mouredly, as
he took his seat on the box beside him.

'Jump up in front, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller. 'Now Villam, run 'em out.
Take care o' the archvay, gen'l'm'n. "Heads," as the pieman says.
That'll do, Villam. Let 'em alone.' And away went the coach up
Whitechapel, to the admiration of the whole population of that pretty
densely populated quarter.

'Not a wery nice neighbourhood, this, Sir,' said Sam, with a touch of
the hat, which always preceded his entering into conversation with his
master.

'It is not indeed, Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick, surveying the crowded and
filthy street through which they were passing.

'It's a wery remarkable circumstance, Sir,' said Sam, 'that poverty and
oysters always seem to go together.'

'I don't understand you, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'What I mean, sir,' said Sam, 'is, that the poorer a place is, the
greater call there seems to be for oysters. Look here, sir; here's a
oyster-stall to every half-dozen houses. The street's lined vith 'em.
Blessed if I don't think that ven a man's wery poor, he rushes out of
his lodgings, and eats oysters in reg'lar desperation.'

'To be sure he does,' said Mr. Weller, senior; 'and it's just the same
vith pickled salmon!'

'Those are two very remarkable facts, which never occurred to me
before,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'The very first place we stop at, I'll make
a note of them.'

By this time they had reached the turnpike at Mile End; a profound
silence prevailed until they had got two or three miles farther on, when
Mr. Weller, senior, turning suddenly to Mr. Pickwick, said--

'Wery queer life is a pike-keeper's, sir.'

'A what?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'A pike-keeper.'

'What do you mean by a pike-keeper?' inquired Mr. Peter Magnus.

'The old 'un means a turnpike-keeper, gen'l'm'n,' observed Mr. Samuel
Weller, in explanation.

'Oh,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I see. Yes; very curious life. Very
uncomfortable.'

'They're all on 'em men as has met vith some disappointment in life,'
said Mr. Weller, senior.

'Ay, ay,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Yes. Consequence of vich, they retires from the world, and shuts
themselves up in pikes; partly with the view of being solitary, and
partly to rewenge themselves on mankind by takin' tolls.'

'Dear me,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I never knew that before.'

'Fact, Sir,' said Mr. Weller; 'if they was gen'l'm'n, you'd call 'em
misanthropes, but as it is, they only takes to pike-keepin'.'

With such conversation, po