[Illustration]
_In which Mr. Pickwick thinks he had better go to Bath and goes
Accordingly_
"But surely, my dear sir," said little Perker, as he stood in Mr.
Pickwick's apartment on the morning after the trial: "surely you don't
really mean--really and seriously now, and irritation apart--that you
won't pay these costs and damages?"
"Not one halfpenny," said Mr. Pickwick, firmly; "not one halfpenny."
"Hooroar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven he vouldn't
renew the bill," observed Mr. Weller, who was clearing away the
breakfast things.
"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, "have the goodness to step down-stairs."
"Cert'nly, sir," replied Mr. Weller; and acting on Mr. Pickwick's
gentle hint, Sam retired.
"No, Perker," said Mr. Pickwick, with great seriousness of manner, "my
friends here have endeavoured to dissuade me from this determination,
but without avail. I shall employ myself as usual, until the opposite
party have the power of issuing a legal process of execution against
me; and if they are vile enough to avail themselves of it, and to
arrest my person, I shall yield myself up with perfect cheerfulness and
content of heart. When can they do this?"
"They can issue execution, my dear sir, for the amount of the damages
and taxed costs, next term," replied Perker; "just two months hence, my
dear sir."
"Very good," said Mr. Pickwick. "Until that time, my dear fellow,
let me hear no more of the matter. And now," continued Mr. Pickwick,
looking round on his friends with a good-humoured smile, and a sparkle
in the eye which no spectacles could dim or conceal, "the only question
is, Where shall we go next?"
Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were too much affected by their friend's
heroism to offer any reply. Mr. Winkle had not yet sufficiently
recovered the recollection of his evidence at the trial, to make any
observations on any subject, so Mr. Pickwick paused in vain.
"Well," said that gentleman, "if you leave me to suggest our
destination, I say Bath. I think none of us have ever been there."
Nobody had; and as the proposition was warmly seconded by Perker,
who considered it extremely probable that if Mr. Pickwick saw a
little change and gaiety he would be inclined to think better of
his determination, and worse of a debtor's prison, it was carried
unanimously: and Sam was at once despatched to the White Horse Cellar,
to take five places by the half-past seven o'clock coach, next morning.
There were just two places to be had inside, and just three to be had
out; so Sam Weller booked for them all, and having exchanged a few
compliments with the booking-office clerk on the subject of a pewter
half-crown which was tendered him as a portion of his "change," walked
back to the George and Vulture, where he was pretty busily employed
until bed-time in reducing clothes and linen into the smallest possible
compass, and exerting his mechanical genius in constructing a variety
of ingenious devices for keeping the lids on boxes which had neither
locks nor hinges.
The next was a very unpropitious morning for a journey--muggy, damp,
and drizzly. The horses in the stages that were going out, and had come
through the city, were smoking so that the outside passengers were
invisible. The newspaper-sellers looked moist, and smelt mouldy; the
wet ran off the hats of the orange-vendors as they thrust their heads
into the coach-windows, and diluted the insides in a refreshing manner.
The Jews with the fifty-bladed penknives shut them up in despair; the
men with the pocket-books made pocket-books of them. Watch-guards and
toasting-forks were alike at a discount, and pencil-cases and sponges
were a drug in the market.
Leaving Sam Weller to rescue the luggage from the seven or eight
porters who flung themselves savagely upon it, the moment the coach
stopped: and finding that they were about twenty minutes too early;
Mr. Pickwick and his friends went for shelter into the travellers'
room--the last resource of human dejection.
The travellers' room at the White Horse Cellar is of course
uncomfortable; it would be no travellers' room if it were not. It is
the right-hand parlour, into which an aspiring kitchen fire-place
appears to have walked, accompanied by a rebellious poker, tongs, and
shovel. It is divided into boxes, for the solitary confinement of
travellers, and is furnished with a clock, a looking-glass, and a live
waiter; which latter article is kept in a small kennel for washing
glasses, in the corner of the apartment.
