'I worn't always a boots, sir,' said Mr. Weller, with a shake of the
head. 'I wos a vaginer's boy, once.'

'When was that?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'When I wos first pitched neck and crop into the world, to play at
leap-frog with its troubles,' replied Sam. 'I wos a carrier's boy at
startin'; then a vaginer's, then a helper, then a boots. Now I'm a
gen'l'm'n's servant. I shall be a gen'l'm'n myself one of these days,
perhaps, with a pipe in my mouth, and a summer-house in the back-garden.
Who knows? I shouldn't be surprised for one.'

'You are quite a philosopher, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'It runs in the family, I b'lieve, sir,' replied Mr. Weller. 'My
father's wery much in that line now. If my mother-in-law blows him up,
he whistles. She flies in a passion, and breaks his pipe; he steps out,
and gets another. Then she screams wery loud, and falls into 'sterics;
and he smokes wery comfortably till she comes to agin. That's
philosophy, Sir, ain't it?'

'A very good substitute for it, at all events,' replied Mr. Pickwick,
laughing. 'It must have been of great service to you, in the course of
your rambling life, Sam.'

'Service, sir,' exclaimed Sam. 'You may say that. Arter I run away from
the carrier, and afore I took up with the vaginer, I had unfurnished
lodgin's for a fortnight.'

'Unfurnished lodgings?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Yes--the dry arches of Waterloo Bridge. Fine sleeping-place--vithin ten
minutes' walk of all the public offices--only if there is any objection
to it, it is that the sitivation's rayther too airy. I see some queer
sights there.' 'Ah, I suppose you did,' said Mr. Pickwick, with an air
of considerable interest.

'Sights, sir,' resumed Mr. Weller, 'as 'ud penetrate your benevolent
heart, and come out on the other side. You don't see the reg'lar
wagrants there; trust 'em, they knows better than that. Young beggars,
male and female, as hasn't made a rise in their profession, takes
up their quarters there sometimes; but it's generally the worn-out,
starving, houseless creeturs as roll themselves in the dark corners o'
them lonesome places--poor creeturs as ain't up to the twopenny rope.'

'And pray, Sam, what is the twopenny rope?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'The twopenny rope, sir,' replied Mr. Weller, 'is just a cheap lodgin'
house, where the beds is twopence a night.'

'What do they call a bed a rope for?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Bless your innocence, sir, that ain't it,' replied Sam. 'Ven t