[Illustration]
_In which Mr. Samuel Weller begins to devote his Energies to the
Return Match between himself and Mr. Trotter_
In a small room in the vicinity of the stable-yard, betimes in the
morning, which was ushered in by Mr. Pickwick's adventure with the
middle-aged lady in the yellow curl-papers, sat Mr. Weller senior,
preparing himself for his journey to London. He was sitting in an
excellent attitude for having his portrait taken.
It is very possible that at some earlier period of his career, Mr.
Weller's profile might have presented a bold and determined outline.
His face, however, had expanded under the influence of good living,
and a disposition remarkable for resignation; and its bold, fleshy
curves had so far extended beyond the limits originally assigned
them, that unless you took a full view of his countenance in front,
it was difficult to distinguish more than the extreme tip of a very
rubicund nose. His chin, from the same cause, had acquired the grave
and imposing form which is generally described by prefixing the word
"double" to that expressive feature; and his complexion exhibited that
peculiarly mottled combination of colours which is only to be seen in
gentlemen of his profession, and in under-done roast beef. Round his
neck he wore a crimson travelling shawl, which merged into his chin by
such imperceptible gradations, that it was difficult to distinguish the
folds of the one from the folds of the other. Over this, he mounted a
long waistcoat of a broad pink-striped pattern, and over that again, a
wide-skirted green coat, ornamented with large brass buttons, whereof
the two which garnished the waist, were so far apart, that no man had
ever beheld them both, at the same time. His hair, which was short,
sleek, and black, was just visible beneath the capacious brim of a
low-crowned brown hat. His legs were encased in knee-cord breeches and
painted top-boots; and a copper watch-chain, terminating in one seal,
and a key of the same material, dangled loosely from his capacious
waistband.
We have said that Mr. Weller was engaged in preparing for his
journey to London--he was taking sustenance, in fact. On the table
before him, stood a pot of ale, a cold round of beef, and a very
respectable-looking loaf, to each of which he distributed his favours
in turn, with the most rigid impartiality. He had just cut a mighty
slice from the latter, when the footsteps of somebody entering the
room, caused him to raise his head; and he beheld his son.
"Mornin', Sammy!" said the father.
The son walked up to the pot of ale, and nodding significantly to his
parent, took a long draught by way of reply.
"Wery good power o' suction, Sammy," said Mr. Weller the elder, looking
into the pot, when his first-born had set it down half empty. "You'd
ha' made an uncommon fine oyster, Sammy, if you'd been born in that
station o' life."
"Yes, I des-say I should ha' managed to pick up a respectable livin',"
replied Sam, applying himself to the cold beef, with considerable
vigour.
"I'm wery sorry, Sammy," said the elder Mr. Weller, shaking up the ale,
by describing small circles with the pot, preparatory to drinking.
"I'm wery sorry, Sammy, to hear from your lips, as you let yourself be
gammoned by that 'ere mulberry man. I always thought, up to three days
ago, that the names of Veller and gammon could never come into contact,
Sammy, never."
"Always exceptin' the case of a widder, of course," said Sam.
"Widders, Sammy," replied Mr. Weller, slightly changing colour,
"widders are 'ceptions to ev'ry rule. I _have_ heerd how many ord'nary
women one widder's equal to, in pint o' comin' over you. I think it's
five-and-twenty, but I don't rightly know vether it ain't more."
"Well; that's pretty well," said Sam.
"Besides," continued Mr. Weller, not noticing the interruption, "that's
a wery different thing. You know what the counsel said, Sammy, as
defended the gen'l'm'n as beat his wife with the poker, venever he got
jolly. 'And arter all, my Lord,' says he, 'it's a amiable weakness.' So
I says respectin' widders, Sammy, and so you'll say, ven you gets as
old as me."
"I ought to ha' know'd better, I know," said Sam.
"Ought to ha' know'd better!" repeated Mr. Weller, striking the table
with his fist. "Ought to ha' know'd better! why, I know a young 'un
as hasn't had half nor quarter your eddication--as hasn't slept about
the markets, no, not six months--who'd ha' scorned to be let in, in
such a vay; scorned it, Sammy." In the excitement of feeling produced
by this agonising reflection, Mr. Weller rang the bell, and ordered an
additional pint of ale.
