he took his pipe
from his mouth, and looked first at Mr. Weller and then at Mr. Pickwick.
Then, he would bury in a quart pot, as much of his countenance as the
dimensions of the quart pot admitted of its receiving, and take another
look at Sam and Mr. Pickwick. Then he would take another half-dozen
puffs with an air of profound meditation and look at them again. At last
the stout man, putting up his legs on the seat, and leaning his back
against the wall, began to puff at his pipe without leaving off at all,
and to stare through the smoke at the new-comers, as if he had made up
his mind to see the most he could of them.

At first the evolutions of the stout man had escaped Mr. Weller's
observation, but by degrees, as he saw Mr. Pickwick's eyes every now and
then turning towards him, he began to gaze in the same direction, at the
same time shading his eyes with his hand, as if he partially recognised
the object before him, and wished to make quite sure of its identity.
His doubts were speedily dispelled, however; for the stout man having
blown a thick cloud from his pipe, a hoarse voice, like some strange
effort of ventriloquism, emerged from beneath the capacious shawls which
muffled his throat and chest, and slowly uttered these sounds--'Wy,
Sammy!'

'Who's that, Sam?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Why, I wouldn't ha' believed it, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller, with
astonished eyes. 'It's the old 'un.'

'Old one,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'What old one?'

'My father, sir,' replied Mr. Weller. 'How are you, my ancient?' And
with this beautiful ebullition of filial affection, Mr. Weller made room
on the seat beside him, for the stout man, who advanced pipe in mouth
and pot in hand, to greet him.

'Wy, Sammy,' said the father, 'I ha'n't seen you, for two year and
better.'

'Nor more you have, old codger,' replied the son. 'How's mother-in-law?'

'Wy, I'll tell you what, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, senior, with much
solemnity in his manner; 'there never was a nicer woman as a widder,
than that 'ere second wentur o' mine--a sweet creetur she was, Sammy;
all I can say on her now, is, that as she was such an uncommon pleasant
widder, it's a great pity she ever changed her condition. She don't act
as a vife, Sammy.' 'Don't she, though?' inquired Mr. Weller, junior.

The elder Mr. Weller shook his head, as he replied with a sigh, 'I've
done it once too often, Sammy; I've done it once too often. Take example
by your father, my boy, and