Mr. Weller, senior, sat heavily upon an old crate and gazed with parental pride upon his dear son.
"Samivel, m'boy," he said, sucking with grave meditation on his pipe. "I've somethin' wery sing'lar to tell you. Wery sing'lar, indeed."
His son, with that filial affection with which he had been so blessed, nodded.
"Vell, then, old stop-and-go, what is this precious bit o' knowledge?"
"Vell, Samivel," said his revered progenitor, bobbing his head impressively. "You aren't getting any younger, my boy."
"What a wery profound proclamation, as the dog said to the fox, when he said he oughtn't t'hunt him."
"I was saying," continued the smoke-wreathed Mr. Weller, lost in the lofty heights of his own contemplation, "I was saying, Sammy, that it's bout the time a feller like yourself starts looking for a widder, only one that ain't been widdered yet."
"Right you are, old huff-and-puff, so it is. But I a'nt found meself an unwiddered widder yet."
The elder Weller waved a rubicund hand dismissively, as if to intimate such paltry details were wholly inapplicable to the present discussion.
"I know you an't, Sammy, but you will. The time is ripe, as the axe-man said, when the victim finally stopped a-flailin'. And when you finds a woman, Samivel, you oughts to know how to treat her, seeing as you're a Veller. Ve Vellers was always known for being wery charming, wery charming."
And this beacon of comely graces smiled placidly at his son, hereby implying, by dint of a jovial wink, that this reputation was not altogether undeserved. His affectionate offspring replied:
"Ah, so we are, old 'un, so we are. Though mayhaps old mother-in-law may 'ave a different perskeptive on the matter."
Weller Senior shook his head in an attitude of dismal lamentation, and sighed the sigh of a martyr.
"Your mother-in-law is a widder, Samivel, and thus ain't never satisfied. Why our Lord chose to make widders such a quer'lous bunch I'm not sure, Sammy, but He did, and there's nothin' more to it."
And, having delivered this nugget of sagely wisdom to his reverent heir, he coughed impressively and blew a ring of thick gray smoke. The younger Weller, whose lungs were still tender with youth, hacked indignantly and protested:
"Alright, there, you old wheezing lump, try not to blow that there foulity in my dirwection. Now what did you wants to tell me about women?"
"Vell, Samivel, it seems to me that women before marriage is easy enough to 'pease, just afterwards they gets fractious, see."
"Do they? How so, old chimney puff?" inquired his dutiful son, his hands in his pockets. That thoughtful philosopher, Mr. Weller the Older, took another whiff of his pipe before replying with a little, almost leering smirk frightful to behold:
"Vell, Sammy, m'boy, they gets awful eager to skip the formalities, if you comprehend me."
"I'm lost in the dark, as the old chap said on his way to get a bit of tongue at midnight. Explain, my precious, puffing father."
The older man's smirk just widened inexplicably at his son's puzzled reply, and he leant forward, saying with a conspirator's grave wink:
"They gets anxious for you to bed them, Samivel."
Sam jumped, as if this reprehensible thought had never occurred to him.
"Bed 'em?"
"Quite so, Sammy," snickered his father, allowing himself a well-earned chuckle (for a lifetime of idleness certainly does become tiresome, if not downright exhausting, without the occasional reprieve) before becoming more solemn. "They can't helps but like it, and it's an amiable veakness, as the man who beat his wife told the judge. I tell you, Sam, you won't be getting no peace after the vedding unless you beds your widder proper. And you oughts to do it twice a veek—any more than that and it gets terrible wulgar, Sammy, my boy, so just twice a veek."
"Vell, then, old 'un," replied the startled younger Weller. "That is wery sing'lar—wery sing'lar indeed."
"So tis, Sam," agreed his complacent parent, nodding and dispersing the thick ring of smoke which had formed round his sage countenance. "Ve Vellers was always filosifers, Sammy, m'boy, and don'ts forget it. Now then, young green-ears, I must be going. Give my best to the gov'ner, hey?"
"Going, my wery fine father? Vithout another tumbler of cordial? That's wery strange."
The sagacious Mr. Weller simply turned to his puzzled son and, for the dozenth time during the conversation which we have just transcribed, winked in a manner at once very grave and very jocular.
"As you vill find vhen you are at my stage o'life, Samivel, cordial is a wery fine thing in this world, but one thing vill trump it every time."
"Is that so, then? What is it, you ancient gargill?"
With the air of one imparting a great secret, the wise Elder Weller leered at his son and squinted before replying:
"Women, Sammy. Specially them's as is not been bed since last veek!"