[Illustration]
_An important Conference takes place between Mr. Pickwick and
Samuel Weller, at which his Parent assists. An old Gentleman in a
Snuff-coloured Suit arrives unexpectedly_
Mr. Pickwick was sitting alone, musing over many things, and thinking
among other considerations how he could best provide for the young
couple whose present unsettled condition was matter of constant regret
and anxiety to him, when Mary stepped lightly into the room, and,
advancing to the table, said, rather hastily:
"Oh, if you please, sir, Samuel is down-stairs, and he says may his
father see you?"
"Surely," replied Mr. Pickwick.
"Thank you, sir," said Mary, tripping towards the door again.
"Sam has not been here long, has he?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Oh no, sir," replied Mary, eagerly. "He has only just come home. He is
not going to ask you for any more leave, sir, he says."
Mary might have been conscious that she had communicated this last
intelligence with more warmth than seemed actually necessary, or she
might have observed the good-humoured smile with which Mr. Pickwick
regarded her, when she had finished speaking. She certainly held down
her head, and examined the corner of a very smart little apron, with
more closeness than there appeared any absolute occasion for.
"Tell them they can come up at once, by all means," said Mr. Pickwick.
Mary, apparently much relieved, hurried away with her message.
Mr. Pickwick took two or three turns up and down the room; and rubbing
his chin with his left hand as he did so, appeared lost in thought.
"Well, well," said Mr. Pickwick at length, in a kind but somewhat
melancholy tone, "it is the best way in which I could reward him for
his attachment and fidelity; let it be so, in Heaven's name. It is
the fate of a lonely old man, that those about him should form new
and different attachments and leave him. I have no right to expect
that it should be otherwise with me. No, no," added Mr. Pickwick more
cheerfully, "it would be selfish and ungrateful. I ought to be happy to
have an opportunity of providing for him so well. I am. Of course I am."
Mr. Pickwick had been so absorbed in these reflections, that a knock at
the door was three or four times repeated before he heard it. Hastily
seating himself, and calling up his accustomed pleasant looks, he gave
the required permission, and Sam Weller entered, followed by his father.
"Glad to see you back again, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick. "How do you do,
Mr. Weller?"
"Wery hearty, thankee, sir," replied the widower; "hope I see _you_
well, sir."
"Quite, I thank you," replied Mr. Pickwick.
"I wanted to have a little bit o' conwersation with you, sir," said Mr.
Weller, "if you could spare me five minits or so, sir."
"Certainly," replied Mr. Pickwick. "Sam, give your father a chair."
"Thankee, Samivel, I've got a cheer here," said Mr. Weller, bringing
one forward as he spoke; "uncommon fine day it's been sir," added the
old gentleman, laying his hat on the floor as he sat himself down.
"Remarkably so indeed," replied Mr. Pickwick. "Very seasonable."
"Seasonablest veather I ever see, sir," rejoined Mr. Weller. Here, the
old gentleman was seized with a violent fit of coughing, which, being
terminated, he nodded his head and winked and made several supplicatory
and threatening gestures to his son, all of which Sam Weller steadily
abstained from seeing.
Mr. Pickwick, perceiving that there was some embarrassment on the old
gentleman's part, affected to be engaged in cutting the leaves of a
book that lay beside him, and waited patiently until Mr. Weller should
arrive at the object of his visit.
"I never see sich a aggerawatin' boy as you are, Samivel," said Mr.
Weller, looking indignantly at his son; "never in all my born days."
"What is he doing, Mr. Weller?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"He von't begin, sir," rejoined Mr. Weller; "he knows I ain't ekal to
ex-pressin' myself ven there's anythin' partickler to be done, and yet
he'll stand and see me a settin' here takin' up your walable time, and
makin' a reg'lar spectacle o' myself, rayther than help me out vith a
syllable. It ain't filial conduct, Samivel," said Mr. Weller, wiping
his forehead; "wery far from it."
"You said you'd speak," replied Sam; "how should I know you wos done up
at the wery beginnin'?"
