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Mr. Weller the elder delivers some Critical Sentiments respecting Literary Composition; and, assiste

           

           Samhadsolacedhimselfwithamostagreeablelittledinner,andwaswaitingatthebarfortheglassofwarmmixtureinwhichMr.Pickwickhadrequestedhimtodrownthefatiguesofhismorning’swalks,whenayoungboyofaboutthreefeethigh,orthereabouts,inahairycapandfustianoveralls,whosegarbbespokealaudableambitiontoattainintimetheelevationofanhostler,enteredthepassageoftheGeorgeandVulture,andlookedfirstupthestairs,andthenalongthepassage,andthenintothebar,asifinsearchofsomebodytowhomheboreacommission;whereuponthebarmaid,conceivingitnotimprobablethatthesaidcommissionmightbedirectedtotheteaortablespoonsoftheestablishment,accostedtheboywith

           ‘Now,youngman,whatdoyouwant?’

           ‘Isthereanybodyhere,namedSam?’inquiredtheyouth,inaloudvoiceoftreblequality.

           ‘What’sthet’othername?’saidSamWeller,lookinground.

           ‘HowshouldIknow?’brisklyrepliedtheyounggentlemanbelowthehairycap.‘You’reasharpboy,youare,’saidMr.Weller;‘onlyIwouldn’tshowthatweryfineedgetoomuch,ifIwasyou,incaseanybodytookitoff.Whatdoyoumeanbycomin’toahot-el,andaskingarterSam,vithasmuchpolitenessasavildIndian?’

           ‘‘Cosanoldgen’l’m’ntoldmeto,’repliedtheboy.

           ‘Whatoldgen’l’m’n?’inquiredSam,withdeepdisdain.

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