‘Take care, Job Trotter, take care,’ said Sam, looking after him, ‘or I

shall be one too many for you this time. I shall, indeed.’ Having

uttered this soliloquy, and looked after Job till he was to be seen no

more, Mr. Weller made the best of his way to his master’s bedroom.

‘It’s all in training, Sir,’ said Sam.

‘What’s in training, Sam?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.

‘I’ve found ‘em out, Sir,’ said Sam.

‘Found out who?’

‘That ‘ere queer customer, and the melan-cholly chap with the black

hair.’

‘Impossible, Sam!’ said Mr. Pickwick, with the greatest energy. ‘Where

are they, Sam: where are they?’

‘Hush, hush!’ replied Mr. Weller; and as he assisted Mr. Pickwick to

dress, he detailed the plan of action on which he proposed to enter.

‘But when is this to be done, Sam?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.

‘All in good time, Sir,’ replied Sam.

Whether it was done in good time, or not, will be seen hereafter.

CHAPTER XXIV. WHEREIN MR. PETER MAGNUS GROWS JEALOUS, AND THE MIDDLE-

AGED LADY APPREHENSIVE, WHICH BRINGS THE PICKWICKIANS WITHIN THE GRASP

OF THE LAW

When Mr. Pickwick descended to the room in which he and Mr. Peter Magnus

had spent the preceding evening, he found that gentleman with the major

part of the contents of the two bags, the leathern hat-box, and the

brown-paper parcel, displaying to all possible advantage on his person,

while he himself was pacing up and down the room in a state of the

utmost excitement and agitation.

‘Good-morning, Sir,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus. ‘What do you think of this,

Sir?’

‘Very effective indeed,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, surveying the garments of

Mr. Peter Magnus with a good-natured smile.

‘Yes, I think it’ll do,’ said Mr. Magnus. ‘Mr. Pickwick, Sir, I have

sent up my card.’

‘Have you?’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘And the waiter brought back word, that she would see me at eleven--at

eleven, Sir; it only wants a quarter now.’

‘Very near the time,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘Yes, it is rather near,’ replied Mr. Magnus, ‘rather too near to be

pleasant--eh! Mr. Pickwick, sir?’

‘Confidence is a great thing in these cases,’ observed Mr. Pickwick.

‘I believe it is, Sir,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus. ‘I am very confident,

Sir. Really, Mr. Pickwick, I do not see why a man should feel any fear

in such a case as this, sir. What is it, Sir? There’s nothing to be

ashamed of; it’s a matter of mutual accommodation, nothing more. Husband

on one side, wife on the other. That’s my view of the matter, Mr.

Pickwick.’

‘It is a very philosophical one,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘But breakfast

is waiting, Mr. Magnus. Come.’

Down they sat to breakfast, but it was evident, notwithstanding the

boasting of Mr. Peter Magnus, that he laboured under a very considerable

degree of nervousness, of which loss of appetite, a propensity to upset

the tea-things, a spectral attempt at drollery, and an irresistible

inclination to look at the clock, every other second, were among the

principal symptoms.

‘He-he-he,’ tittered Mr. Magnus, affecting cheerfulness, and gasping

with agitation. ‘It only wants two minutes, Mr. Pickwick. Am I pale,

Sir?’

‘Not very,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.

There was a brief pause.

‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick; but have you ever done this sort of

thing in your time?’ said Mr. Magnus.

‘You mean proposing?’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘Yes.’

‘Never,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with great energy, ‘never.’

‘You have no idea, then, how it’s best to begin?’ said Mr. Magnus.

‘Why,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I may have formed some ideas upon the

subject, but, as I have never submitted them to the test of experience,

I should be sorry if you were induced to regulate your proceedings by

them.’

‘I should feel very much obliged to you, for any advice, Sir,’ said Mr.

Magnus, taking another look at the clock, the hand of which was verging

on the five minutes past.

‘Well, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with the profound solemnity with which

that great man could, when he pleased, render his remarks so deeply

impressive. ‘I should commence, sir, with a tribute to the lady’s beauty

and excellent qualities; from them, Sir, I should diverge to my own

unworthiness.’

‘Very good,’ said Mr. Magnus.

‘Unworthiness for _her _only, mind, sir,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick; ‘for to

show that I was not wholly unworthy, sir, I should take a brief review

of my past life, and present condition. I should argue, by analogy, that

to anybody else, I must be a very desirable object. I should then

expatiate on the warmth of my love, and the depth of my devotion.

Perhaps I might then be tempted to seize her hand.’

‘Yes, I see,’ said Mr. Magnus; ‘that would be a very great point.’

‘I should then, Sir,’ continued Mr. Pickwick, growing warmer as the

subject presented itself in more glowing colours before him--‘I should

then, Sir, come to the plain and simple question, “Will you have me?” I

think I am justified in assuming that upon this, she would turn away her

head.’

‘You think that may be taken for granted?’ said Mr. Magnus; ‘because, if

she did not do that at the right place, it would be embarrassing.’

‘I think she would,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Upon this, sir, I should

squeeze her hand, and I think--I think, Mr. Magnus--that after I had

done that, supposing there was no refusal, I should gently draw away the

handkerchief, which my slight knowledge of human nature leads me to

suppose the lady would be applying to her eyes at the moment, and steal

a respectful kiss. I think I should kiss her, Mr. Magnus; and at this

particular point, I am decidedly of opinion that if the lady were going

to take me at all, she would murmur into my ears a bashful acceptance.’

Mr. Magnus started; gazed on Mr. Pickwick’s intelligent face, for a

short time in silence; and then (the dial pointing to the ten minutes

past) shook him warmly by the hand, and rushed desperately from the

room.

Mr. Pickwick had taken a few strides to and fro; and the small hand of

the clock following the latter part of his example, had arrived at the

figure which indicates the half-hour, when the door suddenly opened. He

turned round to meet Mr. Peter Magnus, and encountered, in his stead,

the joyous face of Mr. Tupman, the serene countenance of Mr. Winkle, and

the intellectual lineaments of Mr. Snodgrass.

As Mr. Pickwick greeted them, Mr. Peter Magnus tripped into the room.

‘My friends, the gentleman I was speaking of--Mr. Magnus,’ said Mr.

Pickwick.

‘Your servant, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Magnus, evidently in a high state of

excitement; ‘Mr. Pickwick, allow me to speak to you one moment, sir.’

As he said this, Mr. Magnus harnessed his forefinger to Mr. Pickwick’s

buttonhole, and, drawing him to a window recess, said--

‘Congratulate me, Mr. Pickwick; I followed your advice to the very

letter.’

‘And it was all correct, was it?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.

‘It was, Sir. Could not possibly have been better,’ replied Mr. Magnus.

‘Mr. Pickwick, she is mine.’

‘I congratulate you, with all my heart,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, warmly

shaking his new friend by the hand.

‘You must see her. Sir,’ said Mr. Magnus; ‘this way, if you please.

Excuse us for one instant, gentlemen.’ Hurrying on in this way, Mr.

Peter Magnus drew Mr. Pickwick from the room. He paused at the next door

in the passage, and tapped gently thereat.

‘Come in,’ said a female voice. And in they went.

‘Miss Witherfield,’ said Mr. Magnus, ‘allow me to introduce my very

particular friend, Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick, I beg to make you known

to Miss Witherfield.’

The lady was at the upper end of the room. As Mr. Pickwick bowed, he

took his spectacles from his waistcoat pocket, and put them on; a

process which he had no sooner gone through, than, uttering an

exclamation of surprise, Mr. Pickwick retreated several paces, and the

lady, with a half-suppressed scream, hid her face in her hands, and

dropped into a chair; whereupon Mr. Peter Magnus was stricken motionless

on the spot, and gazed from one to the other, with a countenance

expressive of the extremities of horror and surprise.

This certainly was, to all appearance, very unaccountable behaviour; but

the fact is, that Mr. Pickwick no sooner put on his spectacles, than he

at once recognised in the future Mrs. Magnus the lady into whose room he

had so unwarrantably intruded on the previous night; and the spectacles

had no sooner crossed Mr. Pickwick’s nose, than the lady at once

identified the countenance which she had seen surrounded by all the

horrors of a nightcap. So the lady screamed, and Mr. Pickwick started.

‘Mr. Pickwick!’ exclaimed Mr. Magnus, lost in astonishment, ‘what is the

meaning of this, Sir? What is the meaning of it, Sir?’ added Mr. Magnus,

in a threatening, and a louder tone.

‘Sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, somewhat indignant at the very sudden manner

in which Mr. Peter Magnus had conjugated himself into the imperative

mood, ‘I decline answering that question.’

‘You decline it, Sir?’ said Mr. Magnus.

‘I do, Sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘I object to say anything which may

compromise that lady, or awaken unpleasant recollections in her breast,

without her consent and permission.’

‘Miss Witherfield,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus, ‘do you know this person?’

‘Know him!’ repeated the middle-aged lady, hesitating.

‘Yes, know him, ma’am; I said know him,’ replied Mr. Magnus, with

ferocity.

‘I have seen him,’ replied the middle-aged lady.

‘Where?’ inquired Mr. Magnus, ‘where?’

‘That,’ said the middle-aged lady, rising from her seat, and averting

her head--‘that I would not reveal for worlds.’

‘I understand you, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘and respect your

delicacy; it shall never be revealed by _me_ depend upon it.’

