[Illustration]
_Relates how Mr. Pickwick, with the assistance of Samuel Weller,
essayed to soften the Heart of Mr. Benjamin Allen, and to mollify
the Wrath of Mr. Robert Sawyer_
Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer sat together in the little surgery
behind the shop, discussing minced veal and future prospects, when
the discourse, not unnaturally, turned upon the practice acquired by
Bob the aforesaid, and his present chances of deriving a competent
independence from the honourable profession to which he had devoted
himself.
"--Which, I think," observed Mr. Bob Sawyer, pursuing the thread of the
subject, "which I think, Ben, are rather dubious."
"What's rather dubious?" inquired Mr. Ben Allen, at the same time
sharpening his intellects with a draught of beer. "What's dubious?"
"Why, the chances," responded Mr. Bob Sawyer.
"I forgot," said Mr. Ben Allen. "The beer has reminded me that I
forgot, Bob--yes; they _are_ dubious."
"It's wonderful how the poor people patronise me," said Mr. Bob Sawyer,
reflectively. "They knock me up at all hours of the night; they take
medicine to an extent which I should have conceived impossible; they
put on blisters and leeches with a perseverance worthy of a better
cause; they make additions to their families, in a manner which is
quite awful. Six of those last-named little promissory notes, all due
on the same day, Ben, and all entrusted to me!"
"It's very gratifying, isn't it?" said Mr. Ben Allen, holding his plate
for some more minced veal.
"Oh, very," replied Bob; "only not quite so much so, as the confidence
of patients with a shilling or two to spare would be. This business was
capitally described in the advertisement, Ben. It is a practice, a very
extensive practice--and that's all."
"Bob," said Mr. Ben Allen, laying down his knife and fork, and fixing
his eyes on the visage of his friend: "Bob, I'll tell you what it is."
"What is it?" inquired Mr. Bob Sawyer.
"You must make yourself, with as little delay as possible, master of
Arabella's one thousand pounds."
"Three per cent. consolidated Bank annuities, now standing in her
name in the book or books of the Governor and Company of the Bank of
England," added Bob Sawyer, in legal phraseology.
"Exactly so," said Ben. "She has it when she comes of age, or marries.
She wants a year of coming of age, and if you plucked up a spirit she
needn't want a month of being married."
"She's a very charming and delightful creature," quoth Mr. Robert
Sawyer, in reply; "and has only one fault that I know of, Ben. It
happens, unfortunately, that that single blemish is a want of taste.
She don't like me."
"It's my opinion that she don't know what she does like," said Mr. Ben
Allen, contemptuously.
"Perhaps not," remarked Mr. Bob Sawyer. "But it's my opinion that she
does know what she doesn't like, and that's of more importance."
"I wish," said Mr. Ben Allen, setting his teeth together, and speaking
more like a savage warrior who fed on raw wolf's flesh which he carved
with his fingers, than a peaceable young gentleman who ate minced veal
with a knife and fork, "I wish I knew whether any rascal really has
been tampering with her, and attempting to engage her affections. I
think I should assassinate him, Bob."
"I'd put a bullet in him, if I found him out," said Mr. Sawyer,
stopping in the course of a long draught of beer, and looking
malignantly out of the porter pot. "If that didn't do his business, I'd
extract it afterwards, and kill him that way."
Mr. Benjamin Allen gazed abstractedly on his friend for some minutes in
silence, and then said:
"You have never proposed to her, point-blank, Bob?"
"No. Because I saw it would be of no use," replied Mr. Robert Sawyer.
"You shall do it, before you are twenty-four hours older," retorted
Ben, with desperate calmness. "She _shall_ have you, or I'll know the
reason why. I'll exert my authority."
"Well," said Mr. Bob Sawyer, "we shall see."
"We _shall_ see, my friend," replied Mr. Ben Allen fiercely. He paused
for a few seconds, and added in a voice broken by emotion, "You have
loved her from a child, my friend. You loved her when we were boys at
school together, and, even then, she was wayward, and slighted your
young feelings. Do you recollect, with all the eagerness of a child's
love, one day pressing upon her acceptance two small caraway-seed
biscuits and one sweet apple, neatly folded into a circular parcel with
the leaf of a copybook?"
"I do," replied Bob Sawyer.
"She slighted that, I think?" said Ben Allen.
"She did," rejoined Bob. "She said I had kept the parcel so long in the
pockets of my corduroys that the apple was unpleasantly warm."