One of these boxes was occupied, on this particular occasion, by a
stern-eyed man of about five-and-forty, who had a bald and glossy
forehead, with a good deal of black hair at the sides and back of his
head, and large black whiskers. He was buttoned up to the chin in a
brown coat; and had a large sealskin travelling cap, and a great-coat
and cloak, lying on the seat beside him. He looked up from his
breakfast as Mr. Pickwick entered, with a fierce and peremptory air,
which was very dignified; and having scrutinised that gentleman and
his companions to his entire satisfaction, hummed a tune, in a manner
which seemed to say that he rather suspected somebody wanted to take
advantage of him, but it wouldn't do.
"Waiter," said the gentleman with the whiskers.
"Sir?" replied a man with a dirty complexion, and a towel of the same,
emerging from the kennel before mentioned.
"Some more toast."
"Yes, sir."
"Buttered toast, mind," said the gentleman, fiercely.
"D'rectly, sir," replied the waiter.
The gentleman with the whiskers hummed a tune in the same manner as
before, and pending the arrival of the toast advanced to the front
of the fire, and taking his coat-tails under his arms, looked at his
boots, and ruminated.
"I wonder whereabouts in Bath this coach puts up?" said Mr. Pickwick,
mildly addressing Mr. Winkle.
"Hum--eh--what's that?" said the strange man.
"I made an observation to my friend, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick, always
ready to enter into conversation. "I wondered at what house the Bath
coach put up. Perhaps you can inform me?"
"Are you going to Bath?" said the strange man.
"I am, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick.
"And those other gentlemen?"
"They are going also," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Not inside--I'll be damned if you're going inside," said the strange
man.
"Not all of us," said Mr. Pickwick.
"No, not all of you," said the strange man emphatically. "I've taken
two places. If they try to squeeze six people into an infernal box that
only holds four, I'll take a post-chaise and bring an action. I've paid
my fare. It won't do; I told the clerk when I took my places that it
wouldn't do. I know these things have been done. I know they are done
every day; but _I_ never was done, and I never will be. Those who know
me best, best know it; crush me!" Here the fierce gentleman rang the
bell with great violence, and told the waiter he'd better bring the
toast in five seconds, or he'd know the reason why.
"My good sir," said Mr. Pickwick, "you will allow me to observe that
this is a very unnecessary display of excitement. I have only taken
places inside for two."
"I am glad to hear it," said the fierce man. "I withdraw my expressions.
I tender an apology. There's my card. Give me your acquaintance."
"With great pleasure, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick. "We are to be
fellow-travellers, and I hope shall find each other's society mutually
agreeable."
"I hope we shall," said the fierce gentleman. "I know we shall. I like
your looks; they please me. Gentlemen, your hands and names. Know me."
Of course, an interchange of friendly salutations followed this
gracious speech, and the fierce gentleman immediately proceeded to
inform the friends, in the same short, abrupt, jerking sentences,
that his name was Dowler; that he was going to Bath on pleasure; that
he was formerly in the army; that he had now set up in business as a
gentleman; that he lived upon the profits; and that the individual for
whom the second place was taken, was a personage no less illustrious
than Mrs. Dowler, his lady wife.
"She's a fine woman," said Mr. Dowler. "I am proud of her. I have
reason."
"I hope I shall have the pleasure of judging," said Mr. Pickwick, with
a smile.
"You shall," replied Dowler. "She shall know you. She shall esteem you.
I courted her under singular circumstances. I won her through a rash
vow. Thus. I saw her; I loved her: I proposed; she refused me.--'You
love another?'--'Spare my blushes.'--'I know him.'--'You do.'--'Very
good; if he remains here, I'll skin him.'"
"Lord bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, involuntarily.
"Did you skin the gentleman, sir?" inquired Mr. Winkle, with a very
pale face.
"I wrote him a note. I said it was a painful thing. And so it was."
"Certainly," interposed Mr. Winkle.
