[Illustration]
_Showing how Mr. Samuel Weller got into Difficulties_
In a lofty room, ill-lighted and worse ventilated, situated in Portugal
Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, there sit nearly the whole year round,
one, two, three, or four gentlemen in wigs, as the case may be, with
little writing-desks before them, constructed after the fashion of
those used by the judges of the land, barring the French polish. There
is a box of barristers on their right hand; there is an enclosure of
insolvent debtors on their left; and there is an inclined plane of
most especially dirty faces in their front. These gentlemen are the
Commissioners of the Insolvent Court, and the place in which they sit
is the Insolvent Court itself.
It is, and has been, time out of mind, the remarkable fate of this
Court to be, somehow or other, held and understood by the general
consent of all the destitute shabby-genteel people in London, as
their common resort and place of refuge daily. It is always full. The
steams of beer and spirits perpetually ascend to the ceiling, and,
being condensed by the heat, roll down the walls like rain; there are
more old suits of clothes in it at one time than will be offered for
sale in all Houndsditch in a twelvemonth; more unwashed skins and
grizzly beards than all the pumps and shaving-shops between Tyburn and
Whitechapel could render decent, between sunrise and sunset.
It must not be supposed that any of these people have the least shadow
of business in, or the remotest connection with, the place they so
indefatigably attend. If they had, it would be no matter of surprise,
and the singularity of the thing would cease. Some of them sleep
during the greater part of the sitting; others carry small portable
dinners wrapped in pocket-handkerchiefs, or sticking out of their
worn-out pockets, and munch and listen with equal relish; but no one
among them was ever known to have the slightest personal interest in
any case that was ever brought forward. Whatever they do, there they
sit from the first moment to the last. When it is heavy rainy weather,
they all come in, wet through; and at such times the vapours of the
Court are like those of a fungus-pit.
A casual visitor might suppose this place to be a Temple dedicated to
the Genius of Seediness. There is not a messenger or process-server
attached to it, who wears a coat that was made for him; not a tolerably
fresh or wholesome-looking man in the whole establishment, except
a little white-headed, apple-faced tipstaff, and even he, like an
ill-conditioned cherry preserved in brandy, seems to have artificially
dried and withered up into a state of preservation to which he can lay
no natural claim. The very barristers' wigs are ill-powdered, and their
curls lack crispness.
But the attorneys, who sit at a large bare table below the
Commissioners, are, after all, the greatest curiosities. The
professional establishment of the more opulent of these gentlemen,
consists of a blue bag and a boy; generally a youth of the Jewish
persuasion. They have no fixed offices, their legal business being
transacted in the parlours of public-houses, or the yards of prisons:
whither they repair in crowds, and canvass for customers after the
manner of omnibus cads. They are of a greasy and mildewed appearance;
and if they can be said to have any vices at all, perhaps drinking and
cheating are the most conspicuous among them. Their residences are
usually on the outskirts of "the Rules," chiefly lying within a circle
of one mile from the obelisk in St. George's Fields. Their looks are
not prepossessing, and their manners are peculiar.
Mr. Solomon Pell, one of this learned body, was a fat, flabby, pale
man, in a surtout which looked green one minute and brown the next:
with a velvet collar of the same chameleon tints. His forehead was
narrow, his face wide, his head large, and his nose all on one side, as
if Nature, indignant with the propensities she observed in him at his
birth, had given it an angry tweak which it had never recovered. Being
short-necked and asthmatic, however, he respired principally through
this feature; so, perhaps, what it wanted in ornament, it made up in
usefulness.
"I'm sure to bring him through it," said Mr. Pell.
"Are you though?" replied the person to whom the assurance was pledged.
"Certain sure," replied Pell; "but if he'd gone to any irregular
practitioner, mind you, I wouldn't have answered for the consequences."
"Ah!" said the other, with open mouth.
"No, that I wouldn't," said Mr. Pell; and he pursed up his lips,
frowned, and shook his head mysteriously.
