d Mr. Weller; and having made his best bow, and
put on his best clothes, Sam planted himself on the top of the Arundel
coach, and journeyed on to Dorking.

The Marquis of Granby, in Mrs. Weller's time, was quite a model of
a roadside public-house of the better class--just large enough to be
convenient, and small enough to be snug. On the opposite side of the
road was a large sign-board on a high post, representing the head and
shoulders of a gentleman with an apoplectic countenance, in a red
coat with deep blue facings, and a touch of the same blue over his
three-cornered hat, for a sky. Over that again were a pair of flags;
beneath the last button of his coat were a couple of cannon; and the
whole formed an expressive and undoubted likeness of the Marquis of
Granby of glorious memory.

The bar window displayed a choice collection of geranium plants, and a
well-dusted row of spirit phials. The open shutters bore a variety of
golden inscriptions, eulogistic of good beds and neat wines; and the
choice group of countrymen and hostlers lounging about the stable door
and horse-trough, afforded presumptive proof of the excellent quality of
the ale and spirits which were sold within. Sam Weller paused, when he
dismounted from the coach, to note all these little indications of a
thriving business, with the eye of an experienced traveller; and having
done so, stepped in at once, highly satisfied with everything he had
observed.

'Now, then!' said a shrill female voice the instant Sam thrust his head
in at the door, 'what do you want, young man?'

Sam looked round in the direction whence the voice proceeded. It came
from a rather stout lady of comfortable appearance, who was seated
beside the fireplace in the bar, blowing the fire to make the kettle
boil for tea. She was not alone; for on the other side of the fireplace,
sitting bolt upright in a high-backed chair, was a man in threadbare
black clothes, with a back almost as long and stiff as that of the chair
itself, who caught Sam's most particular and especial attention at once.

He was a prim-faced, red-nosed man, with a long, thin countenance, and
a semi-rattlesnake sort of eye--rather sharp, but decidedly bad. He wore
very short trousers, and black cotton stockings, which, like the rest of
his apparel, were particularly rusty. His looks were starched, but his
white neckerchief was not, and its long limp ends straggled over his
closely-buttoned waistcoat in a very uncou