"I said I had pledged my word as a gentleman to skin him. My character
was at stake. I had no alternative. As an officer in His Majesty's
service, I was bound to skin him. I regretted the necessity, but it
must be done. He was open to conviction. He saw that the rules of the
service were imperative. He fled. I married her. Here's the coach.
That's her head."
As Mr. Dowler concluded, he pointed to a stage which had just driven
up, from the open window of which a rather pretty face in a bright blue
bonnet was looking among the crowd on the pavement: most probably for
the rash man himself. Mr. Dowler paid his bill and hurried out with
his travelling-cap, coat, and cloak; and Mr. Pickwick and his friends
followed to secure their places.
Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass had seated themselves at the back part of
the coach; Mr. Winkle had got inside; and Mr. Pickwick was preparing to
follow him, when Sam Weller came up to his master, and whispering in
his ear, begged to speak to him, with an air of the deepest mystery.
"Well, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, "what's the matter now?"
"Here's rayther a rum go, sir," replied Sam.
"What?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"This here, sir," rejoined Sam. "I'm wery much afeerd, sir, that the
properiator o' this here coach is a playin' some imperence vith us."
"How is that, Sam?" said Mr. Pickwick; "aren't the names down on the
way-bill?"
"The names is not only down on the vay-bill, sir," replied Sam, "but
they've painted vun on 'em up, on the door o' the coach." As Sam spoke,
he pointed to that part of the coach door on which the proprietor's
name usually appears; and there, sure enough, in gilt letters of a
goodly size, was the magic name of +Pickwick+!
"Dear me," exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite staggered by the coincidence;
"what a very extraordinary thing!"
"Yes, but that ain't all," said Sam, again directing his master's
attention to the coach door; "not content vith writin' up Pickwick,
they puts 'Moses' afore it, vich I call addin' insult to injury, as the
parrot said ven they not only took him from his native land, but made
him talk the English langwidge arterwards."
"It's odd enough certainly, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick; "but if we stand
talking here, we shall lose our places."
"Wot, ain't nothin' to be done in consequence, sir?" exclaimed Sam,
perfectly aghast at the coolness with which Mr. Pickwick prepared to
ensconce himself inside.
"Done!" said Mr. Pickwick. "What should be done?"
"Ain't nobody to be whopped for takin' this here liberty, sir?"
said Mr. Weller, who had expected that at least he would have been
commissioned to challenge the guard and coachman to a pugilistic
encounter on the spot.
"Certainly not," replied Mr. Pickwick, eagerly; "not on any account.
Jump up to your seat directly."
"I'm wery much afeerd," muttered Sam to himself, as he turned away,
"that somethin' queer's come over the governor, or he'd never ha'
stood this so quiet. I hope that 'ere trial hasn't broke his spirit,
but it looks bad, wery bad." Mr. Weller shook his head gravely; and
it is worthy of remark, as an illustration of the manner in which he
took this circumstance to heart, that he did not speak another word
until the coach reached the Kensington turnpike, which was so long a
time for him to remain taciturn, that the fact may be considered wholly
unprecedented.
Nothing worthy of special mention occurred during the journey. Mr.
Dowler related a variety of anecdotes, all illustrative of his own
personal prowess and desperation, and appealed to Mrs. Dowler in
corroboration thereof: when Mrs. Dowler invariably brought in, in the
form of an appendix, some remarkable fact or circumstance which Mr.
Dowler had forgotten, or had perhaps through modesty omitted: for the
addenda in every instance went to show that Mr. Dowler was even more
wonderful a fellow than he made himself out to be. Mr. Pickwick and
Mr. Winkle listened with great admiration, and at intervals conversed
with Mrs. Dowler, who was a very agreeable and fascinating person. So
what between Mr. Dowler's stories, and Mrs. Dowler's charms, and Mr.
Pickwick's good humour, and Mr. Winkle's good listening, the insides
contrived to be very companionable all the way.