"Well, it's no use talking about it now," said Sam. "It's over, and
can't be helped, and that's one consolation, as they always says in
Turkey, ven they cuts the wrong man's head off. It's my innings now,
gov'rnor, and as soon as I catches hold o' this 'ere Trotter, I'll have
a good 'un."
"I hope you will, Sammy. I hope you will," returned Mr. Weller. "Here's
your health, Sammy, and may you speedily vipe off the disgrace as
you've inflicted on the family name." In honour of this toast Mr.
Weller imbibed at a draught, at least two-thirds of the newly-arrived
pint, and handed it over to his son, to dispose of the remainder, which
he instantaneously did.
"And now, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, consulting the large double-faced
silver watch that hung at the end of the copper chain. "Now it's time
I was up at the office to get my vay-bill, and see the coach loaded;
for coaches, Sammy, is like guns--they requires to be loaded with wery
great care, afore they go off."
At this parental and professional joke, Mr. Weller junior smiled a
filial smile. His revered parent continued in a solemn tone:
"I'm a goin' to leave you, Samivel, my boy, and there's no telling ven
I shall see you again. Your mother-in-law may ha' been too much for
me, or a thousand things may have happened by the time you next hears
any news o' the celebrated Mr. Veller o' the Bell Savage. The family
name depends wery much upon you, Samivel, and I hope you'll do wot's
right by it. Upon all little pints o' breedin', I know I may trust you
as vell as if it was my own self. So I've only this here one little
bit of adwice to give you. If ever you gets to up'ards o' fifty, and
feels disposed to go a marryin' anybody--no matter who--just you shut
yourself up in your own room, if you've got one, and pison yourself off
hand. Hangin's wulgar, so don't you have nothin' to say to that. Pison
yourself, Samivel, my boy, pison yourself, and you'll be glad on it
arterwards." With these affecting words, Mr. Weller looked steadfastly
on his son, and turning slowly upon his heel, disappeared from his
sight.
In the contemplative mood which these words had awakened, Mr. Samuel
Weller walked forth from the Great White Horse when his father had left
him; and bending his steps towards St. Clement's Church, endeavoured to
dissipate his melancholy by strolling among its ancient precincts. He
had loitered about for some time, when he found himself in a retired
spot--a kind of court-yard of venerable appearance--which he discovered
had no other outlet than the turning by which he had entered. He was
about retracing his steps, when he was suddenly transfixed to the spot
by a sudden appearance; and the mode and manner of this appearance, we
now proceed to relate.
Mr. Samuel Weller had been staring up at the old brick houses
now and then, in his deep abstraction, bestowing a wink upon some
healthy-looking servant girl as she drew up a blind or threw open a
bed-room window, when the green gate of a garden at the bottom of the
yard opened, and a man having emerged therefrom, closed the green gate
very carefully after him, and walked briskly towards the very spot
where Mr. Weller was standing.
Now, taking this, as an isolated fact, unaccompanied by any attendant
circumstances, there was nothing very extraordinary in it; because
in many parts of the world, men do come out of gardens, close green
gates after them, and even walk briskly away, without attracting any
particular share of public observation. It is clear, therefore, that
there must have been something in the man, or in his manner, or both,
to attract Mr. Weller's particular notice. Whether there was, or not,
we must leave the reader to determine, when we have faithfully recorded
the behaviour of the individual in question.
When the man had shut the green gate after him, he walked, as we have
said twice already, with a brisk pace up the court-yard; but he no
sooner caught sight of Mr. Weller, than he faltered, and stopped, as if
uncertain, for the moment, what course to adopt. As the green gate was
closed behind him, and there was no other outlet but the one in front,
however, he was not long in perceiving that he must pass Mr. Samuel
Weller to get away. He therefore resumed his brisk pace, and advanced,
staring straight before him. The most extraordinary thing about the
man was, that he was contorting his face into the most fearful and
astonishing grimaces that ever were beheld. Nature's handiwork never
was disguised with such extraordinary artificial carving, as the man
had overlaid his countenance with in one moment.
"Well!" said Mr. Weller to himself, as the man approached. "This is
wery odd. I could ha' swore it was him."
Up came the man, and his face became more frightfully distorted than
ever, as he drew nearer.
"I could take my oath to that 'ere black hair and mulberry suit," said
Mr. Weller; "only I never see such a face as that, afore."