Now, the place where this discourse occurred, was the public-house just
opposite to the Insolvent Court: and the person with whom it was held,
was no other than the elder Mr. Weller, who had come there to comfort
and console a friend, whose petition to be discharged under the Act
was to be that day heard, and whose attorney he was at that moment
consulting.
"And vere is George?" inquired the old gentleman.
Mr. Pell jerked his head in the direction of a back parlour: whither
Mr. Weller at once repairing, was immediately greeted in the warmest
and most flattering manner by some half-dozen of his professional
brethren, in token of their gratification at his arrival. The insolvent
gentleman, who had contracted a speculative but imprudent passion for
horsing long stages, which had led to his present embarrassments,
looked extremely well, and was soothing the excitement of his feelings
with shrimps and porter.
The salutation between Mr. Weller and his friends was strictly confined
to the freemasonry of the craft; consisting of a jerking round of the
right wrist, and a tossing of the little finger into the air at the
same time. We once knew two famous coachmen (they are dead now, poor
fellows) who were twins, and between whom an unaffected and devoted
attachment existed. They passed each other on the Dover road, every
day, for twenty-four years, never exchanging any other greeting than
this; and yet, when one died, the other pined away, and soon afterwards
followed him!
"Vell, George," said Mr. Weller senior, taking off his upper coat, and
seating himself with his accustomed gravity, "how is it? All right
behind, and full inside?"
"All right, old feller," replied the embarrassed gentleman.
"Is the grey mare made over to anybody?" inquired Mr. Weller, anxiously.
George nodded in the affirmative.
"Vell, that's all right," said Mr. Weller. "Coach taken care on also?"
"Con-signed in a safe quarter," replied George, wringing the heads off
half a dozen shrimps, and swallowing them without any more ado.
"Wery good, wery good," said Mr. Weller. "Alvays see to the drag ven
you go down hill. Is the vay-bill all clear and straight for'erd?"
"The schedule, sir," said Pell, guessing at Mr. Weller's meaning, "the
schedule is as plain and satisfactory as pen and ink can make it."
Mr. Weller nodded in a manner which bespoke his inward approval of
these arrangements; and then, turning to Mr. Pell, said, pointing to
his friend George:
"Ven do you take his cloths off?"
"Why," replied Mr. Pell, "he stands third on the opposed list, and I
should think it would be his turn in about half an hour. I told my
clerk to come over and tell us when there was a chance."
Mr. Weller surveyed the attorney from head to foot with great
admiration, and said emphatically:
"And what'll you take, sir?"
"Why, really," replied Mr. Pell, "you're very--. Upon my word and
honour, I'm not in the habit of--. It's so very early in the morning,
that, actually, I am almost--. Well, you may bring me three penn'orth
of rum, my dear."
The officiating damsel, who had anticipated the order before it was
given, set the glass of spirits before Pell, and retired.
"Gentlemen," said Mr. Pell, looking round upon the company, "success to
your friend! I don't like to boast, gentlemen; it's not my way; but I
can't help saying, that, if your friend hadn't been fortunate enough
to fall into the hands that--but I won't say what I was going to say.
Gentlemen, my service to you." Having emptied the glass in a twinkling,
Mr. Pell smacked his lips, and looked complacently round on the
assembled coachmen, who evidently regarded him as a species of divinity.
"Let me see," said the legal authority. "What was I a saying,
gentlemen?"
"I think you was remarkin' as you wouldn't have no objection to another
o' the same, sir," said Mr. Weller, with grave facetiousness.
"Ha ha!" laughed Mr. Pell. "Not bad, not bad. A professional man, too!
At this time of the morning, it would be rather too good a--. Well, I
don't know, my dear--you _may_ do that again, if you please. Hem!"
This last sound was a solemn and dignified cough, in which Mr. Pell,
observing an indecent tendency to mirth in some of his auditors,
considered it due to himself to indulge.
