“Well, sir, I have been thinking that if you were waiting in the back garden alone, and I was to let you in, at the door which opens into it, from the end of the passage, at exactly half-past eleven o’clock, you would be just in the very moment of time to assist me in frustrating the designs of this bad man, by whom I have been unfortunately ensnared.” Here Mr. Trotter sighed deeply.

“Don’t distress yourself on that account,” said Mr. Pickwick; “if he had one grain of the delicacy of feeling which distinguishes you, humble as your station is, I should have some hopes of him.”

Job Trotter bowed low; and in spite of Mr. Weller’s previous remonstrance, the tears again rose to his eyes.

“I never see such a feller,” said Sam. “Blessed if I don’t think he’s got a main in his head as is always turned on.”