As Mr. Weller said this, the man's features assumed an unearthly
twinge, perfectly hideous. He was obliged to pass very near Sam,
however, and the scrutinising glance of that gentleman enabled him to
detect, under all these appalling twists of feature, something too like
the small eyes of Mr. Job Trotter, to be easily mistaken.
"Hallo, you sir!" shouted Sam, fiercely.
The stranger stopped.
"Hallo!" repeated Sam, still more gruffly.
The man with the horrible face looked with the greatest surprise,
up the court, and down the court, and in at the windows of the
houses--everywhere but at Sam Weller--and took another step forward,
when he was brought to again, by another shout.
"Hallo, you sir!" said Sam, for the third time.
There was no pretending to mistake where the voice came from now, so
the stranger, having no other resource, at last looked Sam Weller full
in the face.
"It won't do, Job Trotter," said Sam. "Come! none o' that 'ere
nonsense. You ain't so wery 'andsome that you can afford to throw avay
many o' your good looks. Bring them 'ere eyes o' your'n back into their
proper places, or I'll knock 'em out of your head. D'ye hear?"
As Mr. Weller appeared fully disposed to act up to the spirit of this
address, Mr. Trotter gradually allowed his face to resume its natural
expression; and then giving a start of joy, exclaimed, "What do I see?
Mr. Walker!"
"Ah," replied Sam. "You're wery glad to see me, ain't you?"
"Glad!" exclaimed Job Trotter; "oh, Mr. Walker, if you had but known
how I have looked forward to this meeting! It is too much, Mr. Walker;
I cannot bear it, indeed I cannot." And with these words, Mr. Trotter
burst into a regular inundation of tears, and, flinging his arms around
those of Mr. Weller, embraced him closely, in an ecstasy of joy.
"Get off!" cried Sam, indignant at this process, and vainly
endeavouring to extricate himself from the grasp of his enthusiastic
acquaintance. "Get off, I tell you. What are you crying over me for,
you portable ingine?"
"Because I am so glad to see you," replied Job Trotter, gradually
releasing Mr. Weller, as the first symptoms of his pugnacity
disappeared. "Oh, Mr. Walker, this is too much!"
"Too much!" echoed Sam, "I think it is too much--rayther! Now what have
you got to say to me, eh?"
Mr. Trotter made no reply; for the little pink pocket-handkerchief was
in full force.
"What have you got to say to me, afore I knock your head off?" repeated
Mr. Weller, in a threatening manner.
"Eh!" said Mr. Trotter, with a look of virtuous surprise.
"What have you got to say to me?"
"I, Mr. Walker?"
"Don't call me Valker; my name's Veller; you know that vell enough.
What have you got to say to me?"
"Bless you, Mr. Walker--Weller I mean--a great many things, if you will
come away somewhere, where we can talk comfortably. If you knew how I
have looked for you, Mr. Weller----"
"Wery hard, indeed, I s'pose?" said Sam, dryly.
"Very, very, sir," replied Mr. Trotter, without moving a muscle of his
face. "But shake hands, Mr. Weller."
Sam eyed his companion for a few seconds, and then, as if actuated by a
sudden impulse, complied with his request.
"How," said Job Trotter, as they walked away, "how is your dear, good
master? Oh, he is a worthy gentleman, Mr. Weller! I hope he didn't
catch cold, that dreadful night, sir?"
There was a momentary look of deep slyness in Job Trotter's eye as
he said this, which ran a thrill through Mr. Weller's clenched fist
as he burnt with a desire to make a demonstration on his ribs. Sam
constrained himself, however, and replied that his master was extremely
well.
"Oh, I am so glad," replied Mr. Trotter. "Is he here?"
"Is your'n?" asked Sam, by way of reply.
"Oh yes, he is here, and I grieve to say, Mr. Weller, he is going on
worse than ever."
"Ah, ah?" said Sam.
"Oh, shocking--terrible!"
"At a boarding-school?" said Sam.
"No, not at a boarding-school," replied Job Trotter, with the same sly
look which Sam had noticed before; "not at a boarding-school."
"At the house with the green gate?" said Sam, eyeing his companion
closely.
"No, no--oh, not there," replied Job, with a quickness very unusual to
him, "not there."