The outsides did as outsides always do. They were very cheerful and
talkative at the beginning of every stage, and very dismal and sleepy
in the middle, and very bright and wakeful again towards the end. There
was one young gentleman in an india-rubber cloak, who smoked cigars
all day; and there was another young gentleman in a parody upon a
great-coat, who lighted a good many, and feeling obviously unsettled
after the second whiff, threw them away when he thought nobody was
looking at him. There was a third young man on the box who wished to be
learned in cattle, and an old one behind who was familiar with farming.
There was a constant succession of Christian names in smock frocks and
white coats, who were invited to have a "lift" by the guard, and who
knew every horse and hostler on the road and off it: and there was a
dinner which would have been cheap at half-a-crown a mouth, if any
moderate number of mouths could have eaten it in the time. And at seven
o'clock +P.M.+, Mr. Pickwick and his friends, and Mr. Dowler and his
wife, respectively retired to their private sitting-rooms at the White
Hart Hotel, opposite the Great Pump Room, Bath, where the waiters,
from their costume, might be mistaken for Westminster boys, only they
destroy the illusion by behaving themselves much better.
Breakfast had scarcely been cleared away on the succeeding morning,
when a waiter brought in Mr. Dowler's card, with a request to be
allowed permission to introduce a friend. Mr. Dowler at once followed
up the delivery of the card, by bringing himself and the friend also.
The friend was a charming young man of not much more than fifty,
dressed in a very bright blue coat with resplendent buttons, black
trousers, and the thinnest possible pair of highly-polished boots.
A gold eye-glass was suspended from his neck by a short broad black
ribbon; a gold snuff-box was lightly clasped in his left hand; gold
rings innumerable glittered on his fingers; and a large diamond pin set
in gold glistened in his shirt frill. He had a gold watch, and a gold
curb chain with large gold seals; and he carried a pliant ebony cane
with a heavy gold top. His linen was of the very whitest, finest, and
stiffest; his wig of the glossiest, blackest, and curliest. His snuff
was prince's mixture; his scent _bouquet du roi_. His features were
contracted into a perpetual smile; and his teeth were in such perfect
order that it was difficult at a small distance to tell the real from
the false.
"Mr. Pickwick," said Mr. Dowler; "my friend, Angelo Cyrus Bantam,
Esquire, M.C. Bantam; Mr. Pickwick. Know each other."
"Welcome to Ba--ath, sir. This is indeed an acquisition. Most welcome
to Ba--ath, sir. It is long--very long, Mr. Pickwick, since you drank
the waters. It appears an age, Mr. Pickwick. Re--markable!"
Such were the expressions with which Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire,
M.C., took Mr. Pickwick's hand; retaining it in his, meantime, and
shrugging up his shoulders with a constant succession of bows, as if he
really could not make up his mind to the trial of letting it go again.
"It is a very long time since I drank the waters, certainly," replied
Mr. Pickwick; "for to the best of my knowledge, I was never here
before."
"Never in Ba--ath, Mr. Pickwick!" exclaimed the Grand Master, letting
the hand fall in astonishment. "Never in Ba--ath! He! he! Mr. Pickwick,
you are a wag. Not bad, not bad. Good, good. He! he! he! Re--markable!"
"To my shame, I must say that I am perfectly serious," rejoined Mr.
Pickwick. "I really never was here before."
"Oh, I see," exclaimed the Grand Master, looking extremely pleased;
"yes, yes--good, good--better and better. You are the gentleman of whom
we have heard. Yes; we know you, Mr. Pickwick; we know you."
"The reports of the trial in those confounded papers," thought Mr.
Pickwick. "They have heard all about me."
"You are the gentleman residing on Clapham Green," resumed Bantam,
"who lost the use of his limbs from imprudently taking cold after port
wine; who could not be moved in consequence of acute suffering, and who
had the water from the King's Bath bottled at one hundred and three
degrees, and sent by waggon to his bed-room in town, where he bathed,
sneezed, and same day recovered. Very re--markable!"
Mr. Pickwick acknowledged the compliment which the supposition
implied, but had the self-denial to repudiate it, notwithstanding; and
taking advantage of a moment's silence on the part of the M.C., begged
to introduce his friends, Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. An
introduction which overwhelmed the M.C. with delight and honour.
