462 POSTHUMOUS PAPERS OF
" Wot's a prophet ? " inquired Mr. Weller, looking sternly on his son.
" Vy, a man as tells what's a goin' to happen," replied Sana.
" I wish I'd know'd him, Sammy," said Mr. Weller. '* P'raps he might ha' throw'd a small light on that 'ere liver complaint as we wos a speakin' on just now. Hows'ever, if he's dead, and ain't left the bisness to nobody, there's an end on it. Go on, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, with a sigh.
" Veil," said Sam, *' you're been a prophecyin' avay about wot'll happen to the gov'nor if he's left alone. Don't you see any vay o' takin' care on him ? "
" No, I don't, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, with a reflective visage.
- ' No vay at all ? " inquired Sam.
- No vay," said Mr. Weller, *' unless" — and a gleam of intelligence
lighted up his countenance as he sunk his voice to a whisper, and applied his mouth to the ear of his offspring—*" unless it is getting him out in a turn-up bedstead, unbeknown to the turnkeys, Sammy, or dressin' him up like an old 'ooman vith a green wail."
Sam Weller received both of these suggestions with unexpected con- tempt, and again propounded his question.
" No," said the old gentleman ; " if he von't let you stop there, I see no vay at all. Its no thoroughfare, Sammy — no thoroughfare."
" Well, then, I'll tell you wot it is," said Sam, " I'll trouble you for the loan of five-and-tventy pound."
<' Wot good 'uU that do ? " inquired Mr. Weller.
" Never mind," replied Sam. " P'raps you may ask for it five minits artervards ; p'raps I may say I von't pay, and cut up rough. You von't think o' arrestin' your own son for the money, and sendin' him off to the Fleet, will you, you unnat'ral wagabond ? "
At this reply of Sam's, the father and son exchanged a complete code of sly telegraphic nods and gestures, after which, the elder Mr. Weller sat himself down on a stone step, and laughed till he was purple.
" Wot a old image it is ! " exclaimed Sam, indignant at this loss of time. " What are you a settin* down there for, con-wertin' your face into a street-door knocker, ven there's so much to be done. Vere's the money ? "
" In the^ boot, Sammy, in the boot," replied Mr. Weller, composing his features. " Hold my hat, Sammy."
Having divested himself of this incumbrance, Mr. Weller gave his body a sudden wrench to one side, and, by a dexterous twist, contrived to get his right hand into a most capacious pocket, from whence, after a great deal of panting and exertion, he extricated a pocket-book of the large octavo size, fastened by a huge leather strap. From thence he drew forth a couple of whip-lashes, three or four buckles, a little sample- bag of corn, and finally a small roll of very dirty bank-notes, from which he selected the required amount, which he handed over to Sam.
- ' And now, Sammy," said the old gentleman, when the whip-lashes,
and the buckles, and the sample, had been all put back, and the book once more deposited at the bottom of the same pocket, " Now, Sammy, I know a gen'im'n here, as '11 do the rest o' the bisness for us, in no time
