Let 'em alone.' And away went the coach up Whitechapel, to the admiration of the whole population of that pretty densely populated quarter.
'Not a wery nice neighbourhood, this, Sir,' said Sam, with a touch of the hat, which always preceded his entering into conversation with his master.
'It is not indeed, Sam,' replied Mr.Pickwick, surveying the crowded and filthy street through which they were passing.
'It's a wery remarkable circumstance, Sir,' said Sam, 'that poverty and oysters always seem to go together.' 'I don't understand you, Sam,' said Mr.Pickwick.
'What I mean, sir,' said Sam, 'is, that the poorer a place is, the greater call there seems to be for oysters.

Look here, sir; here's a oyster-stall to every half-dozen houses.

The street's lined vith 'em.
Blessed if I don't think that ven a man's wery poor, he rushes out of his lodgings, and eats oysters in reg'lar desperation.' 'To be sure he does,' said Mr.Weller, senior; 'and it's just the same vith pickled salmon!' 'Those are two very remarkable facts, which never occurred to me before,' said Mr.Pickwick.

'The very first place we stop at, I'll make a note of them.' By this time they had reached the turnpike at Mile End; a profound silence prevailed until they had got two or three miles farther on, when Mr.Weller, senior, turning suddenly to Mr.Pickwick, said-- 'Wery queer life is a pike-keeper's, sir.' 'A what ?' said Mr.Pickwick.
'A pike-keeper.' 'What do you mean by a pike-keeper ?' inquired Mr.Peter Magnus.
'The old 'un means a turnpike-keeper, gen'l'm'n,' observed Mr.Samuel Weller, in explanation.
'Oh,' said Mr.Pickwick, 'I see.

Yes; very curious life.