‘Upon my word, ma’am,’ said Mr. Magnus, ‘considering the situation in

which I am placed with regard to yourself, you carry this matter off

with tolerable coolness--tolerable coolness, ma’am.’

‘Cruel Mr. Magnus!’ said the middle-aged lady; here she wept very

copiously indeed.

‘Address your observations to me, sir,’ interposed Mr. Pickwick; ‘I

alone am to blame, if anybody be.’

‘Oh! you alone are to blame, are you, sir?’ said Mr. Magnus; ‘I--I--see

through this, sir. You repent of your determination now, do you?’

‘My determination!’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘Your determination, Sir. Oh! don’t stare at me, Sir,’ said Mr. Magnus;

‘I recollect your words last night, Sir. You came down here, sir, to

expose the treachery and falsehood of an individual on whose truth and

honour you had placed implicit reliance--eh?’ Here Mr. Peter Magnus

indulged in a prolonged sneer; and taking off his green spectacles--

which he probably found superfluous in his fit of jealousy--rolled his

little eyes about, in a manner frightful to behold.

‘Eh?’ said Mr. Magnus; and then he repeated the sneer with increased

effect. ‘But you shall answer it, Sir.’

‘Answer what?’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘Never mind, sir,’ replied Mr. Magnus, striding up and down the room.

‘Never mind.’

There must be something very comprehensive in this phrase of ‘Never

mind,’ for we do not recollect to have ever witnessed a quarrel in the

street, at a theatre, public room, or elsewhere, in which it has not

been the standard reply to all belligerent inquiries. ‘Do you call

yourself a gentleman, sir?’--‘Never mind, sir.’

Did I offer to say anything to the young woman, sir?’--‘Never mind,

sir.’

Do you want your head knocked up against that wall, sir?’--‘Never mind,

sir.’ It is observable, too, that there would appear to be some hidden

taunt in this universal ‘Never mind,’ which rouses more indignation in

the bosom of the individual addressed, than the most lavish abuse could

possibly awaken.

We do not mean to assert that the application of this brevity to

himself, struck exactly that indignation to Mr. Pickwick’s soul, which

it would infallibly have roused in a vulgar breast. We merely record the

fact that Mr. Pickwick opened the room door, and abruptly called out,

‘Tupman, come here!’

Mr. Tupman immediately presented himself, with a look of very

considerable surprise.

‘Tupman,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘a secret of some delicacy, in which that

lady is concerned, is the cause of a difference which has just arisen

between this gentleman and myself. When I assure him, in your presence,

that it has no relation to himself, and is not in any way connected with

his affairs, I need hardly beg you to take notice that if he continue to

dispute it, he expresses a doubt of my veracity, which I shall consider

extremely insulting.’ As Mr. Pickwick said this, he looked encyclopedias

at Mr. Peter Magnus.

Mr. Pickwick’s upright and honourable bearing, coupled with that force

and energy of speech which so eminently distinguished him, would have

carried conviction to any reasonable mind; but, unfortunately, at that

particular moment, the mind of Mr. Peter Magnus was in anything but

reasonable order. Consequently, instead of receiving Mr. Pickwick’s

explanation as he ought to have done, he forthwith proceeded to work

himself into a red-hot, scorching, consuming passion, and to talk about

what was due to his own feelings, and all that sort of thing; adding

force to his declamation by striding to and fro, and pulling his hair--

amusements which he would vary occasionally, by shaking his fist in Mr.

Pickwick’s philanthropic countenance.

Mr. Pickwick, in his turn, conscious of his own innocence and rectitude,

and irritated by having unfortunately involved the middle-aged lady in

such an unpleasant affair, was not so quietly disposed as was his wont.

The consequence was, that words ran high, and voices higher; and at

length Mr. Magnus told Mr. Pickwick he should hear from him; to which

Mr. Pickwick replied, with laudable politeness, that the sooner he heard

from him the better; whereupon the middle-aged lady rushed in terror

from the room, out of which Mr. Tupman dragged Mr. Pickwick, leaving Mr.

Peter Magnus to himself and meditation.

If the middle-aged lady had mingled much with the busy world, or had

profited at all by the manners and customs of those who make the laws

and set the fashions, she would have known that this sort of ferocity is

the most harmless thing in nature; but as she had lived for the most

part in the country, and never read the parliamentary debates, she was

little versed in these particular refinements of civilised life.

Accordingly, when she had gained her bedchamber, bolted herself in, and

began to meditate on the scene she had just witnessed, the most terrific

pictures of slaughter and destruction presented themselves to her

imagination; among which, a full-length portrait of Mr. Peter Magnus

borne home by four men, with the embellishment of a whole barrelful of

bullets in his left side, was among the very least. The more the middle-

aged lady meditated, the more terrified she became; and at length she

determined to repair to the house of the principal magistrate of the

town, and request him to secure the persons of Mr. Pickwick and Mr.

Tupman without delay.

To this decision the middle-aged lady was impelled by a variety of

considerations, the chief of which was the incontestable proof it would

afford of her devotion to Mr. Peter Magnus, and her anxiety for his

safety. She was too well acquainted with his jealous temperament to

venture the slightest allusion to the real cause of her agitation on

beholding Mr. Pickwick; and she trusted to her own influence and power

of persuasion with the little man, to quell his boisterous jealousy,

supposing that Mr. Pickwick were removed, and no fresh quarrel could

arise. Filled with these reflections, the middle-aged lady arrayed

herself in her bonnet and shawl, and repaired to the mayor’s dwelling

straightway.

Now George Nupkins, Esquire, the principal magistrate aforesaid, was as

grand a personage as the fastest walker would find out, between sunrise

and sunset, on the twenty-first of June, which being, according to the

almanacs, the longest day in the whole year, would naturally afford him

the longest period for his search. On this particular morning, Mr.

Nupkins was in a state of the utmost excitement and irritation, for

there had been a rebellion in the town; all the day-scholars at the

largest day-school had conspired to break the windows of an obnoxious

apple-seller, and had hooted the beadle and pelted the constabulary--an

elderly gentleman in top-boots, who had been called out to repress the

tumult, and who had been a peace-officer, man and boy, for half a

century at least. And Mr. Nupkins was sitting in his easy-chair,

frowning with majesty, and boiling with rage, when a lady was announced

on pressing, private, and particular business. Mr. Nupkins looked calmly

terrible, and commanded that the lady should be shown in; which command,

like all the mandates of emperors, and magistrates, and other great

potentates of the earth, was forthwith obeyed; and Miss Witherfield,

interestingly agitated, was ushered in accordingly.

‘Muzzle!’ said the magistrate.

Muzzle was an undersized footman, with a long body and short legs.

‘Muzzle!’

Yes, your Worship.’

‘Place a chair, and leave the room.’

‘Yes, your Worship.’

‘Now, ma’am, will you state your business?’ said the magistrate.

‘It is of a very painful kind, Sir,’ said Miss Witherfield.

‘Very likely, ma’am,’ said the magistrate. ‘Compose your feelings,

ma’am.’ Here Mr. Nupkins looked benignant. ‘And then tell me what legal

business brings you here, ma’am.’ Here the magistrate triumphed over the

man; and he looked stern again.

‘It is very distressing to me, Sir, to give this information,’ said Miss

Witherfield, ‘but I fear a duel is going to be fought here.’

‘Here, ma’am?’ said the magistrate. ‘Where, ma’am?’

‘In Ipswich.’

In Ipswich, ma’am! A duel in Ipswich!’ said the magistrate, perfectly

aghast at the notion. ‘Impossible, ma’am; nothing of the kind can be

contemplated in this town, I am persuaded. Bless my soul, ma’am, are you

aware of the activity of our local magistracy? Do you happen to have

heard, ma’am, that I rushed into a prize-ring on the fourth of May last,

attended by only sixty special constables; and, at the hazard of falling

a sacrifice to the angry passions of an infuriated multitude, prohibited

a pugilistic contest between the Middlesex Dumpling and the Suffolk

Bantam? A duel in Ipswich, ma’am? I don’t think--I do not think,’ said

the magistrate, reasoning with himself, ‘that any two men can have had

the hardihood to plan such a breach of the peace, in this town.’

‘My information is, unfortunately, but too correct,’ said the middle-

aged lady; ‘I was present at the quarrel.’

‘It’s a most extraordinary thing,’ said the astounded magistrate.

‘Muzzle!’

‘Yes, your Worship.’

‘Send Mr. Jinks here, directly! Instantly.’

‘Yes, your Worship.’

Muzzle retired; and a pale, sharp-nosed, half-fed, shabbily-clad clerk,

of middle age, entered the room.

‘Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate. ‘Mr. Jinks.’

‘Sir,’ said Mr. Jinks.

‘This lady, Mr. Jinks, has come here, to give information of an intended

duel in this town.’

Mr. Jinks, not knowing exactly what to do, smiled a dependent’s smile.

‘What are you laughing at, Mr. Jinks?’ said the magistrate.

Mr. Jinks looked serious instantly.

‘Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate, ‘you’re a fool.’

Mr. Jinks looked humbly at the great man, and bit the top of his pen.

‘You may see something very comical in this information, Sir--but I can

tell you this, Mr. Jinks, that you have very little to laugh at,’ said

the magistrate.

The hungry-looking Jinks sighed, as if he were quite aware of the fact

of his having very little indeed to be merry about; and, being ordered

to take the lady’s information, shambled to a seat, and proceeded to

write it down.

