‘I have just been thinking, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that having left a good many things at Mrs. Bardell’s, in Goswell Street, I ought to arrange for taking them away, before I leave town again.’ ‘Wery good, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘I could send them to Mr. Tupman’s, for the present, Sam,’ continued Mr. Pickwick, ‘but before we take them away, it is necessary that they should be looked up, and put together. I wish you would step up to Goswell Street, Sam, and arrange about it.’ ‘At once, Sir?’ inquired Mr. Weller. ‘At once,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘And stay, Sam,’ added Mr. Pickwick, pulling out his purse, ‘there is some rent to pay. The quarter is not due till Christmas, but you may pay it, and have done with it. A month’s notice terminates my tenancy. Here it is, written out. Give it, and tell Mrs. Bardell she may put a bill up, as soon as she likes.’ ‘Wery good, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘anythin’ more, sir?’ ‘Nothing more, Sam.’ Mr. Weller stepped slowly to the door, as if he expected something more; slowly opened it, slowly stepped out, and had slowly closed it within a couple of inches, when Mr. Pickwick called out-- ‘Sam.’ ‘Yes, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, stepping quickly back, and closing the door behind him. ‘I have no objection, Sam, to your endeavouring to ascertain how Mrs. Bardell herself seems disposed towards me, and whether it is really probable that this vile and groundless action is to be carried to extremity. I say I do not object to you doing this, if you wish it, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick. Sam gave a short nod of intelligence, and left the room. Mr. Pickwick drew the silk handkerchief once more over his head, And composed himself for a nap. Mr. Weller promptly walked forth, to execute his commission. It was nearly nine o’clock when he reached Goswell Street. A couple of candles were burning in the little front parlour, and a couple of caps were reflected on the window-blind. Mrs. Bardell had got company. Mr. Weller knocked at the door, and after a pretty long interval-- occupied by the party without, in whistling a tune, and by the party within, in persuading a refractory flat candle to allow itself to be lighted--a pair of small boots pattered over the floor-cloth, and Master Bardell presented himself. ‘Well, young townskip,’ said Sam, ‘how’s mother?’ ‘She’s pretty well,’ replied Master Bardell, ‘so am I.’ ‘Well, that’s a mercy,’ said Sam; ‘tell her I want to speak to her, will you, my hinfant fernomenon?’ Master Bardell, thus adjured, placed the refractory flat candle on the bottom stair, and vanished into the front parlour with his message.