"I remember," said Mr. Allen, gloomily. "Upon which we ate it
ourselves, in alternate bites."
Bob Sawyer intimated his recollection of the circumstance last alluded
to, by a melancholy frown; and the two friends remained for some time
absorbed, each in his own meditations.
While these observations were being exchanged between Mr. Bob Sawyer
and Mr. Benjamin Allen; and while the boy in the grey livery,
marvelling at the unwonted prolongation of the dinner, cast an anxious
look, from time to time, towards the glass door, distracted by
inward misgivings regarding the amount of minced veal which would be
ultimately reserved for his individual cravings; there rolled soberly
on through the streets of Bristol, a private fly, painted of a sad
green colour, drawn by a chubby sort of brown horse, and driven by
a surly-looking man with his legs dressed like the legs of a groom,
and his body attired in the coat of a coachman. Such appearances are
common to many vehicles belonging to, and maintained by, old ladies
of economic habits; and in this vehicle sat an old lady who was its
mistress and proprietor.
"Martin!" said the old lady, calling to the surly man, out of the front
window.
"Well?" said the surly man, touching his hat to the old lady.
"Mr. Sawyer's," said the old lady.
"I was going there," said the surly man.
The old lady nodded the satisfaction which this proof of the surly
man's foresight imparted to her feelings; and the surly man giving a
smart lash to the chubby horse, they all repaired to Mr. Bob Sawyer's
together.
"Martin!" said the old lady, when the fly stopped at the door of Mr.
Robert Sawyer late Nockemorf.
"Well?" said Martin.
"Ask the lad to step out and mind the horse."
"I'm going to mind the horse myself," said Martin, laying his whip on
the roof of the fly.
"I can't permit it on any account," said the old lady; "your testimony
will be very important, and I must take you into the house with me. You
must not stir from my side during the whole interview. Do you hear?"
"I hear," replied Martin.
"Well; what are you stopping for?"
"Nothing," replied Martin. So saying, the surly man leisurely descended
from the wheel, on which he had been poising himself on the tips of the
toes of his right foot, and having summoned the boy in the grey livery,
opened the coach-door, flung down the steps, and thrusting in a hand
enveloped in a dark wash-leather glove, pulled out the old lady with as
much concern in his manner as if she were a bandbox.
"Dear me!" exclaimed the old lady. "I am so flurried, now I have got
here, Martin, that I'm all in a tremble."
Mr. Martin coughed behind the dark wash-leather glove, but expressed
no sympathy; so the old lady, composing herself, trotted up Mr. Bob
Sawyer's steps, and Mr. Martin followed. Immediately on the old lady's
entering the shop, Mr. Benjamin Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been
putting the spirits and water out of sight, and upsetting nauseous
drugs to take off the smell of the tobacco-smoke, issued hastily forth
in a transport of pleasure and affection.
"My dear aunt," exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen, "how kind of you to look in
upon us! Mr. Sawyer, aunt; my friend Mr. Bob Sawyer whom I have spoken
to you about, regarding--you know, aunt." And here Mr. Ben Allen, who
was not at the moment extraordinarily sober, added the word "Arabella,"
in what was meant to be a whisper, but which was an especially audible
and distinct tone of speech, which nobody could avoid hearing, if
anybody were so disposed.
"My dear Benjamin," said the old lady, struggling with a great
shortness of breath, and trembling from head to foot: "don't be
alarmed, my dear, but I think I had better speak to Mr. Sawyer alone
for a moment. Only for one moment."
"Bob," said Mr. Allen, "will you take my aunt into the surgery?"
"Certainly," responded Bob, in a most professional voice. "Step this
way, my dear ma'am. Don't be frightened, ma'am. We shall be able to set
you to rights in a very short time, I have no doubt, ma'am. Here, my
dear ma'am. Now then!" With this, Mr. Bob Sawyer, having handed the old
lady to a chair, shut the door, drew another chair close to her, and
waited to hear detailed the symptoms of some disorder from which he saw
in perspective a long train of profits and advantages.
The first thing the old lady did, was to shake her head a great many
times and begin to cry.
"Nervous," said Bob Sawyer, complacently. "Camphor-julep and water
three times a day, and composing draught at night."
"I don't know how to begin, Mr. Sawyer," said the old lady. "It is so
very painful and distressing."
"You need not begin, ma'am," rejoined Mr. Bob Sawyer. "I can anticipate
all you would say. The head is in fault."