"Bantam," said Mr. Dowler, "Mr. Pickwick and his friends are strangers.
They must put their names down. Where's the book?"
"The register of the distinguished visitors in Ba--ath will be at the
Pump Room this morning at two o'clock," replied the M.C. "Will you
guide our friends to that splendid building, and enable me to procure
their autographs?"
"I will," rejoined Dowler. "This is a long call. It's time to go. I
shall be here again in an hour. Come."
"This is a ball-night," said the M.C., again taking Mr. Pickwick's hand
as he rose to go. "The ball-nights in Ba--ath are moments snatched from
Paradise; rendered bewitching by music, beauty, elegance, fashion,
etiquette, and--and--above all, by the absence of tradespeople, who
are quite inconsistent with Paradise; and who have an amalgamation
of themselves at the Guildhall every fortnight, which is, to say the
least, remarkable. Good-bye, good-bye!" and protesting all the way
down-stairs that he was most satisfied, and most delighted, and most
overpowered, and most flattered, Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire, M.C.,
stepped into a very elegant chariot that waited at the door, and
rattled off.
At the appointed hour, Mr. Pickwick and his friends, escorted by
Dowler, repaired to the Assembly Rooms, and wrote their names down in
a book. An instance of condescension at which Angelo Bantam was even
more overpowered than before. Tickets of admission to that evening's
assembly were to have been prepared for the whole party, but as they
were not ready, Mr. Pickwick undertook, despite all the protestations
to the contrary of Angelo Bantam, to send Sam for them at four o'clock
in the afternoon, to the M.C.'s house in Queen Square. Having taken a
short walk through the city, and arrived at the unanimous conclusion
that Park Street was very much like the perpendicular streets a man
sees in a dream, which he cannot get up for the life of him, they
returned to the White Hart, and despatched Sam on the errand to which
his master had pledged him.
Sam Weller put on his hat in a very easy and graceful manner, and
thrusting his hands in his waistcoat pockets, walked with great
deliberation to Queen Square, whistling, as he went along, several
of the most popular airs of the day, as arranged with entirely new
movements for that noble instrument the organ, either mouth or
barrel. Arriving at the number in Queen Square to which he had been
directed, he left off whistling, and gave a cheerful knock, which was
instantaneously answered by a powdered-headed footman in gorgeous
livery, and of symmetrical stature.
"Is this here Mr. Bantam's, old feller?" inquired Sam Weller, nothing
abashed by the blaze of splendour which burst upon his sight, in the
person of the powdered-headed footman with the gorgeous livery.
"Why, young man?" was the haughty inquiry of the powdered-headed
footman.
"'Cos if it is, jist you step into him with that 'ere card, and say Mr.
Veller's a waitin', will you?" said Sam. And saying it, he very coolly
walked into the hall, and sat down.
The powdered-headed footman slammed the door very hard, and scowled
very grandly; but both the slam and the scowl were lost upon Sam, who
was regarding a mahogany umbrella-stand with every outward token of
critical approval.
Apparently, his master's reception of the card had impressed the
powdered-headed footman in Sam's favour, for when he came back from
delivering it, he smiled in a friendly manner, and said that the answer
would be ready directly.
"Wery good," said Sam. "Tell the old gen'l'm'n not to put himself in a
perspiration. No hurry, six-foot. I've had my dinner."
"You dine early, sir," said the powdered-headed footman.
"I find I gets on better at supper when I does," replied Sam.
"Have you been long in Bath, sir?" inquired the powdered-headed
footman. "I have not had the pleasure of hearing of you before."
"I haven't created any wery surprisin' sensation here, as yet,"
rejoined Sam, "for me and the other fashionables only come last night."
"Nice place, sir," said the powdered-headed footman.
"Seems so," observed Sam.
"Pleasant society, sir," remarked the powdered-headed footman. "Very
agreeable servants, sir."
"I should think they wos," replied Sam. "Affable, unaffected,
say-nothing-to-nobody sort o' fellers."
