Chapter 51 - Page 2

voice was however heard to declare from the mist, that he
expected the first gold medal from the Humane Society on their
next distribution of rewards, for taking the postboy's hat off; the
water descending from the brim of which, the invisible gentleman
declared, must have drowned him (the postboy), but for his
great presence of mind in tearing it promptly from his head, and
drying the gasping man's countenance with a wisp of straw.

'This is pleasant,' said Bob Sawyer, turning up his coat collar,
and pulling the shawl over his mouth to concentrate the fumes of
a glass of brandy just swallowed.

'Wery,' replied Sam composedly.

'You don't seem to mind it,' observed Bob.

'Vy, I don't exactly see no good my mindin' on it 'ud do, sir,'
replied Sam.

'That's an unanswerable reason, anyhow,' said Bob.

'Yes, sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller. 'Wotever is, is right, as the
young nobleman sweetly remarked wen they put him down in the
pension list 'cos his mother's uncle's vife's grandfather vunce lit
the king's pipe vith a portable tinder-box.'
'Not a bad notion that, Sam,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer approvingly.

, Just wot the young nobleman said ev'ry quarter-day arterwards
for the rest of his life,' replied Mr. Weller.

'Wos you ever called in,' inquired Sam, glancing at the driver,
after a short silence, and lowering his voice to a mysterious
whisper--'wos you ever called in, when you wos 'prentice to a
sawbones, to wisit a postboy.'

'I don't remember that I ever was,' replied Bob Sawyer.

'You never see a postboy in that 'ere hospital as you WALKED
(as they says o' the ghosts), did you?' demanded Sam.

'No,' replied Bob Sawyer. 'I don't think I ever did.'

'Never know'd a churchyard were there wos a postboy's
tombstone, or see a dead postboy, did you?' inquired Sam,
pursuing his catechism.

'No,' rejoined Bob, 'I never did.'

'No!' rejoined Sam triumphantly. 'Nor never vill; and there's
another thing that no man never see, and that's a dead donkey.
No man never see a dead donkey 'cept the gen'l'm'n in the black
silk smalls as know'd the young 'ooman as kep' a goat; and that
wos a French donkey, so wery likely he warn't wun o' the reg'lar breed.'

'Well, what has that got to do with the postboys?' asked Bob Sawyer.

'This here,' replied Sam. 'Without goin' so far as to as-sert, as
some wery sensible people do, that postboys and donkeys is both
immortal, wot I say is this: that wenever they feels theirselves
gettin' stiff and past their work, they just rides off together, wun
postboy to a pair in the usual way; wot becomes on 'em nobody
knows, but it's wery probable as they starts avay to take their
pleasure in some other