"You might ha' seen I warn't able to start," rejoined his father; "I'm
on the wrong side of the road, and backin' into the palin's, and all
manner of unpleasantness, and yet you von't put out a hand to help me.
I'm ashamed on you, Samivel."
"The fact is, sir," said Sam, with a slight bow, "the gov'ner's been a
drawin' his money."
"Wery good, Samivel, wery good," said Mr. Weller, nodding his head with
a satisfied air, "I didn't mean to speak harsh to you, Sammy. Wery
good. That's the vay to begin. Come to the pint at once. Wery good
indeed, Samivel."
Mr. Weller nodded his head an extraordinary number of times, in the
excess of his gratification, and waited in a listening attitude for Sam
to resume his statement.
"You may sit down, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, apprehending that the
interview was likely to prove rather longer than he had expected.
Sam bowed again and sat down; his father looking round, he continued:
"The gov'ner, sir, has drawn out five hundred and thirty pound."
"Reduced counsels," interposed Mr. Weller senior, in an undertone.
"It don't much matter vether it's reduced counsels, or wot not," said
Sam; "five hundred and thirty pound is the sum, ain't it?"
"All right, Samivel," replied Mr. Weller.
"To vich sum, he has added for the house and bis'ness----"
"Lease, good-vill, stock, and fixters," interposed Mr. Weller.
--"As much as makes it," continued Sam, "altogether, eleven hundred and
eighty pound."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Pickwick. "I am delighted to hear it. I congratulate
you, Mr. Weller, on having done so well."
"Vait a minit, sir," said Mr. Weller, raising his hand in a deprecatory
manner. "Get on, Samivel."
"This here money," said Sam, with a little hesitation, "he's anxious to
put someveres, vere he knows it'll be safe, and I'm wery anxious too,
for if he keeps it, he'll go a lendin' it to somebody, or inwestin'
property in horses, or droppin' his pocket-book down a airy, or makin'
a Egyptian mummy of his-self in some vay or another."
"Wery good, Samivel," observed Mr. Weller, in as complacent a manner
as if Sam had been passing the highest eulogiums on his prudence and
foresight. "Wery good."
"For vich reasons," continued Sam, plucking nervously at the brim of
his hat; "for vich reasons, he's drawed it out to-day, and come here
vith me to say, leastvays to offer, or in other vords to----"
"--To say this here," said the elder Mr. Weller, impatiently, "that
it ain't no use to me. I'm a goin' to vork a coach reg'lar, and han't
got noveres to keep it in, unless I vos to pay the guard for takin'
care on it, or to put it in vun o' the coach pockets, vich 'ud be a
temptation to the insides. If you'll take care on it for me, sir, I
shall be wery much obliged to you. P'raps," said Mr. Weller, walking
up to Mr. Pickwick and whispering in his ear, "p'raps it'll go a little
vay towards the expenses o' that 'ere conwiction. All I say is, just
you keep it till I ask you for it again." With these words, Mr. Weller
placed the pocket-book in Mr. Pickwick's hands, caught up his hat, and
ran out of the room with a celerity scarcely to be expected from so
corpulent a subject.
"Stop him, Sam!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, earnestly. "Overtake him;
bring him back instantly! Mr. Weller--here--come back!"
Sam saw that his master's injunctions were not to be disobeyed; and
catching his father by the arm as he was descending the stairs, dragged
him back by main force.
"My good friend," said Mr. Pickwick, taking the old man by the hand,
"your honest confidence overpowers me."
"I don't see no occasion for nothin' o' the kind, sir," replied Mr.
Weller, obstinately.
"I assure you, my good friend, I have more money than I can ever
need; far more than a man at my age can ever live to spend," said Mr.
Pickwick.
"No man knows how much he can spend, till he tries," observed Mr.
Weller.
"Perhaps not," replied Mr. Pickwick; "but as I have no intention of
trying any such experiments, I am not likely to come to want. I must
beg you to take this back, Mr. Weller."
"Wery well," said Mr. Weller with a discontented look. "Mark my vords,
Sammy. I'll do something desperate vith this here property; somethin'
desperate!"
"You'd better not," replied Sam.