‘This man, Pickwick, is the principal, I understand?’ said the

magistrate, when the statement was finished.

‘He is,’ said the middle-aged lady.

‘And the other rioter--what’s his name, Mr. Jinks?’

‘Tupman, Sir.’

Tupman is the second?’

‘Yes.’

‘The other principal, you say, has absconded, ma’am?’

‘Yes,’ replied Miss Witherfield, with a short cough.

‘Very well,’ said the magistrate. ‘These are two cut-throats from

London, who have come down here to destroy his Majesty’s population,

thinking that at this distance from the capital, the arm of the law is

weak and paralysed. They shall be made an example of. Draw up the

warrants, Mr. Jinks. Muzzle!’

‘Yes, your Worship.’

‘Is Grummer downstairs?’

‘Yes, your Worship.’

‘Send him up.’

The obsequious Muzzle retired, and presently returned, introducing the

elderly gentleman in the top-boots, who was chiefly remarkable for a

bottle-nose, a hoarse voice, a snuff-coloured surtout, and a wandering

eye.

‘Grummer,’ said the magistrate.

‘Your Wash-up.’

‘Is the town quiet now?’

‘Pretty well, your Wash-up,’ replied Grummer. ‘Pop’lar feeling has in a

measure subsided, consekens o’ the boys having dispersed to cricket.’

‘Nothing but vigorous measures will do in these times, Grummer,’ said

the magistrate, in a determined manner. ‘If the authority of the king’s

officers is set at naught, we must have the riot act read. If the civil

power cannot protect these windows, Grummer, the military must protect

the civil power, and the windows too. I believe that is a maxim of the

constitution, Mr. Jinks?’

Certainly, sir,’ said Jinks.

‘Very good,’ said the magistrate, signing the warrants. ‘Grummer, you

will bring these persons before me, this afternoon. You will find them

at the Great White Horse. You recollect the case of the Middlesex

Dumpling and the Suffolk Bantam, Grummer?’

Mr. Grummer intimated, by a retrospective shake of the head, that he

should never forget it--as indeed it was not likely he would, so long as

it continued to be cited daily.

‘This is even more unconstitutional,’ said the magistrate; ‘this is even

a greater breach of the peace, and a grosser infringement of his

Majesty’s prerogative. I believe duelling is one of his Majesty’s most

undoubted prerogatives, Mr. Jinks?’

‘Expressly stipulated in Magna Charta, sir,’ said Mr. Jinks.

‘One of the brightest jewels in the British crown, wrung from his

Majesty by the barons, I believe, Mr. Jinks?’ said the magistrate.

‘Just so, Sir,’ replied Mr. Jinks.

‘Very well,’ said the magistrate, drawing himself up proudly, ‘it shall

not be violated in this portion of his dominions. Grummer, procure

assistance, and execute these warrants with as little delay as possible.

Muzzle!’

‘Yes, your Worship.’

‘Show the lady out.’

Miss Witherfield retired, deeply impressed with the magistrate’s

learning and research; Mr. Nupkins retired to lunch; Mr. Jinks retired

within himself--that being the only retirement he had, except the sofa-

bedstead in the small parlour which was occupied by his landlady’s

family in the daytime--and Mr. Grummer retired, to wipe out, by his mode

of discharging his present commission, the insult which had been

fastened upon himself, and the other representative of his Majesty--the

beadle--in the course of the morning.

While these resolute and determined preparations for the conservation of

the king’s peace were pending, Mr. Pickwick and his friends, wholly

unconscious of the mighty events in progress, had sat quietly down to

dinner; and very talkative and companionable they all were. Mr. Pickwick

was in the very act of relating his adventure of the preceding night, to

the great amusement of his followers, Mr. Tupman especially, when the

door opened, and a somewhat forbidding countenance peeped into the room.

The eyes in the forbidding countenance looked very earnestly at Mr.

Pickwick, for several seconds, and were to all appearance satisfied with

their investigation; for the body to which the forbidding countenance

belonged, slowly brought itself into the apartment, and presented the

form of an elderly individual in top-boots--not to keep the reader any

longer in suspense, in short, the eyes were the wandering eyes of Mr.

Grummer, and the body was the body of the same gentleman.

Mr. Grummer’s mode of proceeding was professional, but peculiar. His

first act was to bolt the door on the inside; his second, to polish his

head and countenance very carefully with a cotton handkerchief; his

third, to place his hat, with the cotton handkerchief in it, on the

nearest chair; and his fourth, to produce from the breast-pocket of his

coat a short truncheon, surmounted by a brazen crown, with which he

beckoned to Mr. Pickwick with a grave and ghost-like air.

Mr. Snodgrass was the first to break the astonished silence. He looked

steadily at Mr. Grummer for a brief space, and then said emphatically,

‘This is a private room, Sir. A private room.’

Mr. Grummer shook his head, and replied, ‘No room’s private to his

Majesty when the street door’s once passed. That’s law. Some people

maintains that an Englishman’s house is his castle. That’s gammon.’

The Pickwickians gazed on each other with wondering eyes.

‘Which is Mr. Tupman?’ inquired Mr. Grummer. He had an intuitive

perception of Mr. Pickwick; he knew him at once.

‘My name’s Tupman,’ said that gentleman.

‘My name’s Law,’ said Mr. Grummer.

‘What?’ said Mr. Tupman.

‘Law,’ replied Mr. Grummer--‘Law, civil power, and exekative; them’s my

titles; here’s my authority. Blank Tupman, blank Pickwick--against the

peace of our sufferin’ lord the king--stattit in the case made and

purwided--and all regular. I apprehend you Pickwick! Tupman--the

aforesaid.’

‘What do you mean by this insolence?’ said Mr. Tupman, starting up;

‘leave the room!’

‘Hollo,’ said Mr. Grummer, retreating very expeditiously to the door,

and opening it an inch or two, ‘Dubbley.’

‘Well,’ said a deep voice from the passage.

‘Come for’ard, Dubbley.’

At the word of command, a dirty-faced man, something over six feet high,

and stout in proportion, squeezed himself through the half-open door

(making his face very red in the process), and entered the room.

‘Is the other specials outside, Dubbley?’ inquired Mr. Grummer.

Mr. Dubbley, who was a man of few words, nodded assent.

‘Order in the diwision under your charge, Dubbley,’ said Mr. Grummer.

Mr. Dubbley did as he was desired; and half a dozen men, each with a

short truncheon and a brass crown, flocked into the room. Mr. Grummer

pocketed his staff, and looked at Mr. Dubbley; Mr. Dubbley pocketed his

staff and looked at the division; the division pocketed their staves and

looked at Messrs. Tupman and Pickwick.

Mr. Pickwick and his followers rose as one man.

‘What is the meaning of this atrocious intrusion upon my privacy?’ said

Mr. Pickwick.

‘Who dares apprehend me?’ said Mr. Tupman.

‘What do you want here, scoundrels?’ said Mr. Snodgrass.

Mr. Winkle said nothing, but he fixed his eyes on Grummer, and bestowed

a look upon him, which, if he had had any feeling, must have pierced his

brain. As it was, however, it had no visible effect on him whatever.

When the executive perceived that Mr. Pickwick and his friends were

disposed to resist the authority of the law, they very significantly

turned up their coat sleeves, as if knocking them down in the first

instance, and taking them up afterwards, were a mere professional act

which had only to be thought of to be done, as a matter of course. This

demonstration was not lost upon Mr. Pickwick. He conferred a few moments

with Mr. Tupman apart, and then signified his readiness to proceed to

the mayor’s residence, merely begging the parties then and there

assembled, to take notice, that it was his firm intention to resent this

monstrous invasion of his privileges as an Englishman, the instant he

was at liberty; whereat the parties then and there assembled laughed

very heartily, with the single exception of Mr. Grummer, who seemed to

consider that any slight cast upon the divine right of magistrates was a

species of blasphemy not to be tolerated.

But when Mr. Pickwick had signified his readiness to bow to the laws of

his country, and just when the waiters, and hostlers, and chambermaids,

and post-boys, who had anticipated a delightful commotion from his

threatened obstinacy, began to turn away, disappointed and disgusted, a

difficulty arose which had not been foreseen. With every sentiment of

veneration for the constituted authorities, Mr. Pickwick resolutely

protested against making his appearance in the public streets,

surrounded and guarded by the officers of justice, like a common

criminal. Mr. Grummer, in the then disturbed state of public feeling

(for it was half-holiday, and the boys had not yet gone home), as

resolutely protested against walking on the opposite side of the way,

and taking Mr. Pickwick’s parole that he would go straight to the

magistrate’s; and both Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman as strenuously

objected to the expense of a post-coach, which was the only respectable

conveyance that could be obtained. The dispute ran high, and the dilemma

lasted long; and just as the executive were on the point of overcoming

Mr. Pickwick’s objection to walking to the magistrate’s, by the trite

expedient of carrying him thither, it was recollected that there stood

in the inn yard, an old sedan-chair, which, having been originally built

for a gouty gentleman with funded property, would hold Mr. Pickwick and

Mr. Tupman, at least as conveniently as a modern post-chaise. The chair

was hired, and brought into the hall; Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman

squeezed themselves inside, and pulled down the blinds; a couple of

chairmen were speedily found; and the procession started in grand order.