"What was _you_ a doin' there?" asked Sam, with a sharp glance. "Got
inside the gate by accident, perhaps?"
"Why, Mr. Weller," replied Job, "I don't mind telling you my little
secrets, because, you know, we took such a fancy for each other when we
first met. You recollect how pleasant we were that morning?"
"Oh yes," said Sam, impatiently, "I remember. Well?"
"Well," replied Job, speaking with great precision, and in the low tone
of a man who communicates an important secret, "in that house with the
green gate, Mr. Weller, they keep a good many servants."
"So I should think, from the look on it," interposed Sam.
"Yes," continued Mr. Trotter, "and one of them is a cook, who has saved
up a little money, Mr. Weller, and is desirous, if she can establish
herself in life, to open a little shop in the chandlery way, you see."
"Yes."
"Yes, Mr. Weller. Well, sir, I met her at a chapel that I go to: a very
neat little chapel in this town, Mr. Weller, where they sing the number
four collection of hymns, which I generally carry about with me, in a
little book, which you may perhaps have seen in my hand--and I got a
little intimate with her, Mr. Weller, and from that, an acquaintance
sprung up between us, and I may venture to say, Mr. Weller, that I am
to be the chandler."
"Ah, and a wery amiable chandler you'll make," replied Sam, eyeing Job
with a side look of intense dislike.
"The great advantage of this, Mr. Weller," continued Job, his eyes
filling with tears as he spoke, "will be, that I shall be able to leave
my present disgraceful service with that bad man, and to devote myself
to a better and more virtuous life; more like the way in which I was
brought up, Mr. Weller."
"You must ha' been wery nicely brought up?" said Sam.
"Oh, very, Mr. Weller, very," replied Job. At the recollection of
the purity of his youthful days, Mr. Trotter pulled forth the pink
handkerchief, and wept copiously.
"You must ha' been an uncommon nice boy to go to school vith," said Sam.
"I was, sir," replied Job, heaving a deep sigh. "I was the idol of the
place."
"Ah," said Sam, "I don't wonder at it. What a comfort you must ha' been
to your blessed mother."
At these words, Mr. Job Trotter inserted an end of the pink
handkerchief into the corner of each eye, one after the other, and
began to weep copiously.
"Wot's the matter vith the man," said Sam, indignantly. "Chelsea
water-works is nothin' to you. What are you melting vith now? The
consciousness o' willany?"
"I cannot keep my feelings down, Mr. Weller," said Job, after a short
pause. "To think that my master should have suspected the conversation
I had with yours, and so dragged me away in a post-chaise, and after
persuading the sweet young lady to say she knew nothing of him, and
bribing the school-mistress to do the same, deserted her for a better
speculation! Oh! Mr. Weller, it makes me shudder."
"Oh, that was the vay, was it?" said Mr. Weller.
"To be sure it was," replied Job.
"Vell," said Sam, as they had now arrived near the Hotel, "I vant to
have a little bit o' talk with you, Job; so if you're not partickler
engaged, I should like to see you at the Great White Horse to-night,
somewheres about eight o'clock."
"I shall be sure to come," said Job.
"Yes, you'd better," replied Sam, with a very meaning look, "or else I
shall perhaps be asking arter you, at the other side of the green gate,
and then I might cut you out, you know."
"I shall be sure to be with you, sir," said Mr. Trotter; and wringing
Sam's hand with the utmost fervour, he walked away.
"Take care, Job Trotter, take care," said Sam, looking after him, "or
I shall be one too many for you this time. I shall indeed." Having
uttered this soliloquy, and looked after Job till he was to be seen no
more, Mr. Weller made the best of his way to his master's bed-room.
"It's all in training, sir," said Sam.
"What's in training, Sam?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"I've found 'em out, sir," said Sam.
"Found out whom?"
"That 'ere queer customer, and the melan-cholly chap with the black
hair."
"Impossible, Sam!" said Mr. Pickwick, with the greatest energy. "Where
are they, Sam; where are they?"
"Hush, hush!" replied Mr. Weller; and as he assisted Mr. Pickwick to
dress, he detailed the plan of action on which he proposed to enter.
"But when is this to be done, Sam?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"All in good time, sir," replied Sam.
Whether it was done in good time, or not, will be seen hereafter.