[Illustration]
_Is chiefly devoted to Matters of Business, and the Temporal
Advantage of Dodson and Fogg. Mr. Winkle reappears under
extraordinary Circumstances. Mr. Pickwick's Benevolence proves
stranger than his Obstinacy_
Job Trotter, abating nothing of his speed, ran up Holborn: sometimes
in the middle of the road, sometimes on the pavement, sometimes in the
gutter, as the chances of getting along varied with the press of men,
women, children, and coaches, in each division of the thoroughfare;
regardless of all obstacles, he stopped not for an instant until he
reached the gate of Gray's Inn. Notwithstanding all the expedition he
had used, however, the gate had been closed a good half-hour when he
reached it, and by the time he had discovered Mr. Perker's laundress,
who lived with a married daughter, who had bestowed her hand upon a
non-resident waiter, who occupied the one-pair of some number in some
street closely adjoining to some brewery somewhere behind Gray's Inn
Lane, it was within fifteen minutes of closing the prison for the
night. Mr. Lowten had still to be ferreted out from the back parlour of
the Magpie and Stump; and Job had scarcely accomplished this object,
and communicated Sam Weller's message, when the clock struck ten.
"There," said Lowten, "it's too late now. You can't get in to-night;
you've got the key of the street, my friend."
"Never mind me," replied Job. "I can sleep anywhere. But won't it be
better to see Mr. Perker to-night, so that we may be there the first
thing in the morning?"
"Why," responded Lowten, after a little consideration, "if it was in
anybody else's case, Perker wouldn't be best pleased at my going up to
his house; but as it's Mr. Pickwick's, I think I may venture to take a
cab and charge it to the office." Deciding on this line of conduct, Mr.
Lowten took up his hat, and, begging the assembled company to appoint
a deputy chairman during his temporary absence, led the way to the
nearest coachstand. Summoning the cab of most promising appearance, he
directed the driver to repair to Montague Place, Russell Square.
Mr. Perker had had a dinner party that day, as was testified by
the appearance of lights in the drawing-room windows, the sound of
an improved grand piano, and an improvable cabinet voice issuing
therefrom, and a rather overpowering smell of meat which pervaded
the steps and entry. In fact a couple of very good country agencies
happening to come up to town, at the same time, an agreeable little
party had been got together to meet them comprising Mr. Snicks the Life
Office Secretary, Mr. Prosee the eminent counsel, three solicitors,
one commissioner of bankrupts, a special pleader from the Temple, a
small-eyed peremptory young gentleman his pupil, who had written a
lively book about the law of demises, with a vast quantity of marginal
notes and references; and several other eminent and distinguished
personages. From this society, little Mr. Perker detached himself,
on his clerk being announced in a whisper; and repairing to the
dining-room, there found Mr. Lowten and Job Trotter looking very dim
and shadowy by the light of a kitchen candle, which the gentleman who
condescended to appear in plush shorts and cottons for a quarterly
stipend, had, with a becoming contempt for the clerk and all things
appertaining to "the office," placed upon the table.
"Now, Lowten," said little Mr. Perker, shutting the door, "what's the
matter? No important letter come in a parcel, is there?"
"No, sir," replied Lowten. "This is a messenger from Mr. Pickwick, sir."
"From Pickwick, eh?" said the little man, turning quickly to Job.
"Well, what is it?"
"Dodson and Fogg have taken Mrs. Bardell in execution for her costs,
sir," said Job.
"No!" exclaimed Perker, putting his hands in his pockets, and reclining
against the sideboard.
"Yes," said Job. "It seems they got a cognovit out of her, for the
amount of 'em, directly after the trial."
"By Jove!" said Perker, taking both hands out of his pockets, and
striking the knuckles of his right against the palm of his left,
emphatically, "those are the cleverest scamps I ever had anything to do
with!"
"The sharpest practitioners _I_ ever knew, sir," observed Lowten.
"Sharp!" echoed Perker. "There's no knowing where to have them."
