but mark my vords, Job Trotter, he’s a reg’lar thoroughbred angel for all that; and let me see the man as wenturs to tell me he knows a better vun.” With this defiance, Mr. Weller buttoned up his change in a side pocket, and, with many confirmatory nods and gestures by the way, proceeded in search of the subject of discourse.