[Illustration]
_Describes, far more fully than the Court Newsman ever did, a
Bachelor's Party, given by Mr. Bob Sawyer at his Lodgings in the
Borough_
There is a repose about Lant Street, in the Borough, which sheds a
gentle melancholy upon the soul. There are always a good many houses to
let in the street: it is a by-street too, and its dulness is soothing.
A house in Lant Street would not come within the denomination of a
first-rate residence, in the strict acceptation of the term; but it
is a most desirable spot nevertheless. If a man wished to abstract
himself from the world--to remove himself from within the reach of
temptation--to place himself beyond the possibility of any inducement
to look out of the window--he should by all means go to Lant Street.
In this happy retreat are colonised a few clear-starchers, a sprinkling
of journeymen bookbinders, one or two prison agents for the Insolvent
Court, several small housekeepers who are employed in the docks, a
handful of mantua-makers, and a seasoning of jobbing tailors. The
majority of the inhabitants either direct their energies to the letting
of furnished apartments, or devote themselves to the healthful and
invigorating pursuit of mangling. The chief features in the still life
of the street are green shutters, lodging-bills, brass door-plates,
and bell-handles; the principal specimens of animated nature, the
pot-boy, the muffin youth, and the baked-potato man. The population
is migratory, usually disappearing on the verge of quarter-day, and
generally by night. His Majesty's revenues are seldom collected in this
happy valley; the rents are dubious; and the water communication is
very frequently cut off.
Mr. Bob Sawyer embellished one side of the fire, in his first-floor
front, early in the evening for which he had invited Mr. Pickwick; and
Mr. Ben Allen the other. The preparations for the reception of visitors
appeared to be completed. The umbrellas in the passage had been heaped
into the little corner outside the back-parlour door; the bonnet and
shawl of the landlady's servant had been removed from the banisters;
there were not more than two pairs of pattens on the street-door mat,
and the kitchen candle, with a very long snuff, burnt cheerfully on the
ledge of the staircase window. Mr. Bob Sawyer had himself purchased
the spirits at a wine vaults in High Street, and had returned home
preceding the bearer thereof, to preclude the possibility of their
delivery at the wrong house. The punch was ready-made in a red pan in
the bedroom; a little table, covered with a green baize cloth, had
been borrowed from the parlour, to play cards on; and the glasses of
the establishment, together with those which had been borrowed for the
occasion from the public-house, were all drawn up in a tray, which was
deposited on the landing outside the door.
Notwithstanding the highly satisfactory nature of all these
arrangements, there was a cloud on the countenance of Mr. Bob Sawyer,
as he sat by the fireside. There was a sympathising expression, too, in
the features of Mr. Ben Allen, as he gazed intently on the coals; and a
tone of melancholy in his voice, as he said, after a long silence:
"Well, it _is_ unlucky she should have taken it in her head to turn
sour, just on this occasion. She might at least have waited till
to-morrow."
"That's her malevolence, that's her malevolence," returned Mr. Bob
Sawyer, vehemently. "She says that if I can afford to give a party I
ought to be able to pay her confounded 'little bill.'"
"How long has it been running?" inquired Mr. Ben Allen. A bill,
by-the-bye, is the most extraordinary locomotive engine that the genius
of man ever produced. It would keep on running during the longest
lifetime, without ever once stopping of its own accord.
"Only a quarter, and a month or so," replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.
Ben Allen coughed hopelessly, and directed a searching look between the
two top bars of the stove.
"It'll be a deuced unpleasant thing if she takes it into her head to
let out, when those fellows are here, won't it?" said Mr. Ben Allen at
length.
"Horrible," replied Bob Sawyer, "horrible."
A low tap was heard at the room door. Mr. Bob Sawyer looked expressively
at his friend, and bade the tapper come in; whereupon a dirty slipshod
girl in black cotton stockings, who might have passed for the neglected
daughter of a superannuated dustman in very reduced circumstances,
thrust in her head, and said,
"Please, Mister Sawyer, Missis Raddle wants to speak to _you_."