The specials surrounded the body of the vehicle; Mr. Grummer and Mr.

Dubbley marched triumphantly in front; Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle

walked arm-in-arm behind; and the unsoaped of Ipswich brought up the

rear.

The shopkeepers of the town, although they had a very indistinct notion

of the nature of the offence, could not but be much edified and

gratified by this spectacle. Here was the strong arm of the law, coming

down with twenty gold-beater force, upon two offenders from the

metropolis itself; the mighty engine was directed by their own

magistrate, and worked by their own officers; and both the criminals, by

their united efforts, were securely shut up, in the narrow compass of

one sedan-chair. Many were the expressions of approval and admiration

which greeted Mr. Grummer, as he headed the cavalcade, staff in hand;

loud and long were the shouts raised by the unsoaped; and amidst these

united testimonials of public approbation, the procession moved slowly

and majestically along.

Mr. Weller, habited in his morning jacket, with the black calico

sleeves, was returning in a rather desponding state from an unsuccessful

survey of the mysterious house with the green gate, when, raising his

eyes, he beheld a crowd pouring down the street, surrounding an object

which had very much the appearance of a sedan-chair. Willing to divert

his thoughts from the failure of his enterprise, he stepped aside to see

the crowd pass; and finding that they were cheering away, very much to

their own satisfaction, forthwith began (by way of raising his spirits)

to cheer too, with all his might and main.

Mr. Grummer passed, and Mr. Dubbley passed, and the sedan passed, and

the bodyguard of specials passed, and Sam was still responding to the

enthusiastic cheers of the mob, and waving his hat about as if he were

in the very last extreme of the wildest joy (though, of course, he had

not the faintest idea of the matter in hand), when he was suddenly

stopped by the unexpected appearance of Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass.

‘What’s the row, gen’l’m’n? ’cried Sam. ‘Who have they got in this here

watch-box in mournin’?’

Both gentlemen replied together, but their words were lost in the

tumult.

‘Who is it?’ cried Sam again.

Once more was a joint reply returned; and, though the words were

inaudible, Sam saw by the motion of the two pairs of lips that they had

uttered the magic word ‘Pickwick.’

This was enough. In another minute Mr. Weller had made his way through

the crowd, stopped the chairmen, and confronted the portly Grummer.

‘Hollo, old gen’l’m’n!’ said Sam. ‘Who have you got in this here

conweyance?’

‘Stand back,’ said Mr. Grummer, whose dignity, like the dignity of a

great many other men, had been wondrously augmented by a little

popularity.

‘Knock him down, if he don’t,’ said Mr. Dubbley.

‘I’m wery much obliged to you, old gen’l’m’n,’ replied Sam, ‘for

consulting my conwenience, and I’m still more obliged to the other

gen’l’m’n, who looks as if he’d just escaped from a giant’s carrywan,

for his wery ‘andsome suggestion; but I should prefer your givin’ me a

answer to my question, if it’s all the same to you.--How are you, Sir?’

This last observation was addressed with a patronising air to Mr.

Pickwick, who was peeping through the front window.

Mr. Grummer, perfectly speechless with indignation, dragged the

truncheon with the brass crown from its particular pocket, and

flourished it before Sam’s eyes.

‘Ah,’ said Sam, ‘it’s wery pretty, ‘specially the crown, which is

uncommon like the real one.’

‘Stand back!’ said the outraged Mr. Grummer. By way of adding force to

the command, he thrust the brass emblem of royalty into Sam’s neckcloth

with one hand, and seized Sam’s collar with the other--a compliment

which Mr. Weller returned by knocking him down out of hand, having

previously with the utmost consideration, knocked down a chairman for

him to lie upon.

Whether Mr. Winkle was seized with a temporary attack of that species of

insanity which originates in a sense of injury, or animated by this

display of Mr. Weller’s valour, is uncertain; but certain it is, that he

no sooner saw Mr. Grummer fall than he made a terrific onslaught on a

small boy who stood next him; whereupon Mr. Snodgrass, in a truly

Christian spirit, and in order that he might take no one unawares,

announced in a very loud tone that he was going to begin, and proceeded

to take off his coat with the utmost deliberation. He was immediately

surrounded and secured; and it is but common justice both to him and Mr.

Winkle to say, that they did not make the slightest attempt to rescue

either themselves or Mr. Weller; who, after a most vigorous resistance,

was overpowered by numbers and taken prisoner. The procession then

reformed; the chairmen resumed their stations; and the march was re-

commenced.

Mr. Pickwick’s indignation during the whole of this proceeding was

beyond all bounds. He could just see Sam upsetting the specials, and

flying about in every direction; and that was all he could see, for the

sedan doors wouldn’t open, and the blinds wouldn’t pull up. At length,

with the assistance of Mr. Tupman, he managed to push open the roof; and

mounting on the seat, and steadying himself as well as he could, by

placing his hand on that gentleman’s shoulder, Mr. Pickwick proceeded to

address the multitude; to dwell upon the unjustifiable manner in which

he had been treated; and to call upon them to take notice that his

servant had been first assaulted. In this order they reached the

magistrate’s house; the chairmen trotting, the prisoners following, Mr.

Pickwick oratorising, and the crowd shouting.

CHAPTER XXV. SHOWING, AMONG A VARIETY OF PLEASANT MATTERS, HOW MAJESTIC

AND IMPARTIAL MR. NUPKINS WAS; AND HOW MR. WELLER RETURNED MR. JOB

TROTTER’S SHUTTLECOCK AS HEAVILY AS IT CAME--WITH ANOTHER MATTER, WHICH

WILL BE FOUND IN ITS PLACE

Violent was Mr. Weller’s indignation as he was borne along; numerous

were the allusions to the personal appearance and demeanour of Mr.

Grummer and his companion; and valorous were the defiances to any six of

the gentlemen present, in which he vented his dissatisfaction. Mr.

Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle listened with gloomy respect to the torrent of

eloquence which their leader poured forth from the sedan-chair, and the

rapid course of which not all Mr. Tupman’s earnest entreaties to have

the lid of the vehicle closed, were able to check for an instant. But

Mr. Weller’s anger quickly gave way to curiosity when the procession

turned down the identical courtyard in which he had met with the runaway

Job Trotter; and curiosity was exchanged for a feeling of the most

gleeful astonishment, when the all-important Mr. Grummer, commanding the

sedan-bearers to halt, advanced with dignified and portentous steps to

the very green gate from which Job Trotter had emerged, and gave a

mighty pull at the bell-handle which hung at the side thereof. The ring

was answered by a very smart and pretty-faced servant-girl, who, after

holding up her hands in astonishment at the rebellious appearance of the

prisoners, and the impassioned language of Mr. Pickwick, summoned Mr.

Muzzle. Mr. Muzzle opened one half of the carriage gate, to admit the

sedan, the captured ones, and the specials; and immediately slammed it

in the faces of the mob, who, indignant at being excluded, and anxious

to see what followed, relieved their feelings by kicking at the gate and

ringing the bell, for an hour or two afterwards. In this amusement they

all took part by turns, except three or four fortunate individuals, who,

having discovered a grating in the gate, which commanded a view of

nothing, stared through it with the indefatigable perseverance with

which people will flatten their noses against the front windows of a

chemist’s shop, when a drunken man, who has been run over by a dog-cart

in the street, is undergoing a surgical inspection in the back-parlour.

At the foot of a flight of steps, leading to the house door, which was

guarded on either side by an American aloe in a green tub, the sedan-

chair stopped. Mr. Pickwick and his friends were conducted into the

hall, whence, having been previously announced by Muzzle, and ordered in

by Mr. Nupkins, they were ushered into the worshipful presence of that

public-spirited officer.

The scene was an impressive one, well calculated to strike terror to the

hearts of culprits, and to impress them with an adequate idea of the

stern majesty of the law. In front of a big book-case, in a big chair,

behind a big table, and before a big volume, sat Mr. Nupkins, looking a

full size larger than any one of them, big as they were. The table was

adorned with piles of papers; and above the farther end of it, appeared

the head and shoulders of Mr. Jinks, who was busily engaged in looking

as busy as possible. The party having all entered, Muzzle carefully

closed the door, and placed himself behind his master’s chair to await

his orders. Mr. Nupkins threw himself back with thrilling solemnity, and

scrutinised the faces of his unwilling visitors.

‘Now, Grummer, who is that person?’ said Mr. Nupkins, pointing to Mr.

Pickwick, who, as the spokesman of his friends, stood hat in hand,

bowing with the utmost politeness and respect.

‘This here’s Pickvick, your Wash-up,’ said Grummer.

‘Come, none o’ that ‘ere, old Strike-a-light,’ interposed Mr. Weller,

elbowing himself into the front rank. ‘Beg your pardon, sir, but this

here officer o’ yourn in the gambooge tops, ‘ull never earn a decent

livin’ as a master o’ the ceremonies any vere. This here, sir’ continued

Mr. Weller, thrusting Grummer aside, and addressing the magistrate with

pleasant familiarity, ‘this here is S. Pickvick, Esquire; this here’s

Mr. Tupman; that ‘ere’s Mr. Snodgrass; and farder on, next him on the

t’other side, Mr. Winkle--all wery nice gen’l’m’n, Sir, as you’ll be

wery happy to have the acquaintance on; so the sooner you commits these

here officers o’ yourn to the tread-mill for a month or two, the sooner

we shall begin to be on a pleasant understanding. Business first,

pleasure arterwards, as King Richard the Third said when he stabbed the

t’other king in the Tower, afore he smothered the babbies.’

