While the old gentleman was thus engaged, a very buxom-looking cook, dressed in mourning, who had been bustling about, in the bar, glided into the room, and bestowing many smirks of recognition upon Sam, silently stationed herself at the back of his father’s chair, and announced her presence by a slight cough, the which, being disregarded, was followed by a louder one.

“Hallo!” said the elder Mr. Weller, dropping the poker as he looked round, and hastily drew his chair away. “Wot’s the matter now?”

“Have a cup of tea, there’s a good soul,” replied the buxom female coaxingly.

“I von’t,” replied Mr. Weller, in a somewhat boisterous manner. “I’ll see you⁠—” Mr. Weller hastily checked himself, and added in a low tone, “furder fust.”