[Illustration]
_Comprising the final Exit of Mr. Jingle and Job Trotter; with a
great Morning of Business in Gray's Inn Square. Concluding with a
Double Knock at Mr. Perker's Door_
When Arabella, after some gentle preparation, and many assurances that
there was not the least occasion for being low-spirited, was at length
made acquainted by Mr. Pickwick with the unsatisfactory result of his
visit to Birmingham, she burst into tears, and sobbing aloud, lamented
in moving terms that she should have been the unhappy cause of any
estrangement between a father and his son.
"My dear girl," said Mr. Pickwick, kindly, "it is no fault of yours. It
was impossible to foresee that the old gentleman would be so strongly
prepossessed against his son's marriage, you know. I am sure," added
Mr. Pickwick, glancing at her pretty face, "he can have very little
idea of the pleasure he denies himself."
"Oh, my dear Mr. Pickwick," said Arabella, "what shall we do, if he
continues to be angry with us?"
"Why, wait patiently, my dear, until he thinks better of it," replied
Mr. Pickwick, cheerfully.
"But, dear Mr. Pickwick, what is to become of Nathaniel if his father
withdraws his assistance?" urged Arabella.
"In that case, my love," rejoined Mr. Pickwick, "I will venture to
prophesy that he will find some other friend who will not be backward
in helping him to start in the world."
The significance of this reply was not so well disguised by Mr.
Pickwick but that Arabella understood it. So, throwing her arms round
his neck, and kissing him affectionately, she sobbed louder than before.
"Come, come," said Mr. Pickwick, taking her hand, "we will wait here a
few days longer, and see whether he writes or takes any other notice of
your husband's communication. If not, I have thought of half a dozen
plans, any one of which would make you happy at once. There, my dear,
there!"
With these words, Mr. Pickwick gently pressed Arabella's hand and bade
her dry her eyes, and not distress her husband. Upon which, Arabella,
who was one of the best little creatures alive, put her handkerchief in
her reticule, and by the time Mr. Winkle joined them, exhibited in full
lustre the same beaming smiles and sparkling eyes that had originally
captivated him.
"This is a distressing predicament for these young people," thought Mr.
Pickwick, as he dressed himself next morning. "I'll walk up to Perker's
and consult him about the matter."
As Mr. Pickwick was further prompted to betake himself to Gray's Inn
Square by an anxious desire to come to a pecuniary settlement with the
kind-hearted little attorney without further delay, he made a hurried
breakfast, and executed his intention so speedily, that ten o'clock had
not struck when he reached Gray's Inn.
It still wanted ten minutes to the hour when he had ascended the
staircase on which Perker's chambers were. The clerks had not arrived
yet, and he beguiled the time by looking out of the staircase window.
The healthy light of a fine October morning made even the dingy old
houses brighten up a little: some of the dusty windows actually looking
almost cheerful as the sun's rays gleamed upon them. Clerk after clerk
hastened into the square by one or other of the entrances, and looking
up at the Hall clock, accelerated or decreased his rate of walking
according to the time at which his office hours nominally commenced;
the half-past nine o'clock people suddenly becoming very brisk, and
the ten o'clock gentlemen falling into a pace of most aristocratic
slowness. The clock struck ten, and clerks poured in faster than ever,
each one in a greater perspiration than his predecessor. The noise of
unlocking and opening doors echoed and re-echoed on every side; heads
appeared as if by magic in every window; the porters took up their
stations for the day; the slipshod laundresses hurried off; the postman
ran from house to house; and the whole legal hive was in a bustle.
"You're early, Mr. Pickwick," said a voice behind him.
"Ah, Mr. Lowten," replied that gentleman, looking round, and
recognising his old acquaintance.
"Precious warm walking, isn't it?" said Lowten, drawing a Bramah key
from his pocket, with a small plug therein, to keep the dust out.
"You appear to feel it so," rejoined Mr. Pickwick, smiling at the
clerk, who was literally red-hot.
"I've come along rather, I can tell you," replied Lowten. "It went the
half-hour as I came through the Polygon. I'm here before _him_, though,
so I don't mind."
Comforting himself with this reflection, Mr. Lowten extracted the
plug from the door-key, and having opened the door, re-plugged and
re-pocketed his Bramah, and picked up the letters which the postman had
dropped through the box. He then ushered Mr. Pickwick into the office.