"Very true, sir, there is not," replied Lowten; and then, both master
and man pondered for a few seconds, with animated countenances, as
if they were reflecting upon one of the most beautiful and ingenious
discoveries that the intellect of man had ever made. When they had in
some measure recovered from their trance of admiration, Job Trotter
discharged himself of the rest of his commission. Perker nodded his
head thoughtfully, and pulled out his watch.
"At ten precisely, I will be there," said the little man. "Sam is quite
right. Tell him so. Will you take a glass of wine, Lowten?"
"No, thank you, sir."
"You mean yes, I think," said the little man, turning to the sideboard
for a decanter and glasses.
As Lowten _did_ mean yes, he said no more on the subject, but inquired
of Job, in an audible whisper, whether the portrait of Perker which
hung opposite the fireplace, wasn't a wonderful likeness, to which Job
of course replied that it was. The wine being by this time poured out,
Lowten drank to Mrs. Perker and the children, and Job to Perker. The
gentleman in the plush shorts and cottons considering it no part of his
duty to show the people from the office out, consistently declined to
answer the bell, and they showed themselves out. The attorney betook
himself to his drawing-room, the clerk to the Magpie and Stump, and Job
to Covent Garden Market to spend the night in a vegetable basket.
Punctually at the appointed hour next morning, the good-humoured
little attorney tapped at Mr. Pickwick's door, which was opened with
great alacrity by Sam Weller.
"Mr. Perker, sir," said Sam, announcing the visitor to Mr. Pickwick,
who was sitting at the window in a thoughtful attitude. "Wery glad
you've looked in accidentally, sir. I rather think the gov'ner wants to
have a word and a half with you, sir."
Perker bestowed a look of intelligence on Sam, intimating that he
understood he was not to say he had been sent for: and beckoning him to
approach, whispered briefly in his ear.
"You don't mean that 'ere, sir?" said Sam, starting back in excessive
surprise.
Perker nodded and smiled.
Mr. Samuel Weller looked at the little lawyer, then at Mr. Pickwick,
then at the ceiling, then at Perker again; grinned, laughed outright,
and, finally, catching up his hat from the carpet, without further
explanation, disappeared.
"What does this mean?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, looking at Perker with
astonishment. "What has put Sam into this most extraordinary state?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing," replied Perker. "Come, my dear sir, draw up
your chair to the table. I have a good deal to say to you."
"What papers are those?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, as the little man
deposited on the table a small bundle of documents tied with red tape.
"The papers in Bardell and Pickwick," replied Perker, undoing the knot
with his teeth.
Mr. Pickwick grated the legs of his chair against the ground; and
throwing himself into it, folded his hands and looked sternly--if Mr.
Pickwick ever could look sternly--at his legal friend.
"You don't like to hear the name of the cause?" said the little man,
still busying himself with the knot.
"No, I do not indeed," replied Mr. Pickwick.
"Sorry for that," resumed Perker, "because it will form the subject of
our conversation."
"I would rather that the subject should be never mentioned between us,
Perker," interposed Mr. Pickwick, hastily.
"Pooh, pooh, my dear sir," said the little man, untying the bundle,
and glancing eagerly at Mr. Pickwick out of the corners of his eyes.
"It must be mentioned. I have come on purpose. Now, are you ready to
hear what I have to say, my dear sir? No hurry; if you are not, I
can wait. I have this morning's paper here. Your time shall be mine.
There!" Hereupon, the little man threw one leg over the other, and made
a show of beginning to read with great composure and application.
"Well, well," said Mr. Pickwick with a sigh, but softening into a smile
at the same time. "Say what you have to say; it's the old story, I
suppose?"
"With a difference, my dear sir; with a difference," rejoined Perker,
deliberately folding up the paper and putting it into his pocket again.
"Mrs. Bardell, the plaintiff in the action, is within these walls, sir."
"I know it," was Mr. Pickwick's reply.
"Very good," retorted Perker. "And you know how she comes here, I
suppose; I mean on what grounds, and at whose suit?"
"Yes; at least I have heard Sam's account of the matter," said Mr.