"I should be very sorry to think it was the heart," said the old lady,
with a slight groan.
"Not the slightest danger of that, ma'am," replied Bob Sawyer. "The
stomach is the primary cause."
"Mr. Sawyer!" exclaimed the old lady, starting.
"Not the least doubt of it, ma'am," rejoined Bob, looking wondrous
wise. "Medicine, in time, my dear ma'am, would have prevented it all."
"Mr. Sawyer," said the old lady, more flurried than before, "this
conduct is either great impertinence to one in my situation sir, or
it arises from your not understanding the object of my visit. If it
had been in the power of medicine, or any foresight I could have used,
to prevent what has occurred, I should certainly have done so. I had
better see my nephew at once," said the old lady, twirling her reticule
indignantly, and rising as she spoke.
"Stop a moment, ma'am," said Bob Sawyer; "I'm afraid I have not
understood you. What _is_ the matter, ma'am?"
"My niece, Mr. Sawyer," said the old lady: "your friend's sister."
"Yes, ma'am," said Bob, all impatience; for the old lady, although much
agitated, spoke with the most tantalising deliberation, as old ladies
often do. "Yes, ma'am."
"Left my home, Mr. Sawyer, three days ago, on a pretended visit to my
sister, another aunt of hers, who keeps the large boarding-school just
beyond the third mile-stone where there is a very large laburnum tree
and an oak gate," said the old lady, stopping in this place to dry her
eyes.
"Oh, devil take the laburnum tree! ma'am," said Bob, quite forgetting
his professional dignity in his anxiety. "Get on a little faster; put a
little more steam on, ma'am, pray."
"This morning," said the old lady, slowly, "this morning she----"
"She came back, ma'am, I suppose," said Bob, with great animation. "Did
she come back?"
"No, she did not; she wrote," replied the old lady.
"What did she say?" inquired Bob, eagerly.
"She said, Mr. Sawyer," replied the old lady,--"and it is this I
want you to prepare Benjamin's mind for, gently and by degrees; she
said that she was--I have got the letter in my pocket, Mr. Sawyer, but
my glasses are in the carriage, and I should only waste your time if I
attempted to point out the passage to you, without them; she said, in
short, Mr. Sawyer, that she was married."
"What!" said, or rather shouted, Mr. Bob Sawyer.
"Married," repeated the old lady.
Mr. Bob Sawyer stopped to hear no more; but darting from the surgery
into the outer shop, cried in a stentorian voice, "Ben, my boy, she's
bolted!"
Mr. Ben Allen, who had been slumbering behind the counter, with his
head half a foot or so below his knees, no sooner heard this appalling
communication, than he made a precipitate rush at Mr. Martin, and,
twisting his hand in the neckcloth of that taciturn servitor, expressed
an intention of choking him where he stood. This intention, with a
promptitude often the effect of desperation, he at once commenced
carrying into execution, with much vigour and surgical skill.
Mr. Martin, who was a man of few words and possessed but little
power of eloquence or persuasion, submitted to this operation with
a very calm and agreeable expression of countenance, for some
seconds; finding, however, that it threatened speedily to lead to a
result, which would place it beyond his power to claim any wages,
board or otherwise, in all time to come, he muttered an inarticulate
remonstrance and felled Mr. Benjamin Allen to the ground. As that
gentleman had his hands entangled in his cravat, he had no alternative
but to follow him to the floor. There they both lay struggling, when
the shop door opened, and the party was increased by the arrival of two
most unexpected visitors; to wit, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Samuel Weller.
[Illustration: _He felled Mr. Benjamin Allen to the ground_]
The impression at once produced on Mr. Weller's mind by what he
saw, was, that Mr. Martin was hired by the establishment of Sawyer
late Nockemorf, to take strong medicine, or to go into fits and be
experimentalised upon, or to swallow poison now and then with the view
of testing the efficacy of some new antidotes, or to do something or
other to promote the great science of medicine, and gratify the ardent
spirit of inquiry burning in the bosoms of its two young professors.
So without presuming to interfere, Sam stood perfectly still, and
looked on, as if he were mightily interested in the result of the then
pending experiment. Not so Mr. Pickwick. He at once threw himself on
the astonished combatants, with his accustomed energy, and loudly
called upon the bystanders to interpose.
This roused Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been hitherto quite paralysed by
the frenzy of his companion. With that gentleman's assistance, Mr.
Pickwick raised Ben Allen to his feet. Mr. Martin, finding himself
alone on the floor, got up, and looked about him.