Mr. Weller reflected for a short time, and then, buttoning up his coat
with great determination, said:
"I'll keep a pike."
"Wot!" exclaimed Sam.
"A pike," rejoined Mr. Weller, through his set teeth: "I'll keep a
pike. Say good-bye to your father, Samivel. I devote the remainder o'
my days to' a pike."
This threat was such an awful one, and Mr. Weller, besides appearing
fully resolved to carry it into execution, seemed so deeply mortified
by Mr. Pickwick's refusal, that that gentleman after a short
reflection, said:
"Well, well, Mr. Weller, I will keep the money. I can do more good with
it, perhaps, than you can."
"Just the wery thing, to be sure," said Mr. Weller, brightening up; "o'
course you can, sir."
"Say no more about it," said Mr. Pickwick, locking the pocket-book in
his desk; "I am heartily obliged to you, my good friend. Now sit down
again. I want to ask your advice."
The internal laughter occasioned by the triumphant success of his
visit, which had convulsed not only Mr. Weller's face, but his arms,
legs, and body also, during the locking up of the pocket-book, suddenly
gave place to the most dignified gravity as he heard these words.
"Wait outside a few minutes, Sam, will you?" said Mr. Pickwick.
Sam immediately withdrew.
Mr. Weller looked uncommonly wise and very much amazed, when Mr.
Pickwick opened the discourse by saying:
"You are not an advocate for matrimony, I think, Mr. Weller?"
Mr. Weller shook his head. He was wholly unable to speak; vague
thoughts of some wicked widow having been successful in her designs on
Mr. Pickwick, choked his utterance.
"Did you happen to see a young girl down-stairs when you came in just
now with your son?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Yes. I see a young gal," replied Mr. Weller, shortly.
"What did you think of her, now? Candidly, Mr. Weller, what did you
think of her?"
"I thought she wos wery plump, and vell made," said Mr. Weller, with a
critical air.
"So she is," said Mr. Pickwick, "so she is. What did you think of her
manners, from what you saw of her?"
"Wery pleasant," rejoined Mr. Weller. "Wery pleasant and conformable."
The precise meaning which Mr. Weller attached to this last-mentioned
adjective did not appear; but, as it was evident from the tone in
which he used it that it was a favourable expression, Mr. Pickwick
was as well satisfied as if he had been thoroughly enlightened on the
subject.
"I take a great interest in her, Mr. Weller," said Mr. Pickwick.
Mr. Weller coughed.
"I mean an interest in her doing well," resumed Mr. Pickwick; "a desire
that she may be comfortable and prosperous. You understand?"
"Wery clearly," replied Mr. Weller, who understood nothing yet.
"That young person," said Mr. Pickwick, "is attached to your son."
"To Samivel Veller!" exclaimed the parent.
"Yes," said Mr. Pickwick.
"It's nat'ral," said Mr. Weller, after some consideration, "nat'ral,
but rather alarmin'. Sammy must be careful."
"How do you mean?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Wery careful that he don't say nothin' to her," responded Mr. Weller.
"Wery careful that he ain't led avay, in a innocent moment, to say
anythink as may lead to a conwiction for breach. You're never safe
vith 'em, Mr. Pickwick, ven they vunce has designs on you; there's no
knowin' vere to have 'em; and vile you're a considering of it, they
have you. I wos married fust that vay myself, sir, and Sammy was the
consekens o' the manoover."
"You give me no great encouragement to conclude what I have to say,"
observed Mr. Pickwick, "but I had better do so at once. This young
person is not only attached to your son, Mr. Weller, but your son is
attached to her."
"Vell," said Mr. Weller, "this here's a pretty sort o' thing to come to
a father's ears, this is!"
"I have observed them on several occasions," said Mr. Pickwick, making
no comment on Mr. Weller's last remark; "and entertain no doubt at all
about it. Supposing I were desirous of establishing them comfortably
as man and wife in some little business or situation, where they might
hope to obtain a decent living, what should you think of it, Mr.
Weller?"
