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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 397/859
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The
tea
-
things
had
been
scarcely
put
away
,
and
the
hearth
swept
up
,
when
the
London
coach
deposited
Mr
.
Weller
,
senior
,
at
the
door
;
his
legs
deposited
him
in
the
bar
;
and
his
eyes
showed
him
his
son
.
‘
What
,
Sammy
!
’
exclaimed
the
father
.
‘
What
,
old
Nobs
!
’
ejaculated
the
son
.
And
they
shook
hands
heartily
.
‘
Wery
glad
to
see
you
,
Sammy
,
’
said
the
elder
Mr
.
Weller
,
‘
though
how
you
’
ve
managed
to
get
over
your
mother
-
in
-
law
,
is
a
mystery
to
me
.
I
only
vish
you
’
d
write
me
out
the
receipt
,
that
’
s
all
.
’
‘
Hush
!
’
said
Sam
,
‘
she
’
s
at
home
,
old
feller
.
’
‘
She
ain
’
t
vithin
hearin
’
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Weller
;
‘
she
always
goes
and
blows
up
,
downstairs
,
for
a
couple
of
hours
arter
tea
;
so
we
’
ll
just
give
ourselves
a
damp
,
Sammy
.
’
Saying
this
,
Mr
.
Weller
mixed
two
glasses
of
spirits
-
and
-
water
,
and
produced
a
couple
of
pipes
.
The
father
and
son
sitting
down
opposite
each
other
;
Sam
on
one
side
of
the
fire
,
in
the
high
-
backed
chair
,
and
Mr
.
Weller
,
senior
,
on
the
other
,
in
an
easy
ditto
,
they
proceeded
to
enjoy
themselves
with
all
due
gravity
.
‘
Anybody
been
here
,
Sammy
?
’
asked
Mr
.
Weller
,
senior
,
dryly
,
after
a
long
silence
.
Sam
nodded
an
expressive
assent
.
‘
Red
-
nosed
chap
?
’
inquired
Mr
.
Weller
.
