Sam intimated by a nod that he recollected the problem alluded to by his parent.
‘So you vouldn’t subscribe to the flannel veskits?’ said Sam, after another interval of smoking.
‘Cert’nly not,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘what’s the good o’ flannel veskits to the young n*****s abroad? But I’ll tell you what it is, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, lowering his voice, and bending across the fireplace; ‘I’d come down wery handsome towards strait veskits for some people at home.’
As Mr. Weller said this, he slowly recovered his former position, and winked at his first-born, in a profound manner.
‘It cert’nly seems a queer start to send out pocket-’ankerchers to people as don’t know the use on ‘em,’ observed Sam.
‘They’re alvays a-doin’ some gammon of that sort, Sammy,’ replied his father. ‘T’other Sunda