At first Mr. Weller received with wry faces a proposition involving the
marriage of anybody in whom he took an interest; but, as Mr. Pickwick
argued the point with him, and laid great stress on the fact that Mary
was not a widow, he gradually became more tractable. Mr. Pickwick had
great influence over him, and he had been much struck with Mary's
appearance; having, in fact, bestowed several very unfatherly winks
upon her, already. At length he said that it was not for him to oppose
Mr. Pickwick's inclination, and that he would be very happy to yield to
his advice; upon which Mr. Pickwick joyfully took him at his word, and
called Sam back into the room.
"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, clearing his throat, "your father and I have
been having some conversation about you."
"About you, Samivel," said Mr. Weller, in a patronising and impressive
voice.
"I am not so blind, Sam, as not to have seen, a long time since, that
you entertain something more than a friendly feeling towards Mrs.
Winkle's maid," said Mr. Pickwick.
"You hear this, Samivel?" said Mr. Weller in the same judicial form of
speech as before.
"I hope, sir," said Sam, addressing his master: "I hope there's no
harm in a young man takin' notice of a young 'ooman as is undeniably
good-looking and well-conducted."
"Certainly not," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Not by no means," acquiesced Mr. Weller, affably but magisterially.
"So far from thinking there is anything wrong, in conduct so natural,"
resumed Mr. Pickwick, "it is my wish to assist and promote your wishes
in this respect. With this view, I have had a little conversation with
your father; and finding that he is of my opinion----"
"The lady not bein' a widder," interposed Mr. Weller in explanation.
"The lady not being a widow," said Mr. Pickwick, smiling. "I wish
to free you from the restraint which your present position imposes
upon you, and to mark my sense of your fidelity and many excellent
qualities, by enabling you to marry this girl at once, and to earn an
independent livelihood for yourself and family. I shall be proud, Sam,"
said Mr. Pickwick, whose voice had faltered a little hitherto, but
now resumed its customary tone, "proud and happy to make your future
prospects in life, my grateful and peculiar care."
There was a profound silence for a short time, and then Sam said in a
low husky sort of voice, but firmly withal:
"I'm very much obliged to you for your goodness, sir, as is only like
yourself; but it can't be done."
"Can't be done!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick in astonishment.
"Samivel!" said Mr. Weller, with dignity.
"I say it can't be done," repeated Sam in a louder key. "Wot's to
become of you, sir?"
"My good fellow," replied Mr. Pickwick, "the recent changes among my
friends will alter my mode of life in future, entirely; besides, I am
growing older, and want repose and quiet. My rambles, Sam, are over."
"How do I know that 'ere, sir?" argued Sam. "You think so now! S'pose
you wos to change your mind, vich is not unlikely, for you've the
spirit o' five-and tventy in you still, what 'ud become on you vithout
me? It can't be done, sir, it can't be done."
"Wery good, Samivel, there's a good deal in that," said Mr. Weller,
encouragingly.
"I speak after long deliberation, Sam, and with the certainty that I
shall keep my word," said Mr. Pickwick, shaking his head. "New scenes
have closed upon me; my rambles are at an end."
"Wery good," rejoined Sam. "Then, that's the wery best reason vy you
should alvays have somebody by you as understands you, to keep you up
and make you comfortable. If you vant a more polished sort o' feller,
vell and good, have him; but vages or no vages, notice or no notice,
board or no board, lodgin' or no lodgin', Sam Veller, as you took from
the old inn in the Borough, sticks by you, come what come may; and let
ev'rythin' and ev'rybody do their wery fiercest, nothin' shall ever
perwent it!"
At the close of this declaration, which Sam made with great emotion,
the elder Mr. Weller rose from his chair, and, forgetting all
considerations of time, place, or propriety, waved his hat above his
head, and gave three vehement cheers.
"My good fellow," said Mr. Pickwick, when Mr. Weller had sat down
again, rather abashed at his own enthusiasm, "you are bound to consider
the young woman also."
