'I wos a vaginer's boy, once.' 'When was that ?' inquired Mr.Pickwick.
'When I wos first pitched neck and crop into the world, to play at leap-frog with its troubles,' replied Sam.

'I wos a carrier's boy at startin'; then a vaginer's, then a helper, then a boots.

Now I'm a gen'l'm'n's servant.

I shall be a gen'l'm'n myself one of these days, perhaps, with a pipe in my mouth, and a summer-house in the back-garden.
Who knows?
I shouldn't be surprised for one.' 'You are quite a philosopher, Sam,' said Mr.Pickwick.
'It runs in the family, I b'lieve, sir,' replied Mr.Weller.

'My father's wery much in that line now.