"The late Lord Chancellor, gentlemen, was very fond of me," said Mr.
Pell.
"And wery creditable in him, too," interposed Mr. Weller.
"Hear, hear," assented Mr. Pell's client. "Why shouldn't he be?"
"Ah! Why, indeed!" said a very red-faced man, who had said nothing yet,
and who looked extremely unlikely to say anything more. "Why shouldn't
he?"
A murmur of assent ran through the company.
"I remember, gentlemen," said Pell, "dining with him on one
occasion;--there was only us two, but everything as splendid as if
twenty people had been expected--the great seal on a dumb-waiter at
his right hand, and a man in a bag-wig and suit of armour guarding the
mace with a drawn sword and silk stockings--which is perpetually done,
gentlemen, night and day, when he said, 'Pell,' he said, 'no false
delicacy, Pell. You're a man of talent; you can get anybody through the
Insolvent Court, Pell; and your country should be proud of you.' Those
were his very words. 'My Lord,' I said, 'you flatter me.' 'Pell,' he
said, 'if I do, I'm damned.'"
"Did he say that?" inquired Mr. Weller.
"He did," replied Pell.
"Vell, then," said Mr. Weller, "I say Parliament ought to ha' took it
up; and if he'd been a poor man, they _would_ ha' done it."
"But, my dear friend," argued Mr. Pell, "it was in confidence."
"In what?" said Mr. Weller.
"In confidence,"
"Oh! wery good," replied Mr. Weller, after a little reflection. "If he
damned his-self in confidence, o' course that was another thing."
"Of course it was," said Mr. Pell. "The distinction's obvious, you will
perceive."
"Alters the case entirely," said Mr. Weller. "Go on, sir."
"No, I will not go on, sir," said Mr. Pell, in a low and serious tone.
"You have reminded me, sir, that this conversation was private--private
and confidential, gentlemen. Gentlemen, I am a professional man. It
may be that I am a good deal looked up to in my profession--it may
be that I am not. Most people know. I say nothing. Observations have
already been made, in this room, injurious to the reputation of my
noble friend. You will excuse me, gentlemen; I was imprudent. I feel
that I have no right to mention this matter without his concurrence.
Thank you, sir, thank you." Thus delivering himself, Mr. Pell thrust
his hands into his pockets, and, frowning grimly around, rattled three
halfpence with terrible determination.
This virtuous resolution had scarcely been formed, when the boy and
the blue bag, who were inseparable companions, rushed violently into
the room, and said (at least the boy did, for the blue bag took no
part in the announcement) that the case was coming on directly. The
intelligence was no sooner received than the whole party hurried across
the street, and began to fight their way into Court--a preparatory
ceremony, which has been calculated to occupy, in ordinary cases, from
twenty-five minutes to thirty.
Mr. Weller, being stout, cast himself at once into the crowd, with the
desperate hope of ultimately turning up in some place which would suit
him. His success was not quite equal to his expectations; for having
neglected to take his hat off, it was knocked over his eyes by some
unseen person, upon whose toes he had alighted with considerable force.
Apparently, this individual regretted his impetuosity immediately
afterwards; for, muttering an indistinct exclamation of surprise, he
dragged the old man out into the hall, and, after a violent struggle,
released his head and face.
[Illustration: _After a violent struggle, released his head and face_]
"Samivel!" exclaimed Mr. Weller, when he was thus enabled to behold his
rescuer.
Sam nodded.
"You're a dutiful and affectionate little boy, you are, ain't you?"
said Mr. Weller, "to come a bonnetin' your father in his old age?"
"How should I know who you wos?" responded the son. "Do you s'pose I
wos to tell you by the weight o' your foot?"
"Vell, that's wery true, Sammy," replied Mr. Weller, mollified at once;
"but wot are you a doin' on here? Your gov'ner can't do no good here,
Sammy. They won't pass that werdick, they won't pass it, Sammy." And
Mr. Weller shook his head, with legal solemnity.