At the conclusion of this address, Mr. Weller brushed his hat with his

right elbow, and nodded benignly to Jinks, who had heard him throughout

with unspeakable awe.

‘Who is this man, Grummer?’ said the magistrate.

‘Wery desp’rate ch’racter, your Wash-up,’ replied Grummer. ‘He attempted

to rescue the prisoners, and assaulted the officers; so we took him into

custody, and brought him here.’

‘You did quite right,’ replied the magistrate. ‘He is evidently a

desperate ruffian.’

‘He is my servant, Sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick angrily.

‘Oh! he is your servant, is he?’ said Mr. Nupkins. ‘A conspiracy to

defeat the ends of justice, and murder its officers. Pickwick’s servant.

Put that down, Mr. Jinks.’

Mr. Jinks did so.

‘What’s your name, fellow?’ thundered Mr. Nupkins.

‘Veller,’ replied Sam.

‘A very good name for the Newgate Calendar,’ said Mr. Nupkins.

This was a joke; so Jinks, Grummer, Dubbley, all the specials, and

Muzzle, went into fits of laughter of five minutes’ duration.

‘Put down his name, Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate.

‘Two L’s, old feller,’ said Sam.

Here an unfortunate special laughed again, whereupon the magistrate

threatened to commit him instantly. It is a dangerous thing to laugh at

the wrong man, in these cases.

‘Where do you live?’ said the magistrate.

‘Vere ever I can,’ replied Sam.

‘Put down that, Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate, who was fast rising

into a rage.

‘Score it under,’ said Sam.

‘He is a vagabond, Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate. ‘He is a vagabond on

his own statement,--is he not, Mr. Jinks?’

‘Certainly, Sir.’

‘Then I’ll commit him--I’ll commit him as such,’ said Mr. Nupkins.

‘This is a wery impartial country for justice, ‘said Sam.’ There ain’t a

magistrate goin’ as don’t commit himself twice as he commits other

people.’

At this sally another special laughed, and then tried to look so

supernaturally solemn, that the magistrate detected him immediately.

‘Grummer,’ said Mr. Nupkins, reddening with passion, ‘how dare you

select such an inefficient and disreputable person for a special

constable, as that man? How dare you do it, Sir?’

‘I am very sorry, your Wash-up,’ stammered Grummer.

‘Very sorry!’ said the furious magistrate. ‘You shall repent of this

neglect of duty, Mr. Grummer; you shall be made an example of. Take that

fellow’s staff away. He’s drunk. You’re drunk, fellow.’

‘I am not drunk, your Worship,’ said the man.

‘You _are _drunk,’ returned the magistrate. ‘How dare you say you are

not drunk, Sir, when I say you are? Doesn’t he smell of spirits,

Grummer?’

‘Horrid, your Wash-up,’ replied Grummer, who had a vague impression that

there was a smell of rum somewhere.

‘I knew he did,’ said Mr. Nupkins. ‘I saw he was drunk when he first

came into the room, by his excited eye. Did you observe his excited eye,

Mr. Jinks?’

‘Certainly, Sir.’

‘I haven’t touched a drop of spirits this morning,’ said the man, who

was as sober a fellow as need be.

‘How dare you tell me a falsehood?’ said Mr. Nupkins. ‘Isn’t he drunk at

this moment, Mr. Jinks?’

‘Certainly, Sir,’ replied Jinks.

‘Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate, ‘I shall commit that man for contempt.

Make out his committal, Mr. Jinks.’

And committed the special would have been, only Jinks, who was the

magistrate’s adviser (having had a legal education of three years in a

country attorney’s office), whispered the magistrate that he thought it

wouldn’t do; so the magistrate made a speech, and said, that in

consideration of the special’s family, he would merely reprimand and

discharge him. Accordingly, the special was abused, vehemently, for a

quarter of an hour, and sent about his business; and Grummer, Dubbley,

Muzzle, and all the other specials, murmured their admiration of the

magnanimity of Mr. Nupkins.

‘Now, Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate, ‘swear Grummer.’

Grummer was sworn directly; but as Grummer wandered, and Mr. Nupkins’s

dinner was nearly ready, Mr. Nupkins cut the matter short, by putting

leading questions to Grummer, which Grummer answered as nearly in the

affirmative as he could. So the examination went off, all very smooth

and comfortable, and two assaults were proved against Mr. Weller, and a

threat against Mr. Winkle, and a push against Mr. Snodgrass. When all

this was done to the magistrate’s satisfaction, the magistrate and Mr.

Jinks consulted in whispers.

The consultation having lasted about ten minutes, Mr. Jinks retired to

his end of the table; and the magistrate, with a preparatory cough, drew

himself up in his chair, and was proceeding to commence his address,

when Mr. Pickwick interposed.

‘I beg your pardon, sir, for interrupting you,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘but

before you proceed to express, and act upon, any opinion you may have

formed on the statements which have been made here, I must claim my

right to be heard so far as I am personally concerned.’

‘Hold your tongue, Sir,’ said the magistrate peremptorily.

‘I must submit to you, Sir--’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘Hold your tongue, sir,’ interposed the magistrate, ‘or I shall order an

officer to remove you.’

‘You may order your officers to do whatever you please, Sir,’ said Mr.

Pickwick; ‘and I have no doubt, from the specimen I have had of the

subordination preserved amongst them, that whatever you order, they will

execute, Sir; but I shall take the liberty, Sir, of claiming my right to

be heard, until I am removed by force.’

‘Pickvick and principle!’ exclaimed Mr. Weller, in a very audible voice.

‘Sam, be quiet,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘Dumb as a drum vith a hole in it, Sir,’ replied Sam.

Mr. Nupkins looked at Mr. Pickwick with a gaze of intense astonishment,

at his displaying such unwonted temerity; and was apparently about to

return a very angry reply, when Mr. Jinks pulled him by the sleeve, and

whispered something in his ear. To this, the magistrate returned a half-

audible answer, and then the whispering was renewed. Jinks was evidently

remonstrating.

At length the magistrate, gulping down, with a very bad grace, his

disinclination to hear anything more, turned to Mr. Pickwick, and said

sharply, ‘What do you want to say?’

‘First,’ said Mr. Pickwick, sending a look through his spectacles, under

which even Nupkins quailed, ‘first, I wish to know what I and my friend

have been brought here for?’

‘Must I tell him?’ whispered the magistrate to Jinks.

‘I think you had better, sir,’ whispered Jinks to the magistrate.

‘An information has been sworn before me,’ said the magistrate, ‘that it

is apprehended you are going to fight a duel, and that the other man,

Tupman, is your aider and abettor in it. Therefore--eh, Mr. Jinks?’

‘Certainly, sir.’

‘Therefore, I call upon you both, to--I think that’s the course, Mr.

Jinks?’

‘Certainly, Sir.’

‘To--to--what, Mr. Jinks?’ said the magistrate pettishly.

‘To find bail, sir.’

‘Yes. Therefore, I call upon you both--as I was about to say when I was

interrupted by my clerk--to find bail.’

Good bail,’ whispered Mr. Jinks.

‘I shall require good bail,’ said the magistrate.

‘Town’s-people,’ whispered Jinks.

‘They must be townspeople,’ said the magistrate.

‘Fifty pounds each,’ whispered Jinks, ‘and householders, of course.’

‘I shall require two sureties of fifty pounds each,’ said the magistrate

aloud, with great dignity, ‘and they must be householders, of course.’

‘But bless my heart, Sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, who, together with Mr.

Tupman, was all amazement and indignation; ‘we are perfect strangers in

this town. I have as little knowledge of any householders here, as I

have intention of fighting a duel with anybody.’

‘I dare say,’ replied the magistrate, ‘I dare say--don’t you, Mr.

Jinks?’

‘Certainly, Sir.’

‘Have you anything more to say?’ inquired the magistrate.

Mr. Pickwick had a great deal more to say, which he would no doubt have

said, very little to his own advantage, or the magistrate’s

satisfaction, if he had not, the moment he ceased speaking, been pulled

by the sleeve by Mr. Weller, with whom he was immediately engaged in so

earnest a conversation, that he suffered the magistrate’s inquiry to

pass wholly unnoticed. Mr. Nupkins was not the man to ask a question of

the kind twice over; and so, with another preparatory cough, he

proceeded, amidst the reverential and admiring silence of the

constables, to pronounce his decision.

He should fine Weller two pounds for the first assault, and three pounds

for the second. He should fine Winkle two pounds, and Snodgrass one

pound, besides requiring them to enter into their own recognisances to

keep the peace towards all his Majesty’s subjects, and especially

towards his liege servant, Daniel Grummer. Pickwick and Tupman he had

already held to bail.

Immediately on the magistrate ceasing to speak, Mr. Pickwick, with a

smile mantling on his again good-humoured countenance, stepped forward,

and said--

‘I beg the magistrate’s pardon, but may I request a few minutes’ private

conversation with him, on a matter of deep importance to himself?’

‘What?’ said the magistrate. Mr. Pickwick repeated his request.

‘This is a most extraordinary request,’ said the magistrate. ‘A private

interview?’

‘A private interview,’ replied Mr. Pickwick firmly; ‘only, as a part of

the information which I wish to communicate is derived from my servant,

I should wish him to be present.’