Pickwick, with affected carelessness.
"Sam's account of the matter," replied Mr. Perker, "is, I will venture
to say, a perfectly correct one. Well now, my dear sir, the first
question I have to ask, is, whether this woman is to remain here?"
"To remain here!" echoed Mr. Pickwick.
"To remain here, my dear sir," rejoined Perker, leaning back in his
chair and looking steadily at his client.
"How can you ask me?" said that gentleman. "It rests with Dodson and
Fogg; you know that very well."
"I know nothing of the kind," retorted Perker, firmly. "It does _not_
rest with Dodson and Fogg; you know the men, my dear sir, as well as I
do. It rest solely, wholly, and entirely with you."
"With me!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, rising nervously from his chair,
and reseating himself directly afterwards.
The little man gave a double knock on the lid of his snuff-box, opened
it, took a great pinch, shut it up again, and repeated the words, "With
you."
"I say, my dear sir," resumed the little man, who seemed to gather
confidence from the snuff; "I say that her speedy liberation or
perpetual imprisonment rests with you, and with you alone. Hear me out,
my dear sir, if you please, and do not be so very energetic, for it
will only put you into a perspiration and do no good whatever. I say,"
continued Perker, checking off each position on a different finger, as
he laid it down; "I say that nobody but you can rescue her from this
den of wretchedness; and that you can only do that, by paying the costs
of this suit--both of plaintiff and defendant--into the hands of these
Freeman's Court sharks. Now pray be quiet, my dear sir."
Mr. Pickwick, whose face had been undergoing most surprising changes
during this speech, and who was evidently on the verge of a strong
burst of indignation, calmed his wrath as well as he could. Perker,
strengthening his argumentative powers with another pinch of snuff,
proceeded.
"I have seen the woman, this morning. By paying the costs, you can
obtain a full release and discharge from the damages; and further--this
I know is a far greater object of consideration with you, my dear
sir--a voluntary statement, under her hand, in the form of a letter
to me, that this business was, from the very first, fomented, and
encouraged, and brought about, by these men, Dodson and Fogg: that she
deeply regrets ever having been the instrument of annoyance or injury
to you; and that she entreats me to intercede with you, and implore
your pardon."
"If I pay her costs for her," said Mr. Pickwick, indignantly. "A
valuable document, indeed!"
"No '_if_' in the case, my dear sir," said Perker, triumphantly. "There
is the very letter I speak of. Brought to my office by another woman
at nine o'clock this morning, before I had set foot in this place, or
held any communication with Mrs. Bardell, upon my honour." Selecting
the letter from the bundle, the little lawyer laid it at Mr. Pickwick's
elbow, and took snuff for two consecutive minutes, without winking.
"Is this all you have to say to me?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, mildly.
"Not quite," replied Perker. "I cannot undertake to say, at this
moment, whether the wording of the cognovit, the nature of the
ostensible consideration, and the proof we can get together about the
whole conduct of the suit, will be sufficient to justify an indictment
for conspiracy. I fear not, my dear sir; they are too clever for
that, I doubt. I do mean to say, however, that the whole facts, taken
together, will be sufficient to justify you, in the minds of all
reasonable men. And now, my dear sir, I put it to you. This one hundred
and fifty pounds, or whatever it may be--take it in round numbers--is
nothing to you. A jury has decided against you; well, their verdict
is wrong, but still they decided as they thought right, and it _is_
against you. You have now an opportunity, on easy terms, of placing
yourself in a much higher position than you ever could, by remaining
here; which would only be imputed, by people who didn't know you, to
sheer dogged, wrongheaded, brutal obstinacy: nothing else, my dear sir,
believe me. Can you hesitate to avail yourself of it, when it restores
you to your friends, your old pursuits, your health and amusements;
when it liberates your faithful and attached servant, whom you
otherwise doom to imprisonment for the whole of your life; and above
all, when it enables you to take the very magnanimous revenge--which I
know, my dear sir, is one after your own heart--of releasing this woman
from a scene of misery and debauchery to which no man should ever be
consigned, if I had my will, but the infliction of which on any woman,
is even more frightful and barbarous. Now I ask you, my dear sir, not
only as your legal adviser, but as your very true friend, will you let
slip the occasion of attaining all these objects, and doing all this
good, for the paltry consideration of a few pounds finding their way
into the pockets of a couple of rascals, to whom it makes no manner
of difference, except that the more they gain, the more they'll seek,
and so the sooner be led into some piece of knavery that must end in a
crash? I have put these considerations to you, my dear sir, very feebly
and imperfectly, but I ask you to think of them. Turn them over in your
mind as long as you please. I wait here most patiently for your answer."