"Wot a perwerse old file it is!" exclaimed Sam, "alvays a goin' on
about werdicks and alleybis, and that. Who said anything about the
werdick?"
Mr. Weller made no reply, but once more shook his head most learnedly.
"Leave off rattlin' that 'ere nob o' yourn, if you don't want it to
come off the springs altogether," said Sam, impatiently, "and behave
reasonable. I vent all the vay down to the Markis o' Granby, arter you,
last night."
"Did you see the Marchioness o' Granby, Sammy?" inquired Mr. Weller,
with a sigh.
"Yes, I did," replied Sam.
"How wos the dear creetur a lookin'?"
"Wery queer," said Sam. "I think she's a injurin' herself gradivally
vith too much o' that 'ere pine-apple rum, and other strong medicines
o' the same natur."
"You don't mean that, Sammy?" said the senior, earnestly.
"I do, indeed," replied the junior. Mr. Weller seized his son's hand,
clasped it, and let it fall. There was an expression on his countenance
in doing so--not of dismay or apprehension, but partaking more of the
sweet and gentle character of hope. A gleam of resignation, and even
of cheerfulness, passed over his face too, as he slowly said, "I ain't
quite certain, Sammy; I wouldn't like to say I wos altogether positive,
in case of any subsekent disappintment, but I rayther think, my boy, I
rayther think, that the shepherd's got the liver complaint!"
"Does he look bad?" inquired Sam.
"He's uncommon pale," replied his father, "'cept about the nose,
which is redder than ever. His appetite is wery so-so, but he imbibes
wunderful."
Some thoughts of the rum appeared to obtrude themselves on Mr. Weller's
mind, as he said this; for he looked gloomy and thoughtful; but he very
shortly recovered, as was testified by a perfect alphabet of winks, in
which he was only wont to indulge when particularly pleased.
"Vell now," said Sam, "about my affair. Just open them ears o' yourn,
and don't say nothin' till I've done." With this brief preface, Sam
related, as succinctly as he could, the last memorable conversation he
had had with Mr. Pickwick.
"Stop there by himself, poor creetur!" exclaimed the elder Mr. Weller,
"without nobody to take his part! It can't be done, Samivel, it can't
be done."
"O' course it can't," asserted Sam; "I know'd that, afore I came."
"Wy, they'll eat him up alive, Sammy," exclaimed Mr. Weller. Sam nodded
his concurrence in the opinion.
"He goes in rayther raw, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, metaphorically,
"and he'll come out, done so ex-ceedin' brown, that his most familiar
friends won't know him. Roast pigeon's nothin' to it, Sammy."
Again Sam Weller nodded.
"It oughtn't to be, Samivel," said Mr. Weller, gravely.
"It mustn't be," said Sam.
"Cert'nly not," said Mr. Weller.
"Vell now," said Sam, "you've been a prophesyin' away, wery fine, like
a red-faced Nixon as the sixpenny books gives picters on."
"Who wos he, Sammy?" inquired Mr. Weller.
"Never mind who he was," retorted Sam; "he warn't a coachman; that's
enough for you."
"I know'd a ostler o' that name," said Mr. Weller, musing.
"It warn't him," said Sam. "This here gen'l'm'n was a prophet."
"Wot's a prophet?" inquired Mr. Weller, looking sternly on his son.
"Wy, a man as tells what's a goin' to happen," replied Sam.
"I wish I'd know'd him, Sammy," said Mr. Weller. "P'raps he might ha'
throw'd a small light on that 'ere liver complaint as we wos a speakin'
on, just now. Hows'ever, if he's dead, and ain't left the bisness to
nobody, there's an end on it. Go on, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, with a
sigh.
"Well," said Sam, "you've been a prophesyin' avay, about wot'll happen
to the gov'nor if he's left alone. Don't you see any vay o' takin' care
on him?"
"No, I don't, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, with a reflective visage.