"Oh, very much so indeed, sir," said the powdered-headed footman,
taking Sam's remark as a high compliment. "Very much so indeed. Do you
do anything in this way, sir?" inquired the tall footman, producing a
small snuff-box with a fox's head on the top of it.
"Not without sneezing," replied Sam.
"Why, it _is_ difficult, sir, I confess," said the tall footman. "It
may be done by degrees, sir. Coffee is the best practice. I carried
coffee, sir, for a long time. It looks very like rappee, sir."
Here, a sharp peal at the bell, reduced the powdered-headed footman
to the ignominious necessity of putting the fox's head in his pocket,
and hastening with a humble countenance to Mr. Bantam's "study."
By-the-bye, who ever knew a man who never read, or wrote either, who
hadn't got some small back parlour which he _would_ call a study?
"There is the answer, sir," said the powdered-headed footman. "I am
afraid you'll find it inconveniently large."
"Don't mention it," said Sam, taking a letter with a small enclosure.
"It's just possible as exhausted nature may manage to surwive it."
"I hope we shall meet again, sir," said the powdered-headed footman,
rubbing his hands, and following Sam out to the door-step.
"You are wery obligin', sir," replied Sam. "Now, don't allow yourself
to be fatigued beyond your powers; there's a amiable bein'. Consider
what you owe to society, and don't let yourself be injured by too much
work. For the sake o' your feller creeturs, keep yourself as quiet as
you can; only think what a loss you would be!" With these pathetic
words, Sam Weller departed.
"A very singular young man that," said the powdered-headed footman,
looking after Mr. Weller, with a countenance which clearly showed he
could make nothing of him.
Sam said nothing at all. He winked, shook his head, smiled, winked
again; and with an expression of countenance which seemed to denote
that he was greatly amused with something or other, walked merrily away.
[Illustration: _"Do you do anything in this way, sir?" inquired the
tall footman_]
At precisely twenty minutes before eight o'clock that night, Angelo
Cyrus Bantam, Esq., the Master of the Ceremonies, emerged from his
chariot at the door of the Assembly Rooms in the same wig, the same
teeth, the same eye-glass, the same watch and seals, the same rings,
the same shirt-pin, and the same cane. The only observable alterations
in his appearance were, that he wore a brighter blue coat, with a white
silk lining: black tights, black silk stockings, and pumps, and a white
waistcoat, and was, if possible, just a thought more scented.
Thus attired, the Master of the Ceremonies, in strict discharge of the
important duties of his all-important office, planted himself in the
rooms to receive the company.
Bath being full, the company and the sixpences for tea poured in, in
shoals. In the ball-room, the long card-room, the octagonal card-room,
the staircases, and the passages, the hum of many voices and the sound
of many feet were perfectly bewildering. Dresses rustled, feathers
waved, lights shone, and jewels sparkled. There was the music--not of
the quadrille band, for it had not yet commenced; but the music of
soft tiny footsteps, with now and then a clear merry laugh--low and
gentle, but very pleasant to hear in a female voice, whether in Bath
or elsewhere. Brilliant eyes, lighted up with pleasurable expectation,
gleamed from every side; and look where you would, some exquisite form
glided gracefully through the throng, and was no sooner lost, than it
was replaced by another as dainty and bewitching.
In the tea-room, and hovering round the card-tables, were a vast
number of queer old ladies and decrepit old gentlemen, discussing
all the small talk and scandal of the day, with a relish and gusto
which sufficiently bespoke the intensity of the pleasure they derived
from the occupation. Mingled with these groups, were three or four
matchmaking mammas, appearing to be wholly absorbed by the conversation
in which they were taking part, but failing not from time to time to
cast an anxious sidelong glance upon their daughters, who, remembering
the maternal injunction to make the best use of their youth, had
already commenced incipient flirtations in the mislaying of scarves,
putting on gloves, setting down cups, and so forth; slight matters
apparently, but which may be turned to surprisingly good account by
expert practitioners.