Before Mr. Bob Sawyer could return any answer, the girl suddenly
disappeared with a jerk, as if somebody had given her a violent pull
behind; this mysterious exit was no sooner accomplished, than there
was another tap at the door--a smart pointed tap, which seemed to say,
"Here I am, and in I'm coming."
Mr. Bob Sawyer glanced at his friend with a look of abject apprehension,
and once more cried "Come in."
The permission was not at all necessary, for, before Mr. Bob Sawyer had
uttered the words, a little fierce woman bounced into the room, all in
a tremble with passion, and pale with rage.
"Now, Mr. Sawyer," said the little fierce woman, trying to appear very
calm, "if you'll have the kindness to settle that little bill of mine
I'll thank you, because I've got my rent to pay this afternoon, and
my landlord's a waiting below now." Here the little woman rubbed her
hands, and looked steadily over Mr. Bob Sawyer's head, at the wall
behind him.
"I am very sorry to put you to any inconvenience, Mrs. Raddle," said
Bob Sawyer, deferentially, "but----"
"Oh, it isn't any inconvenience," replied the little woman, with a
shrill titter. "I didn't want it particular before to-day; leastways,
as it has to go to my landlord directly, it was as well for you to
keep it as me. You promised me this afternoon, Mr. Sawyer, and every
gentleman as has ever lived here, has kept his word, sir, as of course
anybody as calls himself a gentleman, does." Mrs. Raddle tossed her
head, bit her lips, rubbed her hands harder, and looked at the wall
more steadily than ever. It was plain to see, as Mr. Bob Sawyer
remarked in a style of eastern allegory on a subsequent occasion, that
she was "getting the steam up."
[Illustration: _"If you'll have the kindness to settle that little bill
of mine I'll thank you"_]
"I am very sorry, Mrs. Raddle," said Bob Sawyer with all imaginable
humility, "but the fact is that I have been disappointed in the City
to-day."--Extraordinary place, that City. An astonishing number of men
always _are_ getting disappointed there.
"Well, Mr. Sawyer," said Mrs. Raddle, planting herself firmly on a
purple cauliflower in the Kidderminster carpet, "and what's that to me,
sir?"
"I--I have no doubt, Mrs. Raddle," said Bob Sawyer, blinking this last
question, "that before the middle of next week we shall be able to set
ourselves quite square, and go on, on a better system afterwards."
This was all Mrs. Raddle wanted. She had bustled up to the apartment of
the unlucky Bob Sawyer, so bent upon going into a passion, that in all
probability payment would have rather disappointed her than otherwise.
She was in excellent order for a little relaxation of the kind: having
just exchanged a few introductory compliments with Mr. R. in the front
kitchen.
"Do you suppose, Mr. Sawyer," said Mrs. Raddle, elevating her voice for
the information of the neighbours, "do you suppose that I'm a-going
day after day to let a fellar occupy my lodgings as never thinks of
paying his rent, nor even the very money laid out for the fresh butter
and lump sugar that's bought for his breakfast, and the very milk
that's took in, at the street door? Do you suppose a hard-working and
industrious woman as has lived in this street for twenty year (ten year
over the way, and nine year and three-quarter in this very house) has
nothing else to do but to work herself to death after a parcel of lazy
idle fellars, that are always smoking and drinking, and lounging, when
they ought to be glad to turn their hands to anything that would help
them to pay their bills? Do you----"
"My good soul," interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen, soothingly.
"Have the goodness to keep your observashuns to yourself, sir, I beg,"
said Mrs. Raddle, suddenly arresting the rapid torrent of her speech,
and addressing the third party with impressive slowness and solemnity.
"I am not aweer, sir, that you have any right to address your
conversation to me. I don't think I let these apartments to you, sir."
"No, you certainly did not," said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
"Very good, sir," responded Mrs. Raddle, with lofty politeness. "Then
p'raps, sir, you'll confine yourself to breaking the arms and legs of
the poor people in the hospitals, and keep yourself _to_ yourself, sir,
or there may be some persons here as will make you, sir."
"But you are such an unreasonable woman," remonstrated Mr. Benjamin
Allen.
"I beg your parding, young man," said Mrs. Raddle, in a cold
perspiration of anger. "But will you have the goodness just to call me
that again, sir?"