Before Mr. Pickwick could reply; before Mr. Perker had taken one
twentieth part of the snuff with which so unusually long an address
imperatively required to be followed up; there was a low murmuring of
voices outside, and then a hesitating knock at the door.
"Dear, dear," exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who had been evidently roused by
his friend's appeal; "what an annoyance that door is! Who is that?"
"Me, sir," replied Sam Weller, putting in his head.
"I can't speak to you just now, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick. "I am engaged
at this moment, Sam."
"Beg your pardon, sir," rejoined Mr. Weller. "But here's a lady here,
sir, as says she's somethin' wery partickler to disclose."
"I can't see any lady," replied Mr. Pickwick, whose mind was filled
with visions of Mrs. Bardell.
"I vouldn't make too sure o' that, sir," urged Mr. Weller, shaking his
head. "If you know'd who was near, sir, I rayther think you'd change
your note. As the hawk remarked to himself with a cheerful laugh, ven
he heard the robin redbreast a singin' round the corner."
"Who is it?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Will you see her, sir?" asked Mr. Weller, holding the door in his hand
as if he had some curious live animal on the other side.
"I suppose I must," said Mr. Pickwick, looking at Perker.
"Well then, all in to begin!" cried Sam. "Sound the gong, draw up the
curtain, and enter the two con-spiraytors."
As Sam Weller spoke, he threw the door open, and there rushed
tumultuously into the room, Mr. Nathaniel Winkle: leading after him
by the hand, the identical young lady who at Dingley Dell had worn
the boots with the fur round the tops, and who, now a very pleasing
compound of blushes and confusion and lilac silk and a smart bonnet and
a rich lace veil, looked prettier than ever.
"Miss Arabella Allen!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, rising from his chair.
"No," replied Mr. Winkle, dropping on his knees, "Mrs. Winkle. Pardon,
my dear friend, pardon!"
Mr. Pickwick could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses, and
perhaps would not have done so, but for the corroborative testimony
afforded by the smiling countenance of Perker, and the bodily presence,
in the background, of Sam and the pretty housemaid, who appeared to
contemplate the proceedings with the liveliest satisfaction.
"Oh, Mr. Pickwick!" said Arabella, in a low voice, as if alarmed at the
silence. "Can you forgive my imprudence?"
Mr. Pickwick returned no verbal response to this appeal; but he took
off his spectacles in great haste, and seizing both the young lady's
hands in his, kissed her a great number of times--perhaps a greater
number than was absolutely necessary--and then, still retaining one of
her hands, told Mr. Winkle he was an audacious young dog, and bade him
get up. This, Mr. Winkle, who had been for some seconds scratching his
nose with the brim of his hat, in a penitent manner, did; whereupon Mr.
Pickwick slapped him on the back several times, and then shook hands
heartily with Perker, who, not to be behind-hand in the compliments
of the occasion, saluted both the bride and the pretty housemaid with
right good will, and, having wrung Mr. Winkle's hand most cordially,
wound up his demonstrations of joy by taking snuff enough to set any
half-dozen men, with ordinarily constructed noses, a sneezing for life.
"Why, my dear girl," said Mr. Pickwick, "how has all this come about?
Come! Sit down and let me hear all. How well she looks, doesn't she,
Perker?" added Mr. Pickwick, surveying Arabella's face with a look of
as much pride and exultation, as if she had been his daughter.