Here, in the twinkling of an eye, he divested himself of his coat, put
on a threadbare garment which he took out of a desk, hung up his hat,
pulled forth a few sheets of cartridge and blotting paper in alternate
layers, and sticking a pen behind his ear, rubbed his hands with an
air of great satisfaction.
"There you see, Mr. Pickwick," he said, "now I'm complete. I've got my
office coat on, and my pad out, and let him come as soon as he likes.
You haven't got a pinch of snuff about you, have you?"
"No, I have not," replied Mr. Pickwick.
"I'm sorry for it," said Lowten. "Never mind. I'll run out presently,
and get a bottle of soda. Don't I look rather queer about the eyes, Mr.
Pickwick?"
The individual appealed to, surveyed Mr. Lowten's eyes from a distance,
and expressed his opinion that no unusual queerness was perceptible in
those features.
"I'm glad of it," said Lowten. "We were keeping it up pretty tolerably
at the Stump last night, and I'm rather out of sorts this morning.
Perker's been about that business of yours, by-the-bye."
"What business?" inquired Mr. Pickwick. "Mrs. Bardell's costs?"
"No, I don't mean that," replied Mr. Lowten. "About getting that
customer that we paid the ten shillings in the pound to the bill
discounter for, on your account--to get him out of the Fleet, you
know--about getting him to Demerara."
"Oh! Mr. Jingle?" said Mr. Pickwick, hastily. "Yes. Well?"
"Well, it's all arranged," said Lowten, mending his pen. "The agent at
Liverpool said he had been obliged to you many times when you were in
business, and he would be glad to take him on your recommendation."
"That's well," said Mr. Pickwick. "I am delighted to hear it."
"But I say," resumed Lowten, scraping the back of the pen preparatory
to making a fresh split, "_what_ a soft chap that other is!"
"Which other?"
"Why, that servant, or friend, or whatever he is; _you_ know; Trotter."
"Ah?" said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile. "I always thought him the
reverse."
"Well, and so did I, from what little I saw of him," replied Lowten,
"it only shows how one may be deceived. What do you think of _his_
going to Demerara, too?"
"What! And giving up what was offered him here!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
"Treating Perker's offer of eighteen bob a-week, and a rise if he
behaved himself, like dirt," replied Lowten. "He said he must go along
with the other one, and so they persuaded Perker to write again, and
they've got him something on the same estate; not near so good, Perker
says, as a convict would get in New South Wales, if he appeared at his
trial in a new suit of clothes."
"Foolish fellow," said Mr. Pickwick, with glistening eyes. "Foolish
fellow."
"Oh, it's worse than foolish; it's downright sneaking, you know,"
replied Lowten, nibbing the pen with a contemptuous face. "He says
that he's the only friend he ever had, and he's attached to him, and
all that. Friendship's a very good thing in its way: we are all very
friendly and comfortable at the Stump, for instance, over our grog,
where every man pays for himself; but damn hurting yourself for anybody
else, you know! No man should have more than two attachments--the
first, to number one, and the second to the ladies; that's what
I say--ha! ha!" Mr. Lowten concluded with a loud laugh, half in
jocularity, and half in derision, which was prematurely cut short by
the sound of Perker's footsteps on the stairs: at the first approach
of which he vaulted on his stool with an agility most remarkable, and
wrote intensely.
The greeting between Mr. Pickwick and his professional adviser was
warm and cordial; the client was scarcely ensconced in the attorney's
arm-chair, however, when a knock was heard at the door, and a voice
inquired whether Mr. Perker was within.
"Hark!" said Perker, "that's one of our vagabond friends--Jingle
himself, my dear sir. Will you see him?"
"What do you think?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, hesitating.
"Yes, I think you had better. Here, you sir, what's your name, walk in,
will you?"
In compliance with this unceremonious invitation, Jingle and Job
walked into the room, but, seeing Mr. Pickwick, stopped short in some
confusion.
"Well," said Perker, "don't you know that gentleman?"
"Good reason to," replied Mr. Jingle, stepping forward. "Mr.
Pickwick--deepest obligations--life preserver--made a man of me--you
shall never repent it, sir."
"I am happy to hear you say so," said Mr. Pickwick. "You look much
better."