The magistrate looked at Mr. Jinks; Mr. Jinks looked at the magistrate;

the officers looked at each other in amazement. Mr. Nupkins turned

suddenly pale. Could the man Weller, in a moment of remorse, have

divulged some secret conspiracy for his assassination? It was a dreadful

thought. He was a public man; and he turned paler, as he thought of

Julius Caesar and Mr. Perceval.

The magistrate looked at Mr. Pickwick again, and beckoned Mr. Jinks.

‘What do you think of this request, Mr. Jinks?’ murmured Mr. Nupkins.

Mr. Jinks, who didn’t exactly know what to think of it, and was afraid

he might offend, smiled feebly, after a dubious fashion, and, screwing

up the corners of his mouth, shook his head slowly from side to side.

‘Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate gravely, ‘you are an ass.’

At this little expression of opinion, Mr. Jinks smiled again--rather

more feebly than before--and edged himself, by degrees, back into his

own corner.

Mr. Nupkins debated the matter within himself for a few seconds, and

then, rising from his chair, and requesting Mr. Pickwick and Sam to

follow him, led the way into a small room which opened into the justice-

parlour. Desiring Mr. Pickwick to walk to the upper end of the little

apartment, and holding his hand upon the half-closed door, that he might

be able to effect an immediate escape, in case there was the least

tendency to a display of hostilities, Mr. Nupkins expressed his

readiness to hear the communication, whatever it might be.

‘I will come to the point at once, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘it affects

yourself and your credit materially. I have every reason to believe,

Sir, that you are harbouring in your house a gross impostor!’

‘Two,’ interrupted Sam. ‘Mulberry agin all natur, for tears and

willainny!’

‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘if I am to render myself intelligible to this

gentleman, I must beg you to control your feelings.’

‘Wery sorry, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘but when I think o’ that ‘ere

Job, I can’t help opening the walve a inch or two.’

‘In one word, Sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘is my servant right in

suspecting that a certain Captain Fitz-Marshall is in the habit of

visiting here? Because,’ added Mr. Pickwick, as he saw that Mr. Nupkins

was about to offer a very indignant interruption, ‘because if he be, I

know that person to be a--’

‘Hush, hush,’ said Mr. Nupkins, closing the door. ‘Know him to be what,

Sir?’

‘An unprincipled adventurer--a dishonourable character--a man who preys

upon society, and makes easily-deceived people his dupes, Sir; his

absurd, his foolish, his wretched dupes, Sir,’ said the excited Mr.

Pickwick.

‘Dear me,’ said Mr. Nupkins, turning very red, and altering his whole

manner directly. ‘Dear me, Mr.--’

‘Pickvick,’ said Sam.

‘Pickwick,’ said the magistrate, ‘dear me, Mr. Pickwick--pray take a

seat--you cannot mean this? Captain Fitz-Marshall!’

‘Don’t call him a cap’en,’ said Sam, ‘nor Fitz-Marshall neither; he

ain’t neither one nor t’other. He’s a strolling actor, he is, and his

name’s Jingle; and if ever there was a wolf in a mulberry suit, that

‘ere Job Trotter’s him.’

‘It is very true, Sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, replying to the magistrate’s

look of amazement; ‘my only business in this town, is to expose the

person of whom we now speak.’

Mr. Pickwick proceeded to pour into the horror-stricken ear of Mr.

Nupkins, an abridged account of all Mr. Jingle’s atrocities. He related

how he had first met him; how he had eloped with Miss Wardle; how he had

cheerfully resigned the lady for a pecuniary consideration; how he had

entrapped himself into a lady’s boarding-school at midnight; and how he

(Mr. Pickwick) now felt it his duty to expose his assumption of his

present name and rank.

As the narrative proceeded, all the warm blood in the body of Mr.

Nupkins tingled up into the very tips of his ears. He had picked up the

captain at a neighbouring race-course. Charmed with his long list of

aristocratic acquaintance, his extensive travel, and his fashionable

demeanour, Mrs. Nupkins and Miss Nupkins had exhibited Captain Fitz-

Marshall, and quoted Captain Fitz-Marshall, and hurled Captain Fitz-

Marshall at the devoted heads of their select circle of acquaintance,

until their bosom friends, Mrs. Porkenham and the Misses Porkenhams, and

Mr. Sidney Porkenham, were ready to burst with jealousy and despair. And

now, to hear, after all, that he was a needy adventurer, a strolling

player, and if not a swindler, something so very like it, that it was

hard to tell the difference! Heavens! what would the Porkenhams say!

What would be the triumph of Mr. Sidney Porkenham when he found that his

addresses had been slighted for such a rival! How should he, Nupkins,

meet the eye of old Porkenham at the next quarter-sessions! And what a

handle would it be for the opposition magisterial party if the story got

abroad!

‘But after all,’ said Mr. Nupkins, brightening for a moment, after a

long pause; ‘after all, this is a mere statement. Captain Fitz-Marshall

is a man of very engaging manners, and, I dare say, has many enemies.

What proof have you of the truth of these representations?’

‘Confront me with him,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that is all I ask, and all I

require. Confront him with me and my friends here; you will want no

further proof.’

‘Why,’ said Mr. Nupkins, ‘that might be very easily done, for he will be

here to-night, and then there would be no occasion to make the matter

public, just--just--for the young man’s own sake, you know. I--I--should

like to consult Mrs. Nupkins on the propriety of the step, in the first

instance, though. At all events, Mr. Pickwick, we must despatch this

legal business before we can do anything else. Pray step back into the

next room.’

Into the next room they went.

‘Grummer,’ said the magistrate, in an awful voice.

‘Your Wash-up,’ replied Grummer, with the smile of a favourite.

‘Come, come, Sir,’ said the magistrate sternly, ‘don’t let me see any of

this levity here. It is very unbecoming, and I can assure you that you

have very little to smile at. Was the account you gave me just now

strictly true? Now be careful, sir!’

Your Wash-up,’ stammered Grummer, ‘I-’

‘Oh, you are confused, are you?’ said the magistrate. ‘Mr. Jinks, you

observe this confusion?’

‘Certainly, Sir,’ replied Jinks.

‘Now,’ said the magistrate, ‘repeat your statement, Grummer, and again I

warn you to be careful. Mr. Jinks, take his words down.’

The unfortunate Grummer proceeded to re-state his complaint, but, what

between Mr. Jinks’s taking down his words, and the magistrate’s taking

them up, his natural tendency to rambling, and his extreme confusion, he

managed to get involved, in something under three minutes, in such a

mass of entanglement and contradiction, that Mr. Nupkins at once

declared he didn’t believe him. So the fines were remitted, and Mr.

Jinks found a couple of bail in no time. And all these solemn

proceedings having been satisfactorily concluded, Mr. Grummer was

ignominiously ordered out--an awful instance of the instability of human

greatness, and the uncertain tenure of great men’s favour.

Mrs. Nupkins was a majestic female in a pink gauze turban and a light

brown wig. Miss Nupkins possessed all her mamma’s haughtiness without

the turban, and all her ill-nature without the wig; and whenever the

exercise of these two amiable qualities involved mother and daughter in

some unpleasant dilemma, as they not infrequently did, they both

concurred in laying the blame on the shoulders of Mr. Nupkins.

Accordingly, when Mr. Nupkins sought Mrs. Nupkins, and detailed the

communication which had been made by Mr. Pickwick, Mrs. Nupkins suddenly

recollected that she had always expected something of the kind; that she

had always said it would be so; that her advice was never taken; that

she really did not know what Mr. Nupkins supposed she was; and so forth.

‘The idea!’ said Miss Nupkins, forcing a tear of very scanty proportions

into the corner of each eye; ‘the idea of my being made such a fool of!’

‘Ah! you may thank your papa, my dear,’ said Mrs. Nupkins; ‘how I have

implored and begged that man to inquire into the captain’s family

connections; how I have urged and entreated him to take some decisive

step! I am quite certain nobody would believe it--quite.’

‘But, my dear,’ said Mr. Nupkins.

‘Don’t talk to me, you aggravating thing, don’t!’ said Mrs. Nupkins.

‘My love,’ said Mr. Nupkins, ‘you professed yourself very fond of

Captain Fitz-Marshall. You have constantly asked him here, my dear, and

you have lost no opportunity of introducing him elsewhere.’

‘Didn’t I say so, Henrietta?’ cried Mrs. Nupkins, appealing to her

daughter with the air of a much-injured female. ‘Didn’t I say that your

papa would turn round and lay all this at my door? Didn’t I say so?’

Here Mrs. Nupkins sobbed.

‘Oh, pa!’ remonstrated Miss Nupkins. And here she sobbed too.

‘Isn’t it too much, when he has brought all this disgrace and ridicule

upon us, to taunt me with being the cause of it?’ exclaimed Mrs.

Nupkins.

‘How can we ever show ourselves in society!’ said Miss Nupkins.

‘How can we face the Porkenhams?’ cried Mrs. Nupkins.

‘Or the Griggs!’ cried Miss Nupkins.

‘Or the Slummintowkens!’ cried Mrs. Nupkins. ‘But what does your papa

care! What is it to _him_!’ At this dreadful reflection, Mrs. Nupkins

wept mental anguish, and Miss Nupkins followed on the same side.

