I worked down the wery day arter the night as you caught the rheumatic, and at the Black Boy at Chelmsford--the wery place they'd come to--I took 'em up, right through to Ipswich, where the man-servant--him in the mulberries--told me they was a-goin' to put up for a long time.' 'I'll follow him,' said Mr.Pickwick; 'we may as well see Ipswich as any other place.

I'll follow him.' 'You're quite certain it was them, governor ?' inquired Mr.Weller, junior.
'Quite, Sammy, quite,' replied his father, 'for their appearance is wery sing'ler; besides that 'ere, I wondered to see the gen'l'm'n so formiliar with his servant; and, more than that, as they sat in the front, right behind the box, I heerd 'em laughing and saying how they'd done old Fireworks.' 'Old who ?' said Mr.Pickwick.
'Old Fireworks, Sir; by which, I've no doubt, they meant you, Sir.' There is nothing positively vile or atrocious in the appellation of 'old Fireworks,' but still it is by no means a respectful or flattering designation.

The recollection of all the wrongs he had sustained at Jingle's hands, had crowded on Mr.Pickwick's mind, the moment Mr.
Weller began to speak; it wanted but a feather to turn the scale, and 'old Fireworks' did it.
'I'll follow him,' said Mr.Pickwick, with an emphatic blow on the table.
'I shall work down to Ipswich the day arter to-morrow, Sir,' said Mr.
Weller the elder, 'from the Bull in Whitechapel; and if you really mean to go, you'd better go with me.' 'So we had,' said Mr.Pickwick; 'very true; I can write to Bury, and tell them to meet me at Ipswich.

We will go with you.

But don't hurry away, Mr.Weller; won't you take anything ?' 'You're wery good, Sir,' replied Mr.W., stopping short;--'perhaps a small glass of brandy to drink your health, and success to Sammy, Sir, wouldn't be amiss.' 'Certainly not,' replied Mr.Pickwick.