"Thanks to you, sir--great change--Majesty's Fleet--unwholesome
place--very," said Jingle, shaking his head. He was decently and
cleanly dressed, and so was Job, who stood bolt upright behind him,
staring at Mr. Pickwick with a visage of iron.
"When do they go to Liverpool?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, half aside to
Perker.
"This evening, sir, at seven o'clock," said Job, taking one step
forward. "By the heavy coach from the city, sir."
"Are your places taken?"
"They are, sir," replied Job.
"You have fully made up your mind to go?"
"I have, sir," answered Job.
"With regard to such an outfit as was indispensable for Jingle," said
Perker, addressing Mr. Pickwick aloud, "I have taken upon myself to
make an arrangement for the deduction of a small sum from his quarterly
salary, which, being made only for one year, and regularly remitted,
will provide for that expense. I entirely disapprove of your doing
anything for him, my dear sir, which is not dependent on his own
exertions and good conduct."
"Certainly," interposed Jingle, with great firmness. "Clear head--man
of the world--quite right--perfectly."
"By compounding with his creditor, releasing his clothes from the
pawnbroker's, relieving him in prison, and paying for his passage,"
continued Perker, without noticing Jingle's observation, "you have
already lost upwards of fifty pounds."
"Not lost," said Jingle, hastily. "Pay it all--stick to business--cash
up--every farthing. Yellow fever perhaps--can't help that--if not--"
Here Mr. Jingle paused, and striking the crown of his hat with great
violence, passed his hand over his eyes, and sat down.
"He means to say," said Job, advancing a few paces, "that if he is
not carried off by the fever, he will pay the money back again. If he
lives, he will, Mr. Pickwick. I will see it done. I know he will, sir,"
said Job, with energy. "I could undertake to swear it."
"Well, well," said Mr. Pickwick, who had been bestowing a score or two
of frowns upon Perker, to stop his summary of benefits conferred, which
the little attorney obstinately disregarded, "you must be careful not
to play any more desperate cricket matches, Mr. Jingle, or to renew
your acquaintance with Sir Thomas Blazo, and I have little doubt of
your preserving your health."
Mr. Jingle smiled at this sally, but looked rather foolish
notwithstanding; so Mr. Pickwick changed the subject by saying:
"You don't happen to know, do you, what has become of another friend of
yours--a more humble one, whom I saw at Rochester?"
"Dismal Jemmy?" inquired Jingle.
"Yes."
Jingle shook his head.
"Clever rascal--queer fellow, hoaxing genius--Job's brother."
"Job's brother!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. "Well, now I look at him
closely, there _is_ a likeness."
"We were always considered like each other, sir," said Job, with a
cunning look just lurking in the corners of his eyes, "only I was
really of a serious nature, and he never was. He emigrated to America,
sir, in consequence of being too much sought after to be comfortable;
and has never been heard of since."
"That accounts for my not having received the 'page from the romance
of real life' which he promised me one morning when he appeared to
be contemplating suicide on Rochester Bridge, I suppose," said Mr.
Pickwick, smiling. "I need not inquire whether his dismal behaviour was
natural or assumed."
"He could assume anything, sir," said Job. "You may consider yourself
very fortunate in having escaped him so easily. On intimate terms he
would have been even more dangerous acquaintance than--" Job looked at
Jingle, hesitated, and finally added, "than--than--myself even."
"A hopeful family yours, Mr. Trotter," said Perker, sealing a letter
which he had just finished writing.
"Yes, sir," replied Job. "Very much so."
"Well," said the little man, laughing; "I hope you are going to
disgrace it. Deliver this letter to the agent when you reach Liverpool,
and let me advise you, gentlemen, not to be too knowing in the West
Indies. If you throw away this chance, you will both richly deserve to
be hanged, as I sincerely trust you will be. And now you had better
leave Mr. Pickwick and me alone, for we have other matters to talk
over, and time is precious." As Perker said this, he looked towards the
door, with an evident desire to render the leave-taking as brief as
possible.
It was brief enough on Mr. Jingle's part. He thanked the little
attorney in a few hurried words for the kindness and promptitude with
which he had rendered his assistance, and, turning to his benefactor,
stood for a few seconds as if irresolute what to say or how to act. Job
Trotter relieved his perplexity; for, with a humble and grateful bow to
Mr. Pickwick, he took his friend gently by the arm, and led him away.