"No vay at all?" inquired Sam.
"No vay," said Mr. Weller, "unless"--and a gleam of intelligence
lighted up his countenance as he sunk his voice to a whisper, and
applied his mouth to the ear of his offspring--"unless it is getting
him out in a turn-up bedstead, unbeknown to the turnkeys, Sammy, or
dressin' him up like a old 'ooman vith a green wail."
Sam Weller received both of these suggestions with unexpected contempt,
and again propounded his question.
"No," said the old gentleman; "if he von't let you stop there I see no
vay at all. It's no thoroughfare, Sammy, no thoroughfare."
"Well, then, I'll tell you wot it is," said Sam, "I'll trouble you for
the loan of five-and-twenty pound."
"What good 'ull that do?" inquired Mr. Weller.
"Never mind," replied Sam. "P'raps you may ask for it, five minits
artervards; p'raps I may say I von't pay, and cut up rough. You von't
think o' arrestin' your own son for the money, and sendin' him off to
the Fleet, will you, you unnat'ral wagabone?"
At this reply of Sam's the father and son exchanged a complete code of
telegraphic nods and gestures, after which, the elder Mr. Weller sat
himself down on a stone step, and laughed till he was purple.
"Wot a old image it is!" exclaimed Sam, indignant at this loss of time.
"What are you a settin' down there for, conwertin' your face into
a street-door knocker, ven there's so much to be done? Where's the
money?"
"In the boot, Sammy, in the boot," replied Mr. Weller, composing his
features. "Hold my hat, Sammy."
Having divested himself of this incumbrance, Mr. Weller gave his body
a sudden wrench to one side, and, by a dexterous twist, contrived to
get his right hand into a most capacious pocket, from whence, after a
great deal of panting and exertion, he extricated a pocket-book of the
large octavo size, fastened by a huge leathern strap. From this ledger
he drew forth a couple of whip-lashes, three or four buckles, a little
sample-bag of corn, and finally a small roll of very dirty bank-notes:
from which he selected the required amount, which he handed over to Sam.
"And now, Sammy," said the old gentleman, when the whip-lashes and the
buckles, and the samples, had been all put back, and the book once
more deposited at the bottom of the same pocket, "now, Sammy, I know a
gen'l'm'n here, as'll do the rest o' the bisness for us, in no time--a
limb o' the law, Sammy, as has got brains like the frogs, dispersed all
over his body, and reachin' to the wery tips of his fingers; a friend
of the Lord Chancellorship's, Sammy, who'd only have to tell him what
he wanted, and he'd lock you up for life, if that wos all."
"I say," said Sam, "none o' that."
"None o' wot?" inquired Mr. Weller.
"Wy, none o' them unconstitootional ways o' doing it," retorted
Sam. "The have-his-carcase, next to the perpetual motion, is vun of
the blessedest things as wos ever made. I've read that 'ere in the
newspapers, wery of'en."
"Well, wot's that got to do vith it?" inquired Mr. Weller.
"Just this here," said Sam, "that I'll patronise the inwention, and go
in, that vay. No visperin's to the Chancellorship, I don't like the
notion. It mayn't be altogether safe, vith reference to gettin' out
agin."
Deferring to his son's feeling upon this point, Mr. Weller at once
sought the erudite Solomon Pell, and acquainted him with his desire to
issue a writ, instantly, for the sum of twenty-five pounds, and costs
of process; to be executed without delay upon the body of one Samuel
Weller; the charges thereby incurred to be paid in advance to Solomon
Pell.
The attorney was in high glee, for the embarrassed coach-horser was
ordered to be discharged forthwith. He highly approved of Sam's
attachment to his master; declared that it strongly reminded him of
his own feelings of devotion to his friend the Chancellor; and at once
led the elder Mr. Weller down to the Temple, to swear the affidavit of
debt, which the boy, with the assistance of the blue bag, had drawn up
on the spot.
