not, I had no difficulty in changing the subject by making an
inquiry which had been upon my lips twenty times already.

'You have not told me,' said I, 'anything about Sam Weller.'

'O! Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'is the same as ever. The same
true, faithful fellow that he ever was. What should I tell you
about Sam, my dear sir, except that he is more indispensable to my
happiness and comfort every day of my life?'

'And Mr. Weller senior?' said I.

'Old Mr. Weller,' returned Mr. Pickwick, 'is in no respect more
altered than Sam, unless it be that he is a little more opinionated
than he was formerly, and perhaps at times more talkative. He
spends a good deal of his time now in our neighbourhood, and has so
constituted himself a part of my bodyguard, that when I ask
permission for Sam to have a seat in your kitchen on clock nights
(supposing your three friends think me worthy to fill one of the
chairs), I am afraid I must often include Mr. Weller too.'

I very readily pledged myself to give both Sam and his father a
free admission to my house at all hours and seasons, and this point
settled, we fell into a lengthy conversation which was carried on
with as little reserve on both sides as if we had been intimate
friends from our youth, and which conveyed to me the comfortable
assurance that Mr. Pickwick's buoyancy of spirit, and indeed all
his old cheerful characteristics, were wholly unimpaired. As he
had spoken of the consent of my friends as being yet in abeyance, I
repeatedly assured him that his proposal was certain to receive