"A worthy couple!" said Perker, as the door closed behind them.
"I hope they may become so," said Mr. Pickwick. "What do you think? Is
there any chance of their permanent reformation?"
Perker shrugged his shoulders doubtfully, but observing Mr. Pickwick's
anxious and disappointed look, rejoined:
"Of course there is a chance. I hope it may prove a good one. They
are unquestionably penitent now; but then, you know, they have the
recollection of very recent suffering fresh upon them. What they may
become, when that fades away, is a problem that neither you nor I can
solve. However, my dear sir," added Perker, laying his hand on Mr.
Pickwick's shoulder, "your object is equally honourable, whatever
the result is. Whether that species of benevolence which is so very
cautious and long-sighted that it is seldom exercised at all, lest
its owner should be imposed upon, and so wounded in his self-love, be
real charity or a worldly counterfeit, I leave to wiser heads than
mine to determine. But if those two fellows were to commit a burglary
to-morrow, my opinion of this action would be equally high."
With these remarks, which were delivered in a much more animated and
earnest manner than is usual in legal gentlemen, Perker drew his chair
to his desk, and listened to Mr. Pickwick's recital of old Mr. Winkle's
obstinacy.
"Give him a week," said Perker, nodding his head prophetically.
"Do you think he will come round?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"I think he will," rejoined Perker. "If not, we must try the young
lady's persuasion; and that is what anybody but you would have done
first."
Mr. Perker was taking a pinch of snuff with various grotesque
contractions of countenance, eulogistic of the persuasive powers
appertaining unto young ladies, when the murmur of inquiry and answer
was heard in the outer office, and Lowten tapped at the door.
"Come in!" cried the little man.
The clerk came in, and shut the door after him, with great mystery.
"What's the matter?" inquired Perker.
"You're wanted, sir."
"Who wants me?"
Lowten looked at Mr. Pickwick, and coughed.
"Who wants me? Can't you speak, Mr. Lowten?"
"Why, sir," replied Lowten, "it's Dodson; and Fogg is with him."
"Bless my life!" said the little man, looking at his watch. "I
appointed them to be here, at half-past eleven, to settle that matter
of yours, Pickwick. I gave them an undertaking on which they sent down
your discharge; it's very awkward, my dear sir; what will you do? Would
you like to step into the next room?"
The next room being the identical room in which Messrs. Dodson and Fogg
were, Mr. Pickwick replied that he would remain where he was: the more
especially as Messrs. Dodson and Fogg ought to be ashamed to look him
in the face, instead of his being ashamed to see them. Which latter
circumstance he begged Mr. Perker to note, with a glowing countenance
and many marks of indignation.
"Very well, my dear sir, very well," replied Perker. "I can only say
that if you expect either Dodson or Fogg to exhibit any symptom of
shame or confusion at having to look you, or anybody else, in the face,
you are the most sanguine man in your expectations that I ever met
with. Show them in, Mr. Lowten."
Mr. Lowten disappeared with a grin, and immediately returned ushering
in the firm, in due form of precedence: Dodson first, and Fogg
afterwards.
"You have seen Mr. Pickwick, I believe?" said Perker to Dodson,
inclining his pen in the direction where that gentleman was seated.
"How do you do, Mr. Pickwick?" said Dodson in a loud voice.
"Dear me," cried Fogg, "how do you do, Mr. Pickwick? I hope you are
well, sir. I thought I knew the face," said Fogg, drawing up a chair
and looking round him with a smile.
Mr. Pickwick bent his head very slightly, in answer to these
salutations, and, seeing Fogg pull a bundle of papers from his
coat-pocket, rose and walked to the window.
"There's no occasion for Mr. Pickwick to move, Mr. Perker," said Fogg,
untying the red tape which encircled the little bundle, and smiling
again more sweetly than before. "Mr. Pickwick is pretty well acquainted
with these proceedings. There are no secrets between us, I think. He!
he! he!"
"Not many, I think," said Dodson. "Ha! ha! ha!" Then both the partners
laughed together--pleasantly and cheerfully, as men who are going to
receive money, often do.
"We shall make Mr. Pickwick pay for peeping," said Fogg, with
considerable native humour, as he unfolded his papers. "The amount of
the taxed costs is one hundred and thirty-three, six, four, Mr. Perker."