Meanwhile, Sam, having been formally introduced to the white-washed
gentleman and his friends, as the offspring of Mr. Weller, of the Belle
Savage, was treated with marked distinction, and invited to regale
himself with them in honour of the occasion; an invitation which he was
by no means backward in accepting.
The mirth of gentlemen of this class is of a grave and quiet character,
usually; but the present instance was one of peculiar festivity, and
they relaxed in proportion. After some rather tumultuous toasting of
the Chief Commissioner and Mr. Solomon Pell, who had that day displayed
such transcendent abilities, a mottled-faced gentleman in a blue shawl
proposed that somebody should sing a song. The obvious suggestion was,
that the mottled-faced gentleman, being anxious for a song, should sing
it himself; but this the mottled-faced gentleman sturdily, and somewhat
offensively, declined to do. Upon which, as is not unusual in such
cases, a rather angry colloquy ensued.
"Gentlemen," said the coach-horser, "rather than disturb the harmony
of this delightful occasion, perhaps Mr. Samuel Weller will oblige the
company."
"Raly, gentlemen," said Sam, "I'm not wery much in the habit o' singin'
without the instrument: but anythin' for a quiet life, as the man said
when he took the sitivation at the light-house."
With this prelude, Mr. Samuel Weller burst at once into the following
wild and beautiful legend, which, under the impression that it is not
generally known, we take the liberty of quoting. We would beg to call
particular attention to the monosyllable at the end of the second and
fourth lines, which not only enables the singer to take breath at those
points, but greatly assists the metre.
ROMANCE
I
Bold Turpin vunce, on Hounslow Heath,
His bold mare Bess bestrode--er;
Ven there he see'd the Bishop's coach
A-coming along the road--er;
So he gallops close to the 'orses' legs,
And he claps his head vithin;
And the Bishop says, "Sure as eggs is eggs,
This here's the bold Turpin!"
+Chorus+
And the Bishop says, "Sure as eggs is eggs,
This here's the bold Turpin!"
II
Says Turpin, "You shall eat your words,
With a sarse of leaden bul-let;"
So he puts a pistol to his mouth,
And he fires it down his gullet.
The coachman he not likin' the job,
Set off at a full gal-lop,
But Dick put a couple of balls in his nob,
And perwailed on him to stop.
+Chorus+ (_sarcastically_)
But Dick put a couple of balls in his nob,
And perwailed on him to stop.
"I maintain that that 'ere song's personal to the cloth," said the
mottled-faced gentleman, interrupting it at this point. "I demand the
name o' that coachman."
"Nobody know'd," replied Sam. "He hadn't got his card in his pocket."
"I object to the introduction o' politics," said the mottled-faced
gentleman. "I submit that, in the present company, that 'ere song's
political; and, wot's much the same, that it ain't true. I say that
that coachman did _not_ run away; but that he died game--game as
pheasants; and I won't hear nothin' said to the contrairey."
As the mottled-faced gentleman spoke with great energy and
determination: and as the opinions of the company seemed divided on
the subject: it threatened to give rise to fresh altercation, when Mr.
Weller and Mr. Pell most opportunely arrived.
"All right, Sammy," said Mr. Weller.
"The officer will be here at four o'clock," said Mr. Pell. "I suppose
you won't run away meanwhile, eh? Ha! ha!"
"P'raps my cruel pa 'ull relent afore then," replied Sam, with a broad
grin.
"Not I," said the elder Mr. Weller.
"Do," said Sam.
"Not on no account," replied the inexorable creditor.
"I'll give bills for the amount, at sixpence a month," said Sam.
"I won't take 'em," said Mr. Weller.
"Ha, ha, ha! very good, very good," said Mr. Solomon Pell, who was
making out his little bill of costs; "a very amusing incident indeed!
Benjamin, copy that." And Mr. Pell smiled again, as he called Mr.
Weller's attention to the amount.
"Thank you, thank you," said the professional gentleman, taking up
another of the greasy notes as Mr. Weller took it from the pocket-book.
