Trotter, applying to his eyes a pink checked pocket handkerchief about six inches square.
"The feeling does you a great deal of honour," replied Mr. Pickwick; "but it is your duty, nevertheless."
"I know it is my duty, sir," replied Job, with great emotion. "We should all try to discharge our duty, sir, and I humbly endeavour to discharge mine, sir; but it is a hard trial to betray a master, sir, whose clothes you wear, and whose bread you eat, even though he is a scoundrel, sir."
"You are a very good fellow," said Mr. Pickwick, much affected, "an honest fellow."
"Come come," interposed Sam, who had witnessed Mr. Trotter's tears with considerable impatience, "blow this here water-cart bis'ness. It won't do no good, this won't."
"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, reproachfully, "I am sorry to find that you have so little respect for this young man's feelings."
"His feelins is all wery well, sir," replied Mr. Weller; "and as they're so wery fine, and it's a pity he should lose 'em, I think he'd better keep 'em in his own buzzum, than let 'em ewaporate in hot water, 'specially as they do no good. Tears never yet wound up a clock, or worked a steam ingen'. The next time you go out to a smoking party, young fellow, fill your pipe with that 'ere reflection; and for the present just put that bit of pink gingham into your pocket. "Tan't so handsome that you need keep waving it about, as if you was a tight-rope dancer."
"My man is in the right," said Mr. Pickwick, accosting Job, "although his mode of expressing his opinion is somewhat homely, and occasionally incomprehensible."
"He is, sir, very right," said Mr. Trotter, "and I will give way no longer."
"Very well," said Mr. Pickwick. "Now, where is this boarding-school?"
"It is a large, old, red-brick house, just outside the town, sir," replied Job Trotter.