There was a great comparing of papers, and turning over of leaves, by
Fogg and Perker, after this statement of profit and loss. Meanwhile,
Dodson said in an affable manner to Mr. Pickwick:
"I don't think you are looking quite so stout as when I had the
pleasure of seeing you last, Mr. Pickwick."
"Possibly not, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick, who had been flashing forth
looks of fierce indignation, without producing the smallest effect on
either of the sharp practitioners; "I believe I am not, sir. I have
been persecuted and annoyed by Scoundrels of late, sir."
Perker coughed violently, and asked Mr. Pickwick whether he wouldn't
like to look at the morning paper? To which inquiry Mr. Pickwick
returned a most decided negative.
"True," said Dodson, "I dare say you _have_ been annoyed in the Fleet;
there are some odd gentry there. Whereabouts were your apartments, Mr.
Pickwick?"
"My one room," replied that much injured gentleman, "was on the Coffee
Room flight."
"Oh, indeed!" said Dodson. "I believe that is a very pleasant part of
the establishment."
"Very," replied Mr. Pickwick, dryly.
There was a coolness about all this, which, to a gentleman of an
excitable temperament, had, under the circumstances, rather an
exasperating tendency. Mr. Pickwick restrained his wrath by gigantic
efforts; but when Perker wrote a cheque for the whole amount, and Fogg
deposited it in a small pocket-book with a triumphant smile playing
over his pimply features which communicated itself likewise to the
stern countenance of Dodson, he felt the blood in his cheeks tingling
with indignation.
"Now, Mr. Dodson," said Fogg, putting up the pocket-book and drawing on
his gloves, "I am at your service."
"Very good," said Dodson, rising, "I am quite ready."
"I am very happy," said Fogg, softened by the cheque, "to have had the
pleasure of making Mr. Pickwick's acquaintance. I hope you don't think
quite so ill of us, Mr. Pickwick, as when we first had the pleasure of
seeing you."
"I hope not," said Dodson, with the high tone of calumniated virtue.
"Mr. Pickwick now knows us better, I trust: whatever your opinion of
gentlemen of our profession may be, I beg to assure you, sir, that I
bear no ill-will or vindictive feeling towards you for the sentiments
you thought proper to express in our office in Freeman's Court,
Cornhill, on the occasion to which my partner has referred."
"Oh no, no; nor I," said Fogg, in a most forgiving manner.
"Our conduct, sir," said Dodson, "will speak for itself, and justify
itself, I hope, upon every occasion. We have been in the profession
some years, Mr. Pickwick, and have been honoured with the confidence of
many excellent clients. I wish you good morning, sir."
"_Good_ morning, Mr. Pickwick," said Fogg. So saying, he put his
umbrella under his arm, drew off his right glove, and extended the hand
of reconciliation to that most indignant gentleman: who, thereupon,
thrust his hands beneath his coat tails, and eyed the attorney with
looks of scornful amazement.
"Lowten!" cried Perker at this moment. "Open the door."
"Wait one instant," said Mr. Pickwick, "Perker, I _will_ speak."
"My dear sir, pray let the matter rest where it is," said the little
attorney, who had been in a state of nervous apprehension during the
whole interview; "Mr. Pickwick, I beg!"
"I will not be put down, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick, hastily. "Mr.
Dodson, you have addressed some remarks to me."
Dodson turned round, bent his head meekly, and smiled.
"Some remarks to me," repeated Mr. Pickwick, almost breathless; "and
your partner has tendered me his hand, and you have both assumed a tone
of forgiveness and high-mindedness, which is an extent of impudence
that I was not prepared for, even in you."
"What, sir!" exclaimed Dodson.
"What, sir!" reiterated Fogg.
"Do you know that I have been the victim of your plots and
conspiracies?" continued Mr. Pickwick. "Do you know that I am the man
whom you have been imprisoning and robbing? Do you know that you were
the attorneys for the plaintiff, in Bardell and Pickwick?"
"Yes, sir, we do know it," replied Dodson.
"Of course we know it, sir," rejoined Fogg, slapping his pocket--perhaps
by accident.
"I see that you recollect it with satisfaction," said Mr. Pickwick,
attempting to call up a sneer for the first time in his life, and
failing most signally in so doing. "Although I have long been anxious
to tell you, in plain terms, what my opinion of you is, I should have
let even this opportunity pass, in deference to my friend Perker's
wishes, but for the unwarrantable tone you have assumed, and your
insolent familiarity. I say insolent familiarity, sir," said Mr.