"I didn't make use of the word in any invidious sense, ma'am," replied
Mr. Benjamin Allen, growing somewhat uneasy on his own account.
"I beg your parding, young man," demanded Mrs. Raddle in a louder and
more imperative tone. "But who do you call a woman? Did you make that
remark to me, sir?"
"Why, bless my heart!" said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
"Did you apply that name to me, I ask of you, sir?" interrupted Mrs.
Raddle, with intense fierceness, throwing the door wide open.
"Why, of course I did," replied Mr. Benjamin Allen.
"Yes, of course you did," said Mrs. Raddle, backing gradually to the
door, and raising her voice to its loudest pitch, for the special
behoof of Mr. Raddle in the kitchen. "Yes, of course you did! And
everybody knows that they may safely insult me in my own 'ouse while my
husband sits sleeping down-stairs, and taking no more notice than if I
was a dog in the streets. He ought to be ashamed of himself (here Mrs.
Raddle sobbed) to allow his wife to be treated in this way by a parcel
of young cutters and carvers of live people's bodies, that disgraces
the lodgings (another sob), and leaving her exposed to all manner of
abuse; a base, faint-hearted, timorous wretch, that's afraid to come
up-stairs, and face the ruffinly creatures--that's afraid--that's
afraid to come!" Mrs. Raddle paused to listen whether the repetition of
the taunt had roused her better half; and, finding that it had not been
successful, proceeded to descend the stairs with sobs innumerable: when
there came a loud double knock at the street door: whereupon she burst
into an hysterical fit of weeping, accompanied with dismal moans, which
was prolonged until the knock had been repeated six times, when, in an
uncontrollable burst of mental agony, she threw down all the umbrellas,
and disappeared into the back parlour, closing the door after her with
an awful crash.
"Does Mr. Sawyer live here?" said Mr. Pickwick, when the door was
opened.
"Yes," said the girl, "first floor. It's the door straight afore you
when you gets to the top of the stairs." Having given this instruction,
the handmaid, who had been brought up among the aboriginal inhabitants
of Southwark, disappeared, with the candle in her hand, down the
kitchen stairs: perfectly satisfied that she had done everything that
could possibly be required of her under the circumstances.
Mr. Snodgrass, who entered last, secured the street door, after several
ineffectual efforts, by putting up the chain; and the friends stumbled
up-stairs, where they were received by Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been
afraid to go down, lest he should be waylaid by Mrs. Raddle.
"How are you?" said the discomfited student. "Glad to see you,--take
care of the glasses." This caution was addressed to Mr. Pickwick, who
had put his hat in the tray.
"Dear me," said Mr. Pickwick, "I beg your pardon."
"Don't mention it, don't mention it," said Bob Sawyer. "I'm rather
confined for room here, but you must put up with all that, when you
come to see a young bachelor. Walk in. You've seen this gentleman
before, I think?" Mr. Pickwick shook hands with Mr. Benjamin Allen, and
his friends followed his example. They had scarcely taken their seats
when there was another double knock.
"I hope that's Jack Hopkins!" said Mr. Bob Sawyer. "Hush! Yes, it is.
Come up, Jack; come up."
A heavy footstep was heard upon the stairs, and Jack Hopkins presented
himself. He wore a black velvet waistcoat, with thunder-and-lightning
buttons; and a blue striped shirt, with a white false collar.
"You're late, Jack," said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
"Been detained at Bartholomew's," replied Hopkins.
"Anything new?"
"No, nothing particular. Rather a good accident brought into the
casualty ward."
"What was that, sir?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Only a man fallen out of a four pair of stairs' window;--but it's a
very fair case--very fair case indeed."
"Do you mean that the patient is in a fair way to recover?" inquired
Mr. Pickwick.
"No," replied Hopkins, carelessly. "No, I should rather say he wouldn't.
There must be a splendid operation though, to-morrow--magnificent sight
if Slasher does it."
"You consider Mr. Slasher a good operator?" said Mr. Pickwick.
