“…I might keep up with a young ‘ooman o’ large property as hadn’t a title, if she made wery fierce love to me. Not else.”
“Of course not, Mr. Weller,” said the gentleman in blue, “one can't be troubled, you know; and we know, Mr. Weller – we, who are men of the world – that a good uniform must work its way with the women, sooner or later. In fact, that's the only thing, between you and me, that makes the service worth entering into.”
“Just so,” said Sam. “That’s it, o’ course.”
When this confidential dialogue had gone thus far, glasses were placed round, and every gentleman ordered what he liked best, before the public-house shut up. The gentleman in blue, and the man in orange, who were the chief exquisites of the party, ordered “cold srub and water,” but with the others, gin-and-water, sweet, appeared to be the favourite beverage. Sam called the greengrocer a “desp’rate willin,” and ordered a large bowl of punch – two circumstances which seemed to raise him very much in the opinion of the selections.
“Gentlemen,” said the man in blue, with an air of the most consummate dandyism, “I'll give you the ladies; come.”
“Hear, hear!” said Sam. “The young mississes.”
Here there was a loud cry of “Order,” and Mr. John Smauker, as the gentleman who had introduced Mr. Weller into that company, begged to inform him that the word he had just made use of, was unparliamentary.
“Which word was that ‘ere, Sir?” inquired Sam.
“Mississes, Sir,' replied Mr. John Smauker, with an alarming frown. “We don’t recognise such distinctions here.”
“Oh, wery good,” said Sam; “then I'll amend the obserwation and call ‘em the dear creeturs, if Blazes vill allow me.”