“I suppose you have hardly seen anything but chimney-pots and bricks and mortar all your life, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, smiling.

“I worn’t always a boots, sir,” said Mr. Weller, with a shake of the head. “I wos a vaginer’s boy, once.”

“When was that?” inquired Mr. Pickwick.

“When I wos first pitched neck and crop into the world, to play at leapfrog with its troubles,” replied Sam. “I wos a carrier’s boy at startin’; then a vaginer’s, then a helper, then a boots. Now I’m a gen’l’m’n’s servant. I shall be a gen’l’m’n myself one of these days, perhaps, with a pipe in my mouth, and a summerhouse in the back-garden. Who knows? I shouldn’t be surprised for one.”