sagreeable refresher on the subject of Mrs. Bardell's action. He
breakfasted betimes next morning, and, desiring Sam to accompany him,
set forth towards Gray's Inn Square.

'Sam!' said Mr. Pickwick, looking round, when they got to the end of
Cheapside.

'Sir?' said Sam, stepping up to his master.

'Which way?' 'Up Newgate Street.'

Mr. Pickwick did not turn round immediately, but looked vacantly in
Sam's face for a few seconds, and heaved a deep sigh.

'What's the matter, sir?' inquired Sam.

'This action, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'is expected to come on, on the
fourteenth of next month.' 'Remarkable coincidence that 'ere, sir,'
replied Sam.

'Why remarkable, Sam?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Walentine's day, sir,' responded Sam; 'reg'lar good day for a breach o'
promise trial.'

Mr. Weller's smile awakened no gleam of mirth in his master's
countenance. Mr. Pickwick turned abruptly round, and led the way in
silence.

They had walked some distance, Mr. Pickwick trotting on before, plunged
in profound meditation, and Sam following behind, with a countenance
expressive of the most enviable and easy defiance of everything and
everybody, when the latter, who was always especially anxious to impart
to his master any exclusive information he possessed, quickened his pace
until he was close at Mr. Pickwick's heels; and, pointing up at a house
they were passing, said--

'Wery nice pork-shop that 'ere, sir.'

'Yes, it seems so,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Celebrated sassage factory,' said Sam.

'Is it?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Is it!' reiterated Sam, with some indignation; 'I should rayther
think it was. Why, sir, bless your innocent eyebrows, that's where the
mysterious disappearance of a 'spectable tradesman took place four years
ago.'

'You don't mean to say he was burked, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick, looking
hastily round.

'No, I don't indeed, sir,' replied Mr. Weller, 'I wish I did; far worse
than that. He was the master o' that 'ere shop, sir, and the inwentor
o' the patent-never-leavin'-off sassage steam-ingin, as 'ud swaller up a
pavin' stone if you put it too near, and grind it into sassages as easy
as if it was a tender young babby. Wery proud o' that machine he was, as
it was nat'ral he should be, and he'd stand down in the celler a-lookin'
at it wen it was in full play, till he got quite melancholy with joy. A
wery happy man he'd ha' been, Sir, in the procession o' that 'ere ingin
and two more lovely hinfants