"Oh! that's it, is it?" said Sam; "that's a wery bad complaint, that."
"And yet the temptation, you see, Mr. Weller," observed Mr. John Smauker.
"Ah, to be sure," said Sam.
"Plunged into the very vortex of society, you know, Mr. Weller," said Mr. John Smauker with a sigh.
"Dreadful indeed!" rejoined Sam.
"But it's always the way," said Mr. John Smauker; "if your destiny leads you into public life, and public station, you must expect to be subjected to temptations which other people is free from, Mr. Weller."
"Precisely what my uncle said, ven he vent into the public line," remarked Sam, "and wery right the old gen'l'm'n wos, for he drank hisself to death in somethin' less than a quarter."
Mr. John Smauker looked deeply indignant at any parallel being drawn between himself and the deceased gentleman in question; but as Sam's face was in the most immovable state of calmness, he thought better of it, and looked affable again.
"Perhaps we had better be walking," said Mr. Smauker, consulting a copper time-piece which dwelt at the bottom of a deep watch-pocket, and was raised to the surface by means of a black string, with a copper key at the other end.
"P'raps we had," replied Sam, "or they'll overdo the swarry, and that'll spile it."
"Have you drank the waters, Mr. Weller?" inquired his companion, as they walked towards High Street.
"Once," replied Sam.
"What did you think of 'em, sir?"
"I thought they wos particklery unpleasant," replied Sam.
"Ah," said Mr. John Smauker, "you disliked the killibeate taste, perhaps?"
"I don't know much about that 'ere," said Sam. "I thought they'd a wery strong flavour o' warm flat irons."
"That is the killibeate, Mr. Weller," observed Mr. John Smauker, contemptuously.
"Well, if it is, it's a wery inexpressive word, that's all," said Sam. "It may be, but I ain't much in the chimical line myself, so I can't say." And here, to the great horror of Mr. John Smauker, Sam Weller began to whistle.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Weller," said Mr. John Smauker, agonised at the exceedingly ungenteel sound, "Will you take my arm?"
"Thank'ee, you're wery good, but I won't deprive you of it," replied Sam. "I've rayther a way o' puttin' my hands in my pockets, if it's all the same to you." As Sam said this, he suited the action to the word, and whistled far louder than before.
"This way," said his new friend, apparently much relieved as they turned down a bye street; "we shall soon be there."
"Shall we?" said Sam, quite unmoved by the announcement of his close vicinity to the select footmen of Bath.
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