"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 sveetly 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, ven 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