"Mr. Allen," said Mr. Pickwick, "what is the matter, sir?"
"Never mind, sir!" replied Mr. Allen, with haughty defiance.
"What is it?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, looking at Bob Sawyer. "Is he
unwell?"
Before Bob could reply, Mr. Ben Allen seized Mr. Pickwick by the hand,
and murmured in sorrowful accents, "My sister, my dear sir; my sister."
"Oh, is that all?" said Mr. Pickwick. "We shall easily arrange that
matter, I hope. Your sister is safe and well, and I am here, my dear
sir, to----"
"Sorry to do anythin' as may cause an interruption to such wery
pleasant proceedin's, as the king said ven he dissolved the
parliament," interposed Mr. Weller, who had been peeping through
the glass door; "but there's another experiment here, sir. Here's a
wenerable old lady a lyin' on the carpet waiting for dissection, or
galwinism, or some other rewivin' and scientific inwention."
"I forgot," exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen. "It is my aunt."
"Dear me!" said Mr. Pickwick. "Poor lady! Gently, Sam, gently."
"Strange sitivation for one o' the family," observed Sam Weller,
hoisting the aunt into a chair. "Now, depitty Sawbones, bring out the
wollatilly!"
The latter observation was addressed to the boy in grey, who, having
handed over the fly to the care of the street-keeper, had come back to
see what all the noise was about. Between the boy in grey, and Mr. Bob
Sawyer, and Mr. Benjamin Allen (who having frightened his aunt into a
fainting fit, was affectionately solicitous for her recovery), the old
lady was, at length, restored to consciousness; then Mr. Ben Allen,
turning with a puzzled countenance to Mr. Pickwick, asked him what he
was about to say, when he had been so alarmingly interrupted.
"We are all friends here, I presume?" said Mr. Pickwick, clearing
his voice, and looking towards the man of few words with the surly
countenance who drove the fly with the chubby horse.
This reminded Mr. Bob Sawyer that the boy in grey was looking on, with
eyes wide open, and greedy ears. The incipient chemist having been
lifted up by his coat collar, and dropped outside the door, Bob Sawyer
assured Mr. Pickwick that he might speak without reserve.
"Your sister, my dear sir," said Mr. Pickwick, turning to Benjamin
Allen, "is in London; well and happy."
"Her happiness is no object to me, sir," said Mr. Benjamin Allen, with
a flourish of the hand.
"Her husband _is_ an object to _me_, sir," said Bob Sawyer. "He shall
be an object to me sir, at twelve paces, and a very pretty object
I'll make of him, sir--a mean-spirited scoundrel!" This, as it stood,
was a very pretty denunciation, and magnanimous withal; but Mr. Bob
Sawyer rather weakened its effect, by winding up with some general
observations concerning the punching of heads and knocking out of eyes,
which were commonplace by comparison.
"Stay, sir," said Mr. Pickwick; "before you apply those epithets to the
gentleman in question, consider, dispassionately, the extent of his
fault, and above all remember that he is a friend of mine."
"What!" said Mr. Bob Sawyer.
"His name!" cried Ben Allen. "His name!"
"Mr. Nathaniel Winkle," said Mr. Pickwick.
Mr. Benjamin Allen deliberately crushed his spectacles beneath the
heel of his boot, and having picked up the pieces, and put them into
three separate pockets, folded his arms, bit his lips, and looked in a
threatening manner at the bland features of Mr. Pickwick.
"Then it's you, is it, sir, who have encouraged and brought about this
match?" inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen at length.
"And it's this gentleman's servant, I suppose," interrupted the old
lady, "who has been skulking about my house, and endeavouring to entrap
my servants to conspire against their mistress. Martin!"
"Well?" said the surly man, coming forward.
"Is that the young man you saw in the lane, whom you told me about,
this morning?"
Mr. Martin, who, as it has already appeared, was a man of few words,
looked at Sam Weller, nodded his head, and growled forth, "That's
the man!" Mr. Weller, who was never proud, gave a smile of friendly
recognition as his eyes encountered those of the surly groom, and
admitted, in courteous terms, that he had "knowed him afore."
"And this is the faithful creature," exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen, "whom I
had nearly suffocated! Mr. Pickwick, how dare you allow your fellow to
be employed in the abduction of my sister? I demand that you explain
this matter, sir."
"Explain it, sir!" cried Mr. Bob Sawyer, fiercely.
"It's a conspiracy," said Ben Allen.
