“What a dragon!” said Sam, refilling his companion’s glass. “It’s some boarding-school in this town, I suppose, ain’t it?” Now, although this question was put in the most careless tone imaginable, Mr. Job Trotter plainly showed by gestures that he perceived his new friend’s anxiety to draw forth an answer to it. He emptied his glass, looked mysteriously at his companion, winked both of his small eyes, one after the other, and finally made a motion with his arm, as if he were working an imaginary pump-handle; thereby intimating that he ( Mr. Trotter) considered himself as undergoing the process of being pumped by Mr. Samuel Weller.