"I object to the introduction o' politics," said the mottlefaced gentleman. "I submit that, in the present company, that 'ere song's political; and, wot's much the same, that it ain't true. I say that that coachman did not run away; but that he died game—game as pheasants; and I won't hear nothin' said to the contrairey."
As the mottle-faced gentleman spoke with great energy and determination and as the opinions of the company seemed divided on the subject: it threatened to give rise to fresh altercation, when Mr. Weller and Mr. Pell most opportunely arrived.
"All right, Sammy," said Mr. Weller.
"The officer will be here at four o'clock," said Mr. Pell. "I suppose you won't run away meanwhile, eh? Ha! ha!"
"P'raps my cruel pa 'ull relent afore then," replied Sam, with a broad grin.
"Not I," said the elder Mr. Weller.
"Do," said Sam.
"Not on no account," replied the inexorable creditor.
"I'll give bills for the amount, at sixpence a month," said Sam.
"I won't take 'em," said Mr. Weller.
"Ha, ha, ha! very good, very good," said Mr. Solomon Pell, who was making out his little bill of costs; "a very amusing incident indeed! Benjamin, copy that." And Mr. Pell smiled again, as he called Mr. Weller's attention to the amount.
"Thank you, thank you," said the professional gentleman, taking up another of the greasy notes as Mr. Weller took it from the pocket-book. "Three ten and one ten is five. Much obliged to you, Mr. Weller. Your son is a most deserving young man, very much so indeed, sir. It's a very pleasant trait in a young man's character, very much so," added Mr. Pell, smiling smoothly round, as he buttoned up the money.
"Wot a game it is!" said the elder Mr. Weller, with a chuckle. "A reg'lar prodigy son!"