"Best alive," replied Hopkins. "Took a boy's leg out of the socket last
week--boy ate five apples and a gingerbread cake--exactly two minutes
after it was all over, boy said he wouldn't lie there to be made game
of, and he'd tell his mother if they didn't begin."
"Dear me!" said Mr. Pickwick, astonished.
"Pooh! That's nothing, that ain't," said Jack Hopkins. "Is it, Bob?"
"Nothing at all," replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.
"By-the-bye, Bob," said Hopkins, with a scarcely perceptible glance at
Mr. Pickwick's attentive face, "we had a curious accident last night. A
child was brought in, who had swallowed a necklace."
"Swallowed what, sir?" interrupted Mr. Pickwick.
"A necklace," replied Jack Hopkins. "Not all at once, you know, that
would be too much--_you_ couldn't swallow that, if the child did--eh,
Mr. Pickwick, ha! ha!" Mr. Hopkins appeared highly gratified with his
own pleasantry; and continued. "No, the way was this. Child's parents
were poor people who lived in a court. Child's eldest sister bought a
necklace; common necklace, made of large black wooden beads. Child,
being fond of toys, cribbed the necklace, hid it, played with it, cut
the string, and swallowed a bead. Child thought it capital fun, went
back next day, and swallowed another bead."
"Bless my heart," said Mr. Pickwick, "what a dreadful thing! I beg your
pardon, sir. Go on."
"Next day child swallowed two beads; the day after that, he treated
himself to three, and so on, till in a week's time he had got through
the necklace--five-and-twenty beads in all. The sister, who was an
industrious girl, and seldom treated herself to a bit of finery, cried
her eyes out, at the loss of the necklace; looked high and low for it;
but, I needn't say, didn't find it. A few days afterwards the family
were at dinner--baked shoulder of mutton, and potatoes under it--the
child, who wasn't hungry, was playing about the room, when suddenly
there was heard a devil of a noise, like a small hailstorm. 'Don't do
that, my boy,' said the father. 'I ain't a doin' nothing,' said the
child. 'Well, don't do it again,' said the father. There was a short
silence, and then the noise again began, worse than ever. 'If you don't
mind what I say, my boy,' said the father, 'you'll find yourself in
bed, in something less than a pig's whisper.' He gave the child a shake
to make him obedient, and such a rattling ensued as nobody ever heard
before. 'Why, damme, it's _in_ the child!' said the father, 'he's got
the croup in the wrong place!' 'No I haven't, father,' said the child,
beginning to cry, 'it's the necklace; I swallowed it, father.' The
father caught the child up, and ran with him to the hospital: the beads
in the boy's stomach rattling all the way with the jolting; and the
people looking up in the air, and down in the cellars to see where the
unusual sound came from. He's in the hospital now," said Jack Hopkins,
"and he makes such a devil of a noise when he walks about, that they're
obliged to muffle him in a watchman's coat, for fear he should wake the
patients!"
"That's the most extraordinary case I ever heard of," said Mr.
Pickwick, with an emphatic blow on the table.
"Oh, that's nothing," said Jack Hopkins; "is it, Bob?"
"Certainly not," replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.
"Very singular things occur in our profession, I can assure you, sir,"
said Hopkins.
"So I should be disposed to imagine," replied Mr. Pickwick.
Another knock at the door, announced a large-headed young man in a
black wig, who brought with him a scorbutic youth in a long stock. The
next comer was a gentleman in a shirt emblazoned with pink anchors,
who was closely followed by a pale youth with a plated watchguard. The
arrival of a prim personage in clean linen and cloth boots rendered
the party complete. The little table with the green baize cover was
wheeled out; the first instalment of punch was brought in, in a white
jug; and the succeeding three hours were devoted to _vingt-et-un_ at
sixpence a dozen, which was only once interrupted by a slight dispute
between the scorbutic youth and the gentleman with the pink anchors; in
the course of which, the scorbutic youth intimated a burning desire to
pull the nose of the gentleman with the emblems of hope; in reply to
which, that individual expressed his decided unwillingness to accept
of any "sauce" on gratuitous terms, either from the irascible young
gentleman with the scorbutic countenance, or any other person who was
ornamented with a head.