"I do consider the young 'ooman, sir," said Sam. "I have considered the
young 'ooman. I've spoke to her. I've told her how I'm sitivated; she's
ready to wait till I'm ready, and I believe she vill. If she don't,
she's not the young 'ooman I take her for, and I give her up vith
readiness. You've know'd me afore, sir. My mind's made up, and nothin'
can ever alter it."
Who could combat this resolution? Not Mr. Pickwick. He derived, at
that moment, more pride and luxury of feeling from the disinterested
attachment of his humble friends, than ten thousand protestations from
the greatest men living could have awakened in his heart.
While this conversation was passing in Mr. Pickwick's room, a little
old gentleman in a suit of snuff-coloured clothes, followed by a porter
carrying a small portmanteau, presented himself below; and after
securing a bed for the night, inquired of the waiter whether one Mrs.
Winkle was staying there, to which question the waiter, of course,
responded in the affirmative.
"Is she alone?" inquired the little old gentleman.
"I believe she is, sir," replied the waiter; "I can call her own maid,
sir, if you----"
"No, I don't want her," said the old gentleman, quickly. "Show me to
her room without announcing me."
"Eh, sir?" said the waiter.
"Are you deaf?" inquired the little old gentleman.
"No, sir."
"Then listen, if you please. Can you hear me now?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's well. Show me to Mrs. Winkle's room, without announcing me."
As the little old gentleman uttered this command, he slipped five
shillings into the waiter's hand, and looked steadily at him.
"Really, sir," said the waiter, "I don't know, sir, whether----"
"Ah! you'll do it, I see," said the little old gentleman. "You had
better do it at once. It will save time."
There was something so very cool and collected in the gentleman's
manner, that the waiter put the five shillings in his pocket, and led
him up-stairs without a word.
"This is the room, is it?" said the gentleman. "You may go."
[Illustration: _A little old gentleman in a suit of snuff-coloured
clothes_]
The waiter complied, wondering much who the gentleman could be and what
he wanted; the little old gentleman, waiting till he was out of sight,
tapped at the door.
"Come in," said Arabella.
"Um! a pretty voice at any rate," murmured the little old gentleman;
"but that's nothing." As he said this he opened the door and walked
in. Arabella, who was sitting at work, rose on beholding a stranger--a
little confused--but by no means ungracefully so.
"Pray don't rise, ma'am," said the unknown, walking in, and closing the
door after him. "Mrs. Winkle, I believe?"
Arabella inclined her head.
"Mrs. Nathaniel Winkle, who married the son of the old man at
Birmingham?" said the stranger, eyeing Arabella with visible curiosity.
Again Arabella inclined her head, and looked uneasily round as if
uncertain whether to call for assistance.
"I surprise you, I see, ma'am," said the old gentleman.
"Rather, I confess," replied Arabella, wondering more and more.
"I'll take a chair, if you'll allow me, ma'am," said the stranger.
He took one, and drawing a spectacle-case from his pocket, leisurely
pulled out a pair of spectacles, which he adjusted on his nose.
"You don't know me, ma'am?" he said, looking so intently at Arabella
that she began to feel alarmed.
"No, sir," she replied timidly.
"No," said the gentleman, nursing his left leg; "I don't know how you
should. You know my name though, ma'am."
"Do I?" said Arabella, trembling, though she scarcely knew why. "May I
ask you what it is?"
"Presently, ma'am, presently," said the stranger, not having yet
removed his eyes from her countenance. "You have been recently married,
ma'am?"
"I have," replied Arabella, in a scarcely audible tone, laying aside
her work, and becoming greatly agitated as a thought, that had occurred
to her before, struck more forcibly upon her mind.
"Without having represented to your husband the propriety of first
consulting his father, on whom he is dependent, I think?" said the
stranger.
Arabella applied her handkerchief to her eyes.
"Without an endeavour, even, to ascertain, by some indirect appeal,
what were the old man's sentiments on a point in which he would
naturally feel much interested?" said the stranger.
"I cannot deny it, sir," said Arabella.
"And without having sufficient property of your own to afford your
husband any permanent assistance in exchange for the worldly advantages
which you knew he would have gained if he had married agreeably to his
father's wishes?" said the old gentleman. "This is what boys and girls
call disinterested affection, till they have boys and girls of their
own, and then they see it in a rougher and very different light!"