"Delightful, my dear sir," replied the little man. "If I were not a
married man myself, I should be disposed to envy you, you dog." Thus
expressing himself, the little lawyer gave Mr. Winkle a poke in the
chest, which that gentleman reciprocated; after which they both laughed
very loudly, but not so loudly as Mr. Samuel Weller, who had just
relieved his feelings by kissing the pretty housemaid, under cover of
the cupboard-door.
"I can never be grateful enough to you, Sam, I am sure," said Arabella,
with the sweetest smile imaginable. "I shall not forget your exertions
in the garden at Clifton."
"Don't say nothin' wotever about it, ma'am," replied Sam. "I only
assisted natur', ma'am; as the doctor said to the boy's mother, arter
he'd bled him to death."
"Mary, my dear, sit down," said Mr. Pickwick, cutting short these
compliments. "Now then; how long have you been married, eh?"
Arabella looked bashfully at her lord and master, who replied, "Only
three days."
"Only three days, eh?" said Mr. Pickwick. "Why, what have you been
doing these three months?"
"Ah, to be sure!" interposed Perker; "come! Account for this idleness.
You see Pickwick's only astonishment is, that it wasn't all over months
ago."
"Why the fact is," replied Mr. Winkle, looking at his blushing young
wife, "that I could not persuade Bella to run away, for a long time.
And when I had persuaded her, it was a long time more, before we could
find an opportunity. Mary had to give a month's warning too, before she
could leave her place next door, and we couldn't possibly have done it
without her assistance."
"Upon my word," exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who by this time had resumed
his spectacles, and was looking from Arabella to Winkle, and from
Winkle to Arabella, with as much delight depicted in his countenance
as warm-heartedness and kindly feeling can communicate to the human
face: "Upon my word! you seem to have been very systematic in your
proceedings. And is your brother acquainted with all this, my dear?"
"Oh no, no," replied Arabella, changing colour. "Dear Mr. Pickwick, he
must only know it from you--from your lips alone. He is so violent, so
prejudiced, and has been so--so anxious in behalf of his friend, Mr.
Sawyer," added Arabella, looking down, "that I fear the consequences
dreadfully."
"Ah, to be sure," said Perker, gravely. "You must take the matter in
hand for them, my dear sir. These young men will respect you, when they
would listen to nobody else. You must prevent mischief, my dear sir.
Hot blood, hot blood." And the little man took a warning pinch, and
shook his head doubtfully.
"You forget, my love," said Mr. Pickwick, gently, "you forget that I am
a prisoner."
"No, indeed I do not, my dear sir," replied Arabella. "I never have
forgotten it. I have never ceased to think how great your sufferings
must have been in this shocking place. But I hoped that what no
consideration for yourself would induce you to do, a regard to our
happiness might. If my brother hears of this, first, from you, I feel
certain we shall be reconciled. He is my only relation in the world,
Mr. Pickwick, and unless you plead for me I fear I have lost even him.
I have done wrong, very, very wrong, I know." Here poor Arabella hid
her face in her handkerchief, and wept bitterly.
Mr. Pickwick's nature was a good deal worked upon by these same tears;
but when Mrs. Winkle, drying her eyes, took to coaxing and entreating
in the sweetest tones of a very sweet voice, he became particularly
restless, and evidently undecided how to act. As was evinced by sundry
nervous rubbings of his spectacle-glasses, nose, tights, head, and
gaiters.
Taking advantage of these symptoms of indecision, Mr. Perker (to
whom, it appeared, the young couple had driven straight that morning)
urged with legal point and shrewdness that Mr. Winkle senior was
still unacquainted with the important rise in life's flight of steps
which his son had taken; that the future expectations of the said son
depended entirely upon the said Winkle senior continuing to regard him
with undiminished feelings of affection and attachment, which it was
very unlikely he would, if this great event were long kept a secret
from him; that Mr. Pickwick, repairing to Bristol to seek Mr. Allen,
might, with equal reason, repair to Birmingham to seek Mr. Winkle
senior; lastly, that Mr. Winkle senior had good right and title to
consider Mr. Pickwick as in some degree the guardian and adviser of his
son, and that it consequently behoved that gentleman, and was indeed
due to his personal character, to acquaint the aforesaid Winkle senior
personally, and by word of mouth, with the whole circumstances of the
case, and with the share he had taken in the transaction.
Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass arrived, most opportunely, in this stage
of the pleadings, and as it was necessary to explain to them all that
had occurred, together with the various reasons pro and con, the whole
of the arguments were gone over again, after which everybody urged
every argument in his own way, and at his own length. And at last Mr.
Pickwick, fairly argued and remonstrated out of all his resolutions,
and being in imminent danger of being argued and remonstrated out of
his wits, caught Arabella in his arms, and declaring that she was a
very amiable creature, and that he didn't know how it was, but he had
always been very fond of her from the first, said he could never find
it in his heart to stand in the way of young people's happiness, and
they might do with him as they pleased.
Mr. Weller's first act, on hearing this concession, was to despatch Job
Trotter to the illustrious Mr. Pell, with an authority to deliver to
the bearer the formal discharge which his prudent parent had had the
foresight to leave in the hands of that learned gentleman, in case it
should be, at any time, required on an emergency; his next proceeding
was, to invest his whole stock of ready money in the purchase of
five-and-twenty gallons of mild porter: which he himself dispensed on
the racket-ground to everybody who would partake of it; this done,
he hurra'd in divers parts of the building until he lost his voice,
and then quietly relapsed into his usual collected and philosophical
condition.
At three o'clock that afternoon, Mr. Pickwick took a last look at his
little room, and made his way, as well as he could, through the throng
of debtors who pressed eagerly forward to shake him by the hand, until
he reached the lodge steps. He turned here, to look about him, and his
eyes lightened as he did so. In all the crowd of wan, emaciated faces,
he saw not one which was not the happier for his sympathy and charity.
"Perker," said Mr. Pickwick, beckoning one young man towards him, "this
is Mr. Jingle, whom I spoke to you about."
"Very good, my dear sir," replied Perker, looking hard at Jingle.
"You will see me again, young man, to-morrow. I hope you may live to
remember and feel deeply what I shall have to communicate, sir."
Jingle bowed respectfully, trembled very much as he took Mr. Pickwick's
proffered hand, and withdrew.
"Job you know, I think?" said Mr. Pickwick, presenting that gentleman.
"I know the rascal," replied Perker, good-humouredly. "See after your
friend, and be in the way to-morrow at one. Do you hear? Now, is there
anything more?"
"Nothing," rejoined Mr. Pickwick. "You have delivered the little parcel
I gave you for your old landlord, Sam?"
"I have, sir," replied Sam. "He bust out a cryin', sir, and said you
wos wery gen'rous and thoughtful, and he only wished you could have him
innokilated for a gallopin' consumption, for his old friend, as had
lived here so long, wos dead, and he'd noweres to look for another."
"Poor fellow, poor fellow!" said Mr. Pickwick. "God bless you, my
friends!"
As Mr. Pickwick uttered this adieu, the crowd raised a loud shout. Many
among them were pressing forward to shake him by the hand again, when
he drew his arm through Perker's, and hurried from the prison: far more
sad and melancholy, for the moment, than when he had first entered it.
Alas! how many sad and unhappy beings had he left behind!
A happy evening was that, for, at least, one party in the George and
Vulture; and light and cheerful were two of the hearts that emerged
from its hospitable door next morning. The owners thereof were Mr.
Pickwick and Sam Weller, the former of whom was speedily deposited
inside a comfortable post coach, with a little dickey behind, in which
the latter mounted with great agility.
"Sir," called out Mr. Weller to his master.
"Well, Sam?" replied Mr. Pickwick, thrusting his head out of the window.
"I wish them horses had been three months and better in the Fleet, sir."
"Why, Sam?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Vy, sir," exclaimed Mr. Weller, rubbing his hands, "how they would go
if they had been!"