Lounging near the doors, and in remote corners, were various knots
of silly young men, displaying various varieties of puppyism and
stupidity; amusing all sensible people near them with their folly
and conceit; and happily thinking themselves the objects of general
admiration. A wise and merciful dispensation which no good man will
quarrel with.
And lastly, seated on some of the back benches, where they had already
taken up their positions for the evening, were divers unmarried ladies
past their grand climacteric, who, not dancing because there were no
partners for them, and not playing cards lest they should be set down
as irretrievably single, were in the favourable situation of being
able to abuse everybody without reflecting on themselves. In short,
they could abuse everybody, because everybody was there. It was a
scene of gaiety, glitter, and show; of richly-dressed people, handsome
mirrors, chalked floors, girandoles, and wax candles; and in all parts
of the scene, gliding from spot to spot in silent softness, bowing
obsequiously to this party, nodding familiarly to that, and smiling
complacently on all, was the sprucely attired person of Angelo Cyrus
Bantam, Esquire, Master of the Ceremonies.
"Stop in the tea-room. Take your sixpenn'orth. They lay on hot water,
and call it tea. Drink it," said Mr. Dowler, in a loud voice, directing
Mr. Pickwick, who advanced at the head of the little party, with Mrs.
Dowler on his arm. Into the tea-room Mr. Pickwick turned; and catching
sight of him, Mr. Bantam cork-screwed his way through the crowd, and
welcomed him with ecstasy.
"My dear sir, I am highly honoured. Ba--ath is favoured. Mrs. Dowler,
you embellish the rooms. I congratulate you on your feathers.
Re--markable!"
"Anybody here?" inquired Dowler, suspiciously.
"Anybody! The _élite_ of Ba--ath. Mr. Pickwick, do you see the lady in
the gauze turban?"
"The fat old lady?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, innocently.
"Hush, my dear sir--nobody's fat or old in Ba--ath. That's the Dowager
Lady Snuphanuph."
"Is it indeed?" said Mr. Pickwick.
"No less a person, I assure you," said the Master of the Ceremonies.
"Hush. Draw a little nearer, Mr. Pickwick. You see the splendidly
dressed young man coming this way?"
"The one with the long hair, and the particularly small forehead?"
inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"The same. The richest young man in Ba--ath at this moment. Young Lord
Mutanhed."
"You don't say so?" said Mr. Pickwick.
"Yes. You'll hear his voice in a moment, Mr. Pickwick. He'll speak to
me. The other gentleman with him, in the red under-waistcoat and dark
moustache, is the Honourable Mr. Crushton, his bosom friend. How do you
do, my lord?"
"Veway hot, Bantam," said his lordship.
"It _is_ very warm, my lord," replied the M.C.
"Confounded," assented the Honourable Mr. Crushton.
"Have you seen his lordship's mail cart, Bantam?" inquired the
Honourable Mr. Crushton, after a short pause, during which young
Lord Mutanhed had been endeavouring to stare Mr. Pickwick out of
countenance, and Mr. Crushton had been reflecting what subject his
lordship could talk about best.
"Dear me, no," replied the M.C. "A mail cart! What an excellent idea.
Re--markable!"
"Gwacious heavens!" said his lordship, "I thought evewebody had seen
the new mail cart; it's the neatest, pwettiest, gwacefullest thing that
ever wan upon wheels. Painted wed, with a cweam piebald."
"With a real box for the letters, and all complete," said the
Honourable Mr. Crushton.
"And a little seat in fwont, with an iwon wail, for the dwiver," added
his lordship. "I dwove it over to Bristol the other morning, in a
cwimson coat, with two servants widing a quarter of a mile behind; and
confound me if the people didn't wush out of their cottages, and awest
my pwogwess, to know if I wasn't the post. Glorwious, glorwious!"
At this anecdote his lordship laughed very heartily, as did the
listeners, of course. Then, drawing his arm through that of the
obsequious Mr. Crushton, Lord Mutanhed walked away.
"Delightful young man, his lordship," said the Master of the
Ceremonies.