"A regular plant," added Mr. Bob Sawyer.
"A disgraceful imposition," observed the old lady.
"Nothing but a do," remarked Martin.
"Pray hear me," urged Mr. Pickwick, as Mr. Ben Allen fell into a chair
that patients were bled in, and gave way to his pocket-handkerchief.
"I have rendered no assistance in this matter, beyond that of being
present at one interview between the young people, which I could not
prevent, and from which I conceived my presence would remove any slight
colouring of impropriety that it might otherwise have had; this is the
whole share I have taken in the transaction, and I had no suspicion
that an immediate marriage was even contemplated. Though mind," added
Mr. Pickwick, hastily checking himself, "mind I do not say I should
have prevented it, if I _had_ known that it was intended."
"You hear that, all of you; you hear that?" said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
"I hope they do," mildly observed Mr. Pickwick, looking round, "and,"
added that gentleman: his colour mounting as he spoke: "I hope they
hear this, sir, also. That from what has been stated to me, sir, I
assert that you were by no means justified in attempting to force your
sister's inclinations as you did, and that you should rather have
endeavoured by your kindness and forbearance to have supplied the place
of other nearer relations whom she has never known, from a child. As
regards my young friend, I must beg to add, that in every point of
worldly advantage, he is, at least, on an equal footing with yourself,
if not on a much better one, and that unless I hear this question
discussed with becoming temper and moderation, I decline hearing any
more said upon the subject."
"I wish to make a wery few remarks in addition to wot has been put
forard by the honourable gen'l'm'n as has jist give over," said Mr.
Weller, stepping forth, "which is this here: a indiwidual in company
has called me a feller."
"That has nothing whatever to do with the matter, Sam," interposed Mr.
Pickwick. "Pray hold your tongue."
"I ain't a goin' to say nothin' on that ere pint, sir," replied Sam,
"but merely this here. P'raps that gen'l'm'n may think as there wos a
priory 'tachment; but there worn't nothin' o' the sort, for the young
lady said, in the wery beginnin' o' keepin' company, that she couldn't
abide him. Nobody's cut him out, and it 'ud ha' been jist the wery
same for him if the young lady had never seen Mr. Vinkle. That's wot I
wished to say, sir, and I hope I've now made that 'ere gen'l'm'n's mind
easy."
A short pause followed these consolatory remarks of Mr. Weller. Then
Mr. Ben Allen, rising from his chair, protested that he would never see
Arabella's face again: while Mr. Bob Sawyer, despite Sam's flattering
assurance, vowed dreadful vengeance on the happy bridegroom.
But, just when matters were at their height, and threatening to remain
so, Mr. Pickwick found a powerful assistant in the old lady, who,
evidently much struck by the mode in which he had advocated her niece's
cause, ventured to approach Mr. Benjamin Allen with a few comforting
reflections, of which the chief were, that after all, perhaps, it
was well it was no worse; the least said the soonest mended, and upon
her word she did not know that it was so very bad after all; what was
over couldn't be begun, and what couldn't be cured must be endured:
with various other assurances of the like novel and strengthening
description. To all of these, Mr. Benjamin Allen replied that he meant
no disrespect to his aunt, or anybody there, but if it were all the
same to them, and they would allow him to have his own way, he would
rather have the pleasure of hating his sister till death, and after it.
At length, when this determination had been announced half a hundred
times, the old lady, suddenly bridling up and looking very majestic,
wished to know what she had done that no respect was to be paid to her
years or station, and that she should be obliged to beg and pray, in
that way, of her own nephew, whom she remembered about five-and-twenty
years before he was born, and whom she had known personally, when he
hadn't a tooth in his head? To say nothing of her presence on the first
occasion of his having his hair cut, and assistance at numerous other
times and ceremonies during his babyhood, of sufficient importance to
found a claim upon his affection, obedience, and sympathies, for ever.
While the good lady was bestowing this objurgation on Mr. Ben Allen,
Bob Sawyer and Mr. Pickwick had retired in close conversation to the
inner room, where Mr. Sawyer was observed to apply himself several
times to the mouth of a black bottle, under the influence of which, his
features gradually assumed a cheerful, and even jovial expression. And
at last he emerged from the room, bottle in hand, and, remarking that
he was very sorry to say he had been making a fool of himself, begged
to propose the health and happiness of Mr. and Mrs. Winkle, whose
felicity, so far from envying, he would be the first to congratulate
them upon. Hearing this, Mr. Ben Allen suddenly arose from his chair,
and, seizing the black bottle, drank the toast so heartily, that, the
liquor being strong, he nearly became as black in the face as the
bottle. Finally, the black bottle went round till it was empty, and
there was so much shaking of hands and interchanging of compliments,
that even the metal-visaged Mr. Martin condescended to smile.
