'I like yours so much, that I wanted to speak to you, from the very first moment I saw you under the pump.' 'Did you though ?' 'Upon my word.

Now, isn't that curious ?' 'Wery sing'ler,' said Sam, inwardly congratulating himself upon the softness of the stranger.

'What's your name, my patriarch ?' 'Job.' 'And a wery good name it is; only one I know that ain't got a nickname to it.

What's the other name ?' 'Trotter,' said the stranger.

'What is yours ?' Sam bore in mind his master's caution, and replied-- 'My name's Walker; my master's name's Wilkins.