"So I should think," rejoined Mr. Pickwick, drily.
The dancing having commenced, the necessary introductions having been
made, and all preliminaries arranged, Angelo Bantam rejoined Mr.
Pickwick, and led him into the card-room.
Just at the very moment of their entrance, the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph
and two other ladies of an ancient and whist-like appearance, were
hovering over an unoccupied card-table; and they no sooner set eyes
upon Mr. Pickwick under the convoy of Angelo Bantam, than they
exchanged glances with each other, seeing that he was precisely the
very person they wanted, to make up the rubber.
"My dear Bantam," said the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph, coaxingly, "find
us some nice creature to make up this table; there's a good soul."
Mr. Pickwick happened to be looking another way at the moment, so her
ladyship nodded her head towards him, and frowned expressively.
"My friend, Mr. Pickwick, my lady, will be most happy, I am sure,
re--markably so," said the M.C., taking the hint. "Mr. Pickwick, Lady
Snuphanuph--Mrs. Colonel Wugsby--Miss Bolo."
Mr. Pickwick bowed to each of the ladies, and, finding escape
impossible, cut. Mr. Pickwick and Miss Bolo against Lady Snuphanuph and
Mrs. Colonel Wugsby.
As the trump card was turned up at the commencement of the second deal,
two young ladies hurried into the room, and took their stations on
either side of Mrs. Colonel Wugsby's chair, where they waited patiently
until the hand was over.
"Now, Jane," said Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, turning to one of the girls,
"what is it?"
"I came to ask, ma, whether I might dance with the youngest Mr.
Crawley," whispered the prettier and younger of the two.
"Good God, Jane, how can you think of such things?" replied the mamma,
indignantly. "Haven't you repeatedly heard that his father has eight
hundred a-year, which dies with him? I am ashamed of you. Not on any
account."
"Ma," whispered the other, who was much older than her sister and very
insipid and artificial, "Lord Mutanhed has been introduced to me. I
said I _thought_ I wasn't engaged, ma."
"You're a sweet pet, my love," replied Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, tapping
her daughter's cheek with her fan, "and are always to be trusted. He's
immensely rich, my dear. Bless you!" With these words Mrs. Colonel
Wugsby kissed her eldest daughter most affectionately, and frowning, in
a warning manner, upon the other, sorted her cards.
Poor Mr. Pickwick! he had never played with three thorough-paced female
card-players before. They were so desperately sharp, that they quite
frightened him. If he played a wrong card, Miss Bolo looked a small
armoury of daggers; if he stopped to consider which was the right one,
Lady Snuphanuph would throw herself back in her chair, and smile with
a mingled glance of impatience and pity to Mrs. Colonel Wugsby; at
which Mrs. Colonel Wugsby would shrug up her shoulders and cough, as
much as to say she wondered whether he ever would begin. Then, at the
end of every hand, Miss Bolo would inquire with a dismal countenance
and reproachful sigh, why Mr. Pickwick had not returned that diamond,
or led the club, or roughed the spade, or finessed the heart, or led
through the honour, or brought out the ace, or played up to the king,
or some such thing; and in reply to all these grave charges, Mr.
Pickwick would be wholly unable to plead any justification whatever,
having by this time forgotten all about the game. People came and
looked on, too, which made Mr. Pickwick nervous. Besides all this,
there was a great deal of distracting conversation near the table,
between Angelo Bantam and the two Miss Matinters, who, being single
and singular, paid great court to the Master of the Ceremonies, in
the hope of getting a stray partner now and then. All these things,
combined with the noises and interruptions of constant comings in and
goings out, made Mr. Pickwick play rather badly; the cards were against
him also; and when they left off at ten minutes past eleven, Miss Bolo
rose from the table considerably agitated, and went straight home, in a
flood of tears, and a sedan chair.
Being joined by his friends, who one and all protested that they had
scarcely ever spent a more pleasant evening, Mr. Pickwick accompanied
them to the White Hart, and having soothed his feelings with something
hot, went to bed, and to sleep, almost simultaneously.