When the last "natural" had been declared, and the profit and loss
account of fish and sixpences adjusted, to the satisfaction of all
parties, Mr. Bob Sawyer rang for supper, and the visitors squeezed
themselves into corners while it was getting ready.
It was not so easily got ready as some people may imagine. First of
all, it was necessary to awaken the girl, who had fallen asleep with
her face on the kitchen table; this took a little time, and, even when
she did answer the bell, another quarter of an hour was consumed in
fruitless endeavours to impart to her a faint and distant glimmering
of reason. The man to whom the order for the oysters had been sent,
had not been told to open them; it is a very difficult thing to open
an oyster with a limp knife or a two-pronged fork; and very little was
done in this way. Very little of the beef was done either; and the ham
(which was also from the German-sausage shop round the corner) was in a
similar predicament. However, there was plenty of porter in a tin can;
and the cheese went a great way, for it was very strong. So upon the
whole, perhaps, the supper was quite as good as such matters usually
are.
After supper, another jug of punch was put upon the table, together
with a paper of cigars, and a couple of bottles of spirits. Then there
was an awful pause; and this awful pause was occasioned by a very
common occurrence in this sort of place, but a very embarrassing one
notwithstanding.
The fact is, the girl was washing the glasses. The establishment
boasted four; we do not record the circumstance as at all derogatory
to Mrs. Raddle, for there never was a lodging-house yet, that was not
short of glasses. The landlady's glasses were little thin blown glass
tumblers, and those which had been borrowed from the public-house were
great, dropsical, bloated articles, each supported on a huge gouty
leg. This would have been in itself sufficient to have possessed the
company with the real state of affairs; but the young woman of all work
had prevented the possibility of any misconception arising in the mind
of any gentleman upon the subject, by forcibly dragging every man's
glass away, long before he had finished his beer, and audibly stating,
despite the winks and interruptions of Mr. Bob Sawyer, that it was to
be conveyed down-stairs, and washed forthwith.
It is a very ill wind that blows nobody any good. The prim man in the
cloth boots, who had been unsuccessfully attempting to make a joke
during the whole time the round game lasted, saw his opportunity,
and availed himself of it. The instant the glasses disappeared, he
commenced a long story about a great public character, whose name he
had forgotten, making a particularly happy reply to another eminent
and illustrious individual whom he had never been able to identify.
He enlarged at some length and with great minuteness upon divers
collateral circumstances, distantly connected with the anecdote in
hand, but for the life of him he couldn't recollect at that precise
moment what the anecdote was, although he had been in the habit of
telling the story with great applause for the last ten years.
"Dear me," said the prim man in the cloth boots, "it is a very
extraordinary circumstance."
"I am sorry you have forgotten it," said Mr. Bob Sawyer, glancing
eagerly at the door, as he thought he heard the noise of glasses
jingling; "very sorry."
"So am I," responded the prim man, "because I know it would have
afforded so much amusement. Never mind; I dare say I shall manage to
recollect it, in the course of half an hour or so."
The prim man arrived at this point, just as the glasses came back, when
Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been absorbed in attention during the whole
time, said he should very much like to hear the end of it, for, so far
as it went, it was, without exception, the very best story he had ever
heard.
The sight of the tumblers restored Bob Sawyer to a degree of equanimity
which he had not possessed since his interview with his landlady. His
face brightened up, and he began to feel quite convivial.
"Now, Betsy," said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with great suavity, and dispersing,
at the same time, the tumultuous little mob of glasses the girl had
collected in the centre of the table: "now, Betsy, the warm water: be
brisk, there's a good girl."
"You can't have no warm water," replied Betsy.
"No warm water!" exclaimed Mr. Bob Sawyer.
"No," said the girl, with a shake of the head which expressed a more
decided negative than the most copious language could have conveyed.
"Missis Raddle said you warn't to have none."
The surprise depicted on the countenances of his guests imparted new
courage to the host.
"Bring up the warm water instantly--instantly!" said Mr. Bob Sawyer,
with desperate sternness.
"No. I can't," replied the girl; "Missis Raddle raked out the kitchen
fire afore she went to bed, and locked up the kittle."