"And now," said Bob Sawyer, rubbing his hands, "we'll have a jolly
night."
"I am sorry," said Mr. Pickwick, "that I must return to my inn. I have
not been accustomed to fatigue lately, and my journey has tired me
exceedingly."
"You'll take some tea, Mr. Pickwick?" said the old lady, with
irresistible sweetness.
"Thank you, I would rather not," replied that gentleman. The truth is,
that the old lady's evidently increasing admiration was Mr. Pickwick's
principal inducement for going away. He thought of Mrs. Bardell; and
every glance of the old lady's eyes threw him into a cold perspiration.
As Mr. Pickwick could by no means be prevailed upon to stay, it was
arranged at once, on his own proposition, that Mr. Benjamin Allen
should accompany him on his journey to the elder Mr. Winkle's, and that
the coach should be at the door at nine o'clock next morning. He then
took his leave, and, followed by Samuel Weller, repaired to the Bush.
It is worthy of remark, that Mr. Martin's face was horribly convulsed
as he shook hands with Sam at parting, and that he gave vent to a smile
and an oath simultaneously: from which tokens it has been inferred by
those who were best acquainted with that gentleman's peculiarities,
that he expressed himself much pleased with Mr. Weller's society, and
requested the honour of his further acquaintance.
"Shall I order a private room, sir?" inquired Sam, when they reached
the Bush.
"Why, no, Sam," replied Mr. Pickwick; "as I dined in the coffee-room,
and shall go to bed soon, it is hardly worth while. See who there is in
the travellers' room, Sam."
Mr. Weller departed on his errand, and presently returned to say, there
was only a gentleman with one eye; and that he and the landlord were
drinking a bowl of bishop together.
"I will join them," said Mr. Pickwick.
"He's a queer customer, the vun-eyed vun, sir," observed Mr. Weller, as
he led the way. "He's a gammonin' that 'ere landlord, he is, sir, till
he don't rightly know vether he's a standing on the soles of his boots
or the crown of his hat."
The individual to whom this observation referred, was sitting at the
upper end of the room when Mr. Pickwick entered, and was smoking a
large Dutch pipe, with his eye intently fixed on the round face of the
landlord: a jolly-looking old personage, to whom he had recently been
relating some tale of wonder, as was testified by sundry disjointed
exclamations of, "Well, I wouldn't have believed it! The strangest
thing I ever heard! Couldn't have supposed it possible!" and other
expressions of astonishment which burst spontaneously from his lips, as
he returned the fixed gaze of the one-eyed man.
"Servant, sir," said the one-eyed man to Mr. Pickwick. "Fine night,
sir."
"Very much so indeed," replied Mr. Pickwick, as the waiter placed a
small decanter of brandy and some hot water before him.
While Mr. Pickwick was mixing his brandy and water, the one-eyed man
looked round at him earnestly, from time to time, and at length said:
"I think I've seen you before."
"I don't recollect you," rejoined Mr. Pickwick.
"I daresay not," said the one-eyed man. "You didn't know me, but I knew
two friends of yours that were stopping at the Peacock at Eatanswill,
at the time of the Election."
"Oh, indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
"Yes," rejoined the one-eyed man. "I mentioned a little circumstance to
them about a friend of mine of the name of Tom Smart. Perhaps you have
heard them speaking of it."
"Often," rejoined Mr. Pickwick, smiling. "He was your uncle, I think?"
"No, no; only a friend of my uncle's," replied the one-eyed man.
"He was a wonderful man, that uncle of yours, though," remarked the
landlord, shaking his head.
"Well, I think he was, I think I may say he was," answered the one-eyed
man. "I could tell you a story about that same uncle, gentlemen, that
would rather surprise you."
"Could you?" said Mr. Pickwick. "Let us hear it, by all means."
The one-eyed bagman ladled out a glass of negus from the bowl, and
drank it; smoked a long whiff out of the Dutch pipe; and then, calling
to Sam Weller, who was lingering near the door, that he needn't go
away, unless he wanted to, because the story was no secret, fixed
his eye upon the landlord's and proceeded, in the words of the next
chapter.