"Three ten and one ten is five. Much obliged to you, Mr. Weller. Your
son is a most deserving young man, very much so indeed, sir. It's a
very pleasant trait in a young man's character, very much so," added
Mr. Pell, smiling smoothly round, as he buttoned up the money.
"Wot a game it is!" said the elder Mr. Weller, with a chuckle. "A
reg'lar prodigy son!"
"Prodigal, prodigal son, sir," suggested Mr. Pell, mildly.
"Never mind, sir," said Mr. Weller, with dignity. "I know wot's
o'clock, sir. Ven I don't, I'll ask you, sir."
By the time the officer arrived, Sam had made himself so extremely
popular, that the congregated gentlemen determined to see him to prison
in a body. So, off they set; the plaintiff and defendant walking
arm-in-arm; the officer in front; and eight stout coachmen bringing
up the rear. At Serjeant's Inn Coffee-house the whole party halted to
refresh, and, the legal arrangements being completed, the procession
moved on again.
Some little commotion was occasioned in Fleet Street, by the pleasantry
of the eight gentlemen in the flank, who persevered in walking four
abreast; it was also found necessary to leave the mottled-faced
gentleman behind, to fight a ticket-porter, it being arranged that
his friends should call for him as they came back. Nothing but these
little incidents occurred on the way. When they reached the gate of the
Fleet, the cavalcade, taking the time from the plaintiff, gave three
tremendous cheers for the defendant, and, after having shaken hands all
round, left him.
[Illustration: _The cavalcade gave three tremendous cheers._]
Sam, having been formally delivered into the warden's custody, to the
intense astonishment of Roker, and to the evident emotion of even the
phlegmatic Neddy, passed at once into the prison, walked straight to
his master's room, and knocked at the door.
"Come in," said Mr. Pickwick.
Sam appeared, pulled off his hat, and smiled.
"Ah, Sam, my good lad!" said Mr. Pickwick, evidently delighted to see
his humble friend again; "I had no intention of hurting your feelings
yesterday, my faithful fellow, by what I said. Put down your hat, Sam,
and let me explain my meaning, a little more at length."
"Won't presently do, sir?" inquired Sam.
"Certainly," said Mr. Pickwick; "but why not now?"
"I'd rayther not now, sir," rejoined Sam.
"Why?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"'Cause--" said Sam, hesitating.
"Because of what?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, alarmed at his follower's
manner. "Speak out, Sam."
"'Cause," rejoined Sam; "'cause I've got a little bisness as I want to
do."
"What business?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, surprised at Sam's confused
manner.
"Nothin' partickler, sir," replied Sam.
"Oh, if it's nothing particular," said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile, "you
can speak with me first."
"I think I'd better see arter it at once," said Sam, still hesitating.
Mr. Pickwick looked amazed, but said nothing.
"The fact is," said Sam, stopping short.
"Well!" said Mr. Pickwick. "Speak out, Sam."
"Why, the fact is," said Sam, with a desperate effort, "p'raps I'd
better see arter my bed afore I do anythin' else."
"_Your bed!_" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, in astonishment.
"Yes, my bed, sir," replied Sam. "I'm a pris'ner. I was arrested, this
here wery arternoon, for debt."
"You arrested for debt!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, sinking into a chair.
"Yes, for debt, sir," replied Sam. "And the man as puts me in, 'ull
never let me out, till you go yourself."
"Bless my heart and soul!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. "What do you mean?"
"Wot I say, sir," rejoined Sam. "If it's forty year to come, I shall
be a prisoner, and I'm very glad on it, and if it had been Newgate, it
would ha' been just the same. Now the murder's out, and damme, there's
an end on it!"
With these words, which he repeated with great emphasis and violence,
Sam Weller dashed his hat upon the ground, in a most unusual state of
excitement; and then, folding his arms, looked firmly and fixedly in
his master's face.