“Well, well, Mr. Weller, I will keep your money. I can do more good with it, perhaps, than you can.”

“Just the wery thing, to be sure,” said Mr. Weller, brightening up; “o’ course you can, sir.”

“Say no more about it,” said Mr. Pickwick, locking the pocketbook in his desk; “I am heartily obliged to you, my good friend. Now sit down again. I want to ask your advice.”

The internal laughter occasioned by the triumphant success of his visit, which had convulsed not only Mr. Weller’s face, but his arms, legs, and body also, during the locking up of the pocketbook, suddenly gave place to the most dignified gravity as he heard these words.