"Oh, never mind; never mind. Pray don't disturb yourself about such
a trifle," said Mr. Pickwick, observing the conflict of Bob Sawyer's
passions, as depicted in his countenance, "cold water will do very
well."
"Oh, admirably," said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
"My landlady is subject to some slight attacks of mental derangement,"
remarked Bob Sawyer with a ghastly smile; "and I fear I must give her
warning."
"No, don't," said Ben Allen.
"I fear I must," said Bob, with heroic firmness. "I'll pay her what
I owe her, and give her warning to-morrow morning." Poor fellow! how
devoutly he wished he could!
Mr. Bob Sawyer's heart-sickening attempts to rally under this last
blow, communicated a dispiriting influence on the company, the greater
part of whom, with the view of raising their spirits, attached
themselves with extra cordiality to the cold brandy and water, the
first perceptible effects of which were displayed in a renewal of
hostilities between the scorbutic youth and the gentleman in the
shirt. The belligerents vented their feelings of mutual contempt, for
some time, in a variety of frownings and snortings, until at last
the scorbutic youth felt it necessary to come to a more explicit
understanding on the matter, when the following clear understanding
took place.
"Sawyer," said the scorbutic youth, in a loud voice.
"Well, Noddy," replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.
"I should be very sorry, Sawyer," said Mr. Noddy, "to create any
unpleasantness at any friend's table, and much less at yours,
Sawyer--very; but I must take this opportunity of informing Mr. Gunter
that he is no gentleman."
"And _I_ should be very sorry, Sawyer, to create any disturbance in
the street in which you reside," said Mr. Gunter, "but I'm afraid I
shall be under the necessity of alarming the neighbours by throwing the
person who has just spoken, out o' window."
"What do you mean by that, sir?" inquired Mr. Noddy.
"What I say, sir," replied Mr. Gunter.
"I should like to see you do it, sir," said Mr. Noddy.
"You shall feel me do it in half a minute, sir," replied Mr. Gunter.
"I request that you'll favour me with your card, sir," said Mr. Noddy.
"I'll do nothing of the kind, sir," replied Mr. Gunter.
"Why not, sir?" inquired Mr. Noddy.
"Because you'll stick it up over your chimney-piece, and delude your
visitors into the false belief that a gentleman has been to see you,
sir," replied Mr. Gunter.
"Sir, a friend of mine shall wait on you in the morning," said Mr.
Noddy.
"Sir, I'm very much obliged to you for the caution, and I'll leave
particular directions with the servant to lock up the spoons," replied
Mr. Gunter.
At this point the remainder of the guests interposed, and remonstrated
with both parties on the impropriety of their conduct; on which Mr.
Noddy begged to state that his father was quite as respectable as Mr.
Gunter's father; to which Mr. Gunter replied that his father was to
the full as respectable as Mr. Noddy's father, and that his father's
son was as good a man as Mr. Noddy, any day in the week. As this
announcement seemed the prelude to a recommencement of the dispute,
there was another interference on the part of the company; and a vast
quantity of talking and clamouring ensued, in the course of which Mr.
Noddy gradually allowed his feelings to overpower him, and professed
that he had ever entertained a devoted personal attachment towards Mr.
Gunter. To this Mr. Gunter replied that, upon the whole, he rather
preferred Mr. Noddy to his own brother; on hearing which admission, Mr.
Noddy magnanimously rose from his seat, and proffered his hand to Mr.
Gunter. Mr. Gunter grasped it with affecting fervour; and everybody
said that the whole dispute had been conducted in a manner which was
highly honourable to both parties concerned.
"Now," said Jack Hopkins, "just to set us going again, Bob, I don't
mind singing a song." And Hopkins, incited thereto by tumultuous
applause, plunged himself at once into "The King, God bless him," which
he sang as loud as he could, to a novel air, compounded of the "Bay of
Biscay," and "A Frog he would." The chorus was the essence of the song;
and, as each gentleman sang it to the tune he knew best, the effect was
very striking indeed.
It was at the end of the chorus to the first verse, that Mr. Pickwick
held up his hand in a listening attitude, and said, as soon as silence
was restored:
"Hush! I beg your pardon. I thought I heard somebody calling from
up-stairs."