Mrs. Nupkins’s tears continued to gush forth, with great velocity, until

she had gained a little time to think the matter over; when she decided,

in her own mind, that the best thing to do would be to ask Mr. Pickwick

and his friends to remain until the captain’s arrival, and then to give

Mr. Pickwick the opportunity he sought. If it appeared that he had

spoken truly, the captain could be turned out of the house without

noising the matter abroad, and they could easily account to the

Porkenhams for his disappearance, by saying that he had been appointed,

through the Court influence of his family, to the governor-generalship

of Sierra Leone, of Saugur Point, or any other of those salubrious

climates which enchant Europeans so much, that when they once get there,

they can hardly ever prevail upon themselves to come back again.

When Mrs. Nupkins dried up her tears, Miss Nupkins dried up hers, and

Mr. Nupkins was very glad to settle the matter as Mrs. Nupkins had

proposed. So Mr. Pickwick and his friends, having washed off all marks

of their late encounter, were introduced to the ladies, and soon

afterwards to their dinner; and Mr. Weller, whom the magistrate, with

his peculiar sagacity, had discovered in half an hour to be one of the

finest fellows alive, was consigned to the care and guardianship of Mr.

Muzzle, who was specially enjoined to take him below, and make much of

him.

‘How de do, sir?’ said Mr. Muzzle, as he conducted Mr. Weller down the

kitchen stairs.

‘Why, no considerable change has taken place in the state of my system,

since I see you cocked up behind your governor’s chair in the parlour, a

little vile ago,’ replied Sam.

‘You will excuse my not taking more notice of you then,’ said Mr.

Muzzle. ‘You see, master hadn’t introduced us, then. Lord, how fond he

is of you, Mr. Weller, to be sure!’

‘Ah!’ said Sam, ‘what a pleasant chap he is!’

‘Ain’t he?’ replied Mr. Muzzle.

‘So much humour,’ said Sam.

‘And such a man to speak,’ said Mr. Muzzle. ‘How his ideas flow, don’t

they?’

‘Wonderful,’ replied Sam; ‘they comes a-pouring out, knocking each

other’s heads so fast, that they seems to stun one another; you hardly

know what he’s arter, do you?’

That’s the great merit of his style of speaking,’ rejoined Mr. Muzzle.

‘Take care of the last step, Mr. Weller. Would you like to wash your

hands, sir, before we join the ladies? Here’s a sink, with the water

laid on, Sir, and a clean jack towel behind the door.’

‘Ah! perhaps I may as well have a rinse,’ replied Mr. Weller, applying

plenty of yellow soap to the towel, and rubbing away till his face shone

again. ‘How many ladies are there?’

‘Only two in our kitchen,’ said Mr. Muzzle; ‘cook and ‘ouse-maid. We

keep a boy to do the dirty work, and a gal besides, but they dine in the

wash’us.’

‘Oh, they dines in the wash’us, do they?’ said Mr. Weller.

‘Yes,’ replied Mr. Muzzle, ‘we tried ‘em at our table when they first

come, but we couldn’t keep ‘em. The gal’s manners is dreadful vulgar;

and the boy breathes so very hard while he’s eating, that we found it

impossible to sit at table with him.’

‘Young grampus!’ said Mr. Weller.

‘Oh, dreadful,’ rejoined Mr. Muzzle; ‘but that is the worst of country

service, Mr. Weller; the juniors is always so very savage. This way,

sir, if you please, this way.’

Preceding Mr. Weller, with the utmost politeness, Mr. Muzzle conducted

him into the kitchen.

‘Mary,’ said Mr. Muzzle to the pretty servant-girl, ‘this is Mr. Weller;

a gentleman as master has sent down, to be made as comfortable as

possible.’

‘And your master’s a knowin’ hand, and has just sent me to the right

place,’ said Mr. Weller, with a glance of admiration at Mary. ‘If I wos

master o’ this here house, I should alvays find the materials for

comfort vere Mary wos.’

Lor, Mr. Weller!’ said Mary blushing.

‘Well, I never!’ ejaculated the cook.

‘Bless me, cook, I forgot you,’ said Mr. Muzzle. ‘Mr. Weller, let me

introduce you.’

‘How are you, ma’am?’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Wery glad to see you, indeed,

and hope our acquaintance may be a long ‘un, as the gen’l’m’n said to

the fi’ pun’ note.’

When this ceremony of introduction had been gone through, the cook and

Mary retired into the back kitchen to titter, for ten minutes; then

returning, all giggles and blushes, they sat down to dinner.

Mr. Weller’s easy manners and conversational powers had such

irresistible influence with his new friends, that before the dinner was

half over, they were on a footing of perfect intimacy, and in possession

of a full account of the delinquency of Job Trotter.

‘I never could a-bear that Job,’ said Mary.

‘No more you never ought to, my dear,’ replied Mr. Weller.

‘Why not?’ inquired Mary.

‘’Cos ugliness and svindlin’ never ought to be formiliar with elegance

and wirtew,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘Ought they, Mr. Muzzle?’

‘Not by no means,’ replied that gentleman.

Here Mary laughed, and said the cook had made her; and the cook laughed,

and said she hadn’t.

‘I ha’n’t got a glass,’ said Mary.

‘Drink with me, my dear,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Put your lips to this here

tumbler, and then I can kiss you by deputy.’

‘For shame, Mr. Weller!’ said Mary.

‘What’s a shame, my dear?’

‘Talkin’ in that way.’

‘Nonsense; it ain’t no harm. It’s natur; ain’t it, cook?’

‘Don’t ask me, imperence,’ replied the cook, in a high state of delight;

and hereupon the cook and Mary laughed again, till what between the

beer, and the cold meat, and the laughter combined, the latter young

lady was brought to the verge of choking--an alarming crisis from which

she was only recovered by sundry pats on the back, and other necessary

attentions, most delicately administered by Mr. Samuel Weller.

In the midst of all this jollity and conviviality, a loud ring was heard

at the garden gate, to which the young gentleman who took his meals in

the wash-house, immediately responded. Mr. Weller was in the height of

his attentions to the pretty house-maid; Mr. Muzzle was busy doing the

honours of the table; and the cook had just paused to laugh, in the very

act of raising a huge morsel to her lips; when the kitchen door opened,

and in walked Mr. Job Trotter.

We have said in walked Mr. Job Trotter, but the statement is not

distinguished by our usual scrupulous adherence to fact. The door opened

and Mr. Trotter appeared. He would have walked in, and was in the very

act of doing so, indeed, when catching sight of Mr. Weller, he

involuntarily shrank back a pace or two, and stood gazing on the

unexpected scene before him, perfectly motionless with amazement and

terror.

‘Here he is!’ said Sam, rising with great glee. ‘Why we were that wery

moment a-speaking o’ you. How are you? Where have you been? Come in.’

Laying his hand on the mulberry collar of the unresisting Job, Mr.

Weller dragged him into the kitchen; and, locking the door, handed the

key to Mr. Muzzle, who very coolly buttoned it up in a side pocket.

‘Well, here’s a game!’ cried Sam. ‘Only think o’ my master havin’ the

pleasure o’ meeting yourn upstairs, and me havin’ the joy o’ meetin’ you

down here. How are you gettin’ on, and how is the chandlery bis’ness

likely to do? Well, I am so glad to see you. How happy you look. It’s

quite a treat to see you; ain’t it, Mr. Muzzle?’

‘Quite,’ said Mr. Muzzle.

‘So cheerful he is!’ said Sam.

‘In such good spirits!’ said Muzzle.

‘And so glad to see us--that makes it so much more comfortable,’ said

Sam. ‘Sit down; sit down.’

Mr. Trotter suffered himself to be forced into a chair by the fireside.

He cast his small eyes, first on Mr. Weller, and then on Mr. Muzzle, but

said nothing.

‘Well, now,’ said Sam, ‘afore these here ladies, I should jest like to

ask you, as a sort of curiosity, whether you don’t consider yourself as

nice and well-behaved a young gen’l’m’n, as ever used a pink check

pocket-handkerchief, and the number four collection?’

‘And as was ever a-going to be married to a cook,’ said that lady

indignantly. ‘The willin!’

‘And leave off his evil ways, and set up in the chandlery line

arterwards,’ said the housemaid.

‘Now, I’ll tell you what it is, young man,’ said Mr. Muzzle solemnly,

enraged at the last two allusions, ‘this here lady (pointing to the

cook) keeps company with me; and when you presume, Sir, to talk of

keeping chandlers’ shops with her, you injure me in one of the most

delicatest points in which one man can injure another. Do you understand

that, Sir?’

Here Mr. Muzzle, who had a great notion of his eloquence, in which he

imitated his master, paused for a reply.

But Mr. Trotter made no reply. So Mr. Muzzle proceeded in a solemn

manner--

‘It’s very probable, sir, that you won’t be wanted upstairs for several

minutes, Sir, because _my_ master is at this moment particularly engaged

in settling the hash of _your _master, Sir; and therefore you’ll have

leisure, Sir, for a little private talk with me, Sir. Do you understand

that, Sir?’

Mr. Muzzle again paused for a reply; and again Mr. Trotter disappointed

him.

‘Well, then,’ said Mr. Muzzle, ‘I’m very sorry to have to explain myself

before ladies, but the urgency of the case will be my excuse. The back

kitchen’s empty, Sir. If you will step in there, Sir, Mr. Weller will

see fair, and we can have mutual satisfaction till the bell rings.