Arabella's tears flowed fast, as she pleaded in extenuation that she
was young and inexperienced; that her attachment had alone induced
her to take the step to which she had resorted; and that she had been
deprived of the counsel and guidance of her parents almost from infancy.
"It was wrong," said the old gentleman in a milder tone, "very wrong.
It was foolish, romantic, unbusiness-like."
"It was my fault; all my fault, sir," replied poor Arabella, weeping.
"Nonsense," said the old gentleman; "it was not your fault that he
fell in love with you, I suppose? Yes it was, though," said the old
gentleman, looking rather slyly at Arabella. "It was your fault. He
couldn't help it."
This little compliment, or the little gentleman's odd way of paying
it, or his altered manner--so much kinder than it was at first--or all
three together, forced a smile from Arabella in the midst of her tears.
"Where's your husband?" inquired the old gentleman abruptly; stopping a
smile which was just coming over his own face.
"I expect him every instant, sir," said Arabella. "I persuaded him to
take a walk this morning. He is very low and wretched at not having
heard from his father."
"Low, is he?" said the old gentleman. "Serve him right!"
"He feels it on my account, I am afraid," said Arabella; "and indeed,
sir, I feel it deeply on his. I have been the sole means of bringing
him to his present condition."
"Don't mind on his account, my dear," said the old gentleman. "It
serves him right. I am glad of it--actually glad of it, as far as he is
concerned."
The words were scarcely out of the old gentleman's lips, when
footsteps were heard ascending the stairs, which he and Arabella seemed
both to recognise at the same moment. The little gentleman turned pale,
and making a strong effort to appear composed, stood up, as Mr. Winkle
entered the room.
"Father!" cried Mr. Winkle, recoiling in amazement.
"Yes, sir," replied the little old gentleman. "Well, sir, what have you
got to say to me?"
Mr. Winkle remained silent.
"You are ashamed of yourself, I hope, sir?" said the old gentleman.
Still Mr. Winkle said nothing.
"Are you ashamed of yourself, sir, or are you not?" inquired the old
gentleman.
"No, sir," replied Mr. Winkle, drawing Arabella's arm through his. "I
am not ashamed of myself, or of my wife either."
"Upon my word!" cried the old gentleman, ironically.
"I am very sorry to have done anything which has lessened your
affection for me, sir," said Mr. Winkle; "but I will say, at the same
time, that I have no reason to be ashamed of having this lady for my
wife, nor you of having her for a daughter."
"Give me your hand, Nat," said the old gentleman in an altered voice.
"Kiss me, my love. You _are_ a very charming little daughter-in-law
after all!"
In a few minutes' time Mr. Winkle went in search of Mr. Pickwick, and
returning with that gentleman, presented him to his father, whereupon
they shook hands for five minutes incessantly.
"Mr. Pickwick, I thank you most heartily for all your kindness to
my son," said old Mr. Winkle, in a bluff straightforward way. "I am
a hasty fellow, and when I saw you last, I was vexed and taken by
surprise. I have judged for myself now, and am more than satisfied.
Shall I make any more apologies, Mr. Pickwick?"
"Not one," replied that gentleman. "You have done the only thing
wanting to complete my happiness."
Hereupon, there was another shaking of hands for five minutes longer,
accompanied by a great number of complimentary speeches, which, besides
being complimentary, had the additional and very novel recommendation
of being sincere.
Sam had dutifully seen his father to the Belle Sauvage, when, on
returning, he encountered the fat boy in the court, who had been
charged with the delivery of a note from Emily Wardle.
"I say," said Joe, who was unusually loquacious, "what a pretty girl
Mary is, isn't she? I am _so_ fond of her, I am!"
Mr. Weller made no verbal remark in reply; but eyeing the fat boy for
a moment, quite transfixed at his presumption, led him by the collar
to the corner, and dismissed him with a harmless but ceremonious kick.
After which, he walked home, whistling.
[Illustration: _Dismissed him with a harmless but ceremonious kick_]