A profound silence immediately ensued; and Mr. Bob Sawyer was observed
to turn pale.
"I think I hear it now," said Mr. Pickwick. "Have the goodness to open
the door."
The door was no sooner opened than all doubt on the subject was removed.
"Mr. Sawyer! Mr. Sawyer!" screamed a voice from the two-pair landing.
"It's my landlady," said Bob Sawyer, looking round him with great
dismay. "Yes, Mrs. Raddle."
"What do you mean by this, Mr. Sawyer?" replied the voice, with great
shrillness and rapidity of utterance. "Ain't it enough to be swindled
out of one's rent, and money lent out of pocket besides, and abused and
insulted by your friends that dares to call themselves men: without
having the house turned out of window, and noise enough made to bring
the fire-engines here, at two o'clock in the morning? Turn them
wretches away."
"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves," said the voice of Mr. Raddle,
which appeared to proceed from beneath some distant bed-clothes.
"Ashamed of themselves!" said Mrs. Raddle. "Why don't you go down and
knock 'em every one down-stairs? You would if you was a man."
"I should if I was a dozen men, my dear," replied Mr. Raddle,
pacifically, "but they've the advantage of me in numbers, my dear."
"Ugh, you coward!" replied Mrs. Raddle, with supreme contempt. "_Do_
you mean to turn them wretches out, or not, Mr. Sawyer?"
"They're going, Mrs. Raddle, they're going," said the miserable Bob.
"I am afraid you'd better go," said Mr. Bob Sawyer to his friends. "I
_thought_ you were making too much noise."
"It's a very unfortunate thing," said the prim man. "Just as we were
getting so comfortable too!" The prim man was just beginning to have a
dawning recollection of the story he had forgotten.
"It's hardly to be borne," said the prim man, looking round. "Hardly to
be borne, is it?"
"Not to be endured," replied Jack Hopkins; "let's have the other verse,
Bob. Come, here goes!"
"No, no, Jack, don't," interrupted Bob Sawyer; "it's a capital song,
but I am afraid we had better not have the other verse. They are very
violent people, the people of the house."
"Shall I step up-stairs and pitch into the landlord?" inquired Hopkins,
"or keep on ringing the bell, or go and groan on the staircase? You may
command me, Bob."
"I am very much indebted to you for your friendship and good nature,
Hopkins," said the wretched Mr. Bob Sawyer, "but I think, the best plan
to avoid any further dispute is for us to break up at once."
"Now Mr. Sawyer!" screamed the shrill voice of Mrs. Raddle, "_are_ them
brutes going?"
"They're only looking for their hats, Mrs. Raddle," said Bob; "they are
going directly."
"Going!" said Mrs. Raddle, thrusting her night-cap over the banisters
just as Mr. Pickwick, followed by Mr. Tupman, emerged from the
sitting-room. "Going! what did they ever come for?"
"My dear ma'am," remonstrated Mr. Pickwick, looking up.
"Get along with you, you old wretch!" replied Mrs. Raddle, hastily
withdrawing the night-cap. "Old enough to be his grandfather, you
willin! You're worse than any of 'em."
Mr. Pickwick found it in vain to protest his innocence, so hurried
down-stairs into the street, whither he was closely followed by Mr.
Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. Mr. Ben Allen, who was dismally
depressed with spirits and agitation, accompanied them as far as
London Bridge, and in the course of the walk confided to Mr. Winkle,
as an especially eligible person to entrust the secret to, that he was
resolved to cut the throat of any gentleman except Mr. Bob Sawyer,
who should aspire to the affections of his sister Arabella. Having
expressed his determination to perform this painful duty of a brother
with proper firmness, he burst into tears, knocked his hat over his
eyes, and, making the best of his way back, knocked double knocks at
the door of the Borough Market office, and took short naps on the steps
alternately, until daybreak, under the firm impression that he lived
there, and had forgotten the key.
The visitors having all departed, in compliance with the rather
pressing request of Mrs. Raddle, the luckless Mr. Bob Sawyer was
left alone to meditate on the probable events of to-morrow, and the
pleasures of the evening.