The bell did ring in due course, and Mr.Weller presented himself.
'Sam,' said Mr.Pickwick, looking out from under the bed-clothes.
'Sir,' said Mr.Weller.
Mr.Pickwick paused, and Mr.Weller snuffed the candle.
'Sam,' said Mr.Pickwick again, as if with a desperate effort.
'Sir,' said Mr.Weller, once more.
'Where is that Trotter ?' 'Job, sir ?' 'Yes.
'Gone, sir.' 'With his master, I suppose ?' 'Friend or master, or whatever he is, he's gone with him,' replied Mr.
Weller.

'There's a pair on 'em, sir.' 'Jingle suspected my design, and set that fellow on you, with this story, I suppose ?' said Mr.Pickwick, half choking.
'Just that, sir,' replied Mr.Weller.
'It was all false, of course ?' 'All, sir,' replied Mr.Weller.

'Reg'lar do, sir; artful dodge.' 'I don't think he'll escape us quite so easily the next time, Sam!' said Mr.Pickwick.
'I don't think he will, Sir.' 'Whenever I meet that Jingle again, wherever it is,' said Mr.Pickwick, raising himself in bed, and indenting his pillow with a tremendous blow, 'I'll inflict personal chastisement on him, in addition to the exposure he so richly merits.

I will, or my name is not Pickwick.' 'And venever I catches hold o' that there melan-cholly chap with the black hair,' said Sam, 'if I don't bring some real water into his eyes, for once in a way, my name ain't Weller.

Good-night, Sir!'.