Pickwick, turning upon Fogg with a fierceness of gesture which caused
that person to retreat towards the door with great expedition.
"Take care, sir," said Dodson, who, though he was the biggest man
of the party, had prudently intrenched himself behind Fogg, and was
speaking over his head with a very pale face. "Let him assault you, Mr.
Fogg; don't return it on any account."
"No, no, I won't return it," said Fogg, falling back a little more as
he spoke; to the evident relief of his partner, who by these means was
gradually getting into the outer office.
"You are," continued Mr. Pickwick, resuming the thread of his
discourse, "you are a well-matched pair of mean, rascally, pettifogging
robbers."
"Well," interposed Perker, "is that all?"
"It is all summed up in that," rejoined Mr. Pickwick; "they are mean,
rascally, pettifogging robbers."
"There!" said Perker in a most conciliatory tone. "My dear sirs, he has
said all he has to say. Now pray go. Lowten, _is_ that door open?"
Mr. Lowten, with a distant giggle, replied in the affirmative.
"There, there--good morning--good morning--now pray, my dear sirs,--Mr.
Lowten, the door!" cried the little man, pushing Dodson and Fogg,
nothing loath, out of the office; "this way, my dear sirs,--now pray
don't prolong this--dear me--Mr. Lowten--the door, sir--why don't you
attend?"
"If there's law in England, sir," said Dodson, looking towards Mr.
Pickwick, as he put on his hat, "you shall smart for this."
"You are a couple of mean----"
"Remember, sir, you pay dearly for this," said Fogg.
"--Rascally, pettifogging robbers!" continued Mr. Pickwick, taking not
the least notice of the threats that were addressed to him.
"Robbers!" cried Mr. Pickwick, running to the stair-head, as the two
attorneys descended.
"Robbers!" shouted Mr. Pickwick, breaking from Lowten and Perker and
thrusting his head out of the staircase window.
When Mr. Pickwick drew in his head again, his countenance was smiling
and placid; and, walking quietly back into the office, he declared
that he had now removed a great weight from his mind, and that he felt
perfectly comfortable and happy.
Perker said nothing at all until he had emptied his snuff-box, and
sent Lowten out to fill it, when he was seized with a fit of laughing,
which lasted five minutes; at the expiration of which time he said that
he supposed he ought to be very angry, but he couldn't think of the
business seriously yet--when he could, he would be.
"Well, now," said Mr. Pickwick, "let me have a settlement with you."
"Of the same kind as the last?" inquired Perker, with another laugh.
"Not exactly," rejoined Mr. Pickwick, drawing out his pocket-book,
and shaking the little man heartily by the hand, "I only mean a
pecuniary settlement. You have done me many acts of kindness that I can
never repay, and have no wish to repay, for I prefer continuing the
obligation."
With this preface, the two friends dived into some very complicated
accounts and vouchers, which, having been duly displayed and gone
through by Perker, were at once discharged by Mr. Pickwick with many
professions of esteem and friendship.
They had no sooner arrived at this point, than a most violent and
startling knocking was heard at the door; it was not an ordinary double
knock, but a constant and uninterrupted succession of the loudest
single raps, as if the knocker were endowed with the perpetual motion,
or the person outside had forgotten to leave off.
"Dear me, what's that?" exclaimed Perker, starting.
"I think it is a knock at the door," said Mr. Pickwick, as if there
could be the smallest doubt of the fact!
The knocker made a more energetic reply than words could have yielded,
for it continued to hammer with surprising force and noise, without a
moment's cessation.
"Dear me!" said Perker, ringing the bell, "we shall alarm the Inn. Mr.
Lowten, don't you hear a knock?"
"I'll answer the door in one moment, sir," replied the clerk.
The knocker appeared to hear the response, and to assert that it was
quite impossible he could wait so long. It made a stupendous uproar.
"It's quite dreadful," said Mr. Pickwick, stopping his ears.
"Make haste, Mr. Lowten," Perker called out, "we shall have the panels
beaten in."
Mr. Lowten, who was washing his hands in a dark closet, hurried to the
door, and turning the handle, beheld the appearance which is described
in the next chapter.