'Come here, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, trying to look stern, with four large tears running down his waistcoat.'Take that, sir.'
Take what? In the ordinary acceptation of such language, it should have been a blow. As the world runs, it ought to have been a sound, hearty cuff; for Mr. Pickwick had been duped, deceived, and wronged by the destitute outcast who was now wholly in his power. Must we tell the truth? It was something from Mr. Pickwick's waistcoat pocket, which chinked as it was given into Job's hand, and the giving of which,somehow or other imparted a sparkle to the eye, and a swelling to the heart, of our excellent old friend, as he hurried away.