Follow me, Sir!’

As Mr. Muzzle uttered these words, he took a step or two towards the

door; and, by way of saving time, began to pull off his coat as he

walked along.

Now, the cook no sooner heard the concluding words of this desperate

challenge, and saw Mr. Muzzle about to put it into execution, than she

uttered a loud and piercing shriek; and rushing on Mr. Job Trotter, who

rose from his chair on the instant, tore and buffeted his large flat

face, with an energy peculiar to excited females, and twining her hands

in his long black hair, tore therefrom about enough to make five or six

dozen of the very largest-sized mourning-rings. Having accomplished this

feat with all the ardour which her devoted love for Mr. Muzzle inspired,

she staggered back; and being a lady of very excitable and delicate

feelings, she instantly fell under the dresser, and fainted away.

At this moment, the bell rang.

‘That’s for you, Job Trotter,’ said Sam; and before Mr. Trotter could

offer remonstrance or reply--even before he had time to stanch the

wounds inflicted by the insensible lady--Sam seized one arm and Mr.

Muzzle the other, and one pulling before, and the other pushing behind,

they conveyed him upstairs, and into the parlour.

It was an impressive tableau. Alfred Jingle, Esquire, alias Captain

Fitz-Marshall, was standing near the door with his hat in his hand, and

a smile on his face, wholly unmoved by his very unpleasant situation.

Confronting him, stood Mr. Pickwick, who had evidently been inculcating

some high moral lesson; for his left hand was beneath his coat tail, and

his right extended in air, as was his wont when delivering himself of an

impressive address. At a little distance, stood Mr. Tupman with

indignant countenance, carefully held back by his two younger friends;

at the farther end of the room were Mr. Nupkins, Mrs. Nupkins, and Miss

Nupkins, gloomily grand and savagely vexed.

‘What prevents me,’ said Mr. Nupkins, with magisterial dignity, as Job

was brought in--‘what prevents me from detaining these men as rogues and

impostors? It is a foolish mercy. What prevents me?’

‘Pride, old fellow, pride,’ replied Jingle, quite at his ease. ‘Wouldn’t

do--no go--caught a captain, eh?--ha! ha! very good--husband for

daughter--biter bit--make it public--not for worlds--look stupid--very!’

‘Wretch,’ said Mr. Nupkins, ‘we scorn your base insinuations.’

‘I always hated him,’ added Henrietta.

‘Oh, of course,’ said Jingle. ‘Tall young man--old lover--Sidney

Porkenham--rich--fine fellow--not so rich as captain, though, eh?--turn

him away--off with him--anything for captain--nothing like captain

anywhere--all the girls--raving mad--eh, Job, eh?’

Here Mr. Jingle laughed very heartily; and Job, rubbing his hands with

delight, uttered the first sound he had given vent to since he entered

the house--a low, noiseless chuckle, which seemed to intimate that he

enjoyed his laugh too much, to let any of it escape in sound.

‘Mr. Nupkins,’ said the elder lady,’ this is not a fit conversation for

the servants to overhear. Let these wretches be removed.’

‘Certainly, my dear,’ Said Mr. Nupkins. ‘Muzzle!’

‘Your Worship.’

‘Open the front door.’

‘Yes, your Worship.’

‘Leave the house!’ said Mr. Nupkins, waving his hand emphatically.

Jingle smiled, and moved towards the door.

‘Stay!’ said Mr. Pickwick. Jingle stopped.

‘I might,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘have taken a much greater revenge for the

treatment I have experienced at your hands, and that of your

hypocritical friend there.’

Job Trotter bowed with great politeness, and laid his hand upon his

heart.

‘I say,’ said Mr. Pickwick, growing gradually angry, ‘that I might have

taken a greater revenge, but I content myself with exposing you, which I

consider a duty I owe to society. This is a leniency, Sir, which I hope

you will remember.’

When Mr. Pickwick arrived at this point, Job Trotter, with facetious

gravity, applied his hand to his ear, as if desirous not to lose a

syllable he uttered.

‘And I have only to add, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, now thoroughly angry,

‘that I consider you a rascal, and a--a--ruffian--and--and worse than

any man I ever saw, or heard of, except that pious and sanctified

vagabond in the mulberry livery.’

‘Ha! ha!’ said Jingle, ‘good fellow, Pickwick--fine heart--stout old

boy--but must _not _be passionate--bad thing, very--bye, bye--see you

again some day--keep up your spirits--now, Job--trot!’

With these words, Mr. Jingle stuck on his hat in his old fashion, and

strode out of the room. Job Trotter paused, looked round, smiled and

then with a bow of mock solemnity to Mr. Pickwick, and a wink to Mr.

Weller, the audacious slyness of which baffles all description, followed

the footsteps of his hopeful master.

‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as Mr. Weller was following.

‘Sir.’

Stay here.’

Mr. Weller seemed uncertain.

‘Stay here,’ repeated Mr. Pickwick.

‘Mayn’t I polish that ‘ere Job off, in the front garden?’ said Mr.

Weller.

‘Certainly not,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.

‘Mayn’t I kick him out o’ the gate, Sir?’ said Mr. Weller.

‘Not on any account,’ replied his master.

For the first time since his engagement, Mr. Weller looked, for a

moment, discontented and unhappy. But his countenance immediately

cleared up; for the wily Mr. Muzzle, by concealing himself behind the

street door, and rushing violently out, at the right instant, contrived

with great dexterity to overturn both Mr. Jingle and his attendant, down

the flight of steps, into the American aloe tubs that stood beneath.

‘Having discharged my duty, Sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick to Mr. Nupkins, ‘I

will, with my friends, bid you farewell. While we thank you for such

hospitality as we have received, permit me to assure you, in our joint

names, that we should not have accepted it, or have consented to

extricate ourselves in this way, from our previous dilemma, had we not

been impelled by a strong sense of duty. We return to London to-morrow.

Your secret is safe with us.’

Having thus entered his protest against their treatment of the morning,

Mr. Pickwick bowed low to the ladies, and notwithstanding the

solicitations of the family, left the room with his friends.

‘Get your hat, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘It’s below stairs, Sir,’ said Sam, and he ran down after it.

Now, there was nobody in the kitchen, but the pretty housemaid; and as

Sam’s hat was mislaid, he had to look for it, and the pretty housemaid

lighted him. They had to look all over the place for the hat. The pretty

housemaid, in her anxiety to find it, went down on her knees, and turned

over all the things that were heaped together in a little corner by the

door. It was an awkward corner. You couldn’t get at it without shutting

the door first.

‘Here it is,’ said the pretty housemaid. ‘This is it, ain’t it?’

‘Let me look,’ said Sam.

The pretty housemaid had stood the candle on the floor; and, as it gave

a very dim light, Sam was obliged to go down on _his _knees before he

could see whether it really was his own hat or not. It was a remarkably

small corner, and so--it was nobody’s fault but the man’s who built the

house--Sam and the pretty housemaid were necessarily very close

together.

‘Yes, this is it,’ said Sam. ‘Good-bye!’

‘Good-bye!’ said the pretty housemaid.

‘Good-bye!’ said Sam; and as he said it, he dropped the hat that had

cost so much trouble in looking for.

‘How awkward you are,’ said the pretty housemaid. ‘You’ll lose it again,

if you don’t take care.’

So just to prevent his losing it again, she put it on for him.

Whether it was that the pretty housemaid’s face looked prettier still,

when it was raised towards Sam’s, or whether it was the accidental

consequence of their being so near to each other, is matter of

uncertainty to this day; but Sam kissed her.

‘You don’t mean to say you did that on purpose,’ said the pretty

housemaid, blushing.

‘No, I didn’t then,’ said Sam; ‘but I will now.’

So he kissed her again.

‘Sam!’ said Mr. Pickwick, calling over the banisters.

‘Coming, Sir,’ replied Sam, running upstairs.

‘How long you have been!’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘There was something behind the door, Sir, which perwented our getting

it open, for ever so long, Sir,’ replied Sam.

And this was the first passage of Mr. Weller’s first love.

CHAPTER XXVI. WHICH CONTAINS A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF THE PROGRESS OF THE

ACTION OF BARDELL AGAINST PICKWICK

Having accomplished the main end and object of his journey, by the

exposure of Jingle, Mr. Pickwick resolved on immediately returning to

London, with the view of becoming acquainted with the proceedings which

had been taken against him, in the meantime, by Messrs. Dodson and Fogg.

Acting upon this resolution with all the energy and decision of his

character, he mounted to the back seat of the first coach which left

Ipswich on the morning after the memorable occurrences detailed at

length in the two preceding chapters; and accompanied by his three

friends, and Mr. Samuel Weller, arrived in the metropolis, in perfect

health and safety, the same evening.

Here the friends, for a short time, separated. Messrs. Tupman, Winkle,

and Snodgrass repaired to their several homes to make such preparations

as might be requisite for their forthcoming visit to Dingley Dell; and

Mr. Pickwick and Sam took up their present abode in very good, old-

fashioned, and comfortable quarters, to wit, the George and Vulture

Tavern and Hotel, George Yard, Lombard Street.

Mr. Pickwick had dined, finished his second pint of particular port,

pulled his silk handkerchief over his head, put his feet on the fender,

and thrown himself back in an easy-chair, when the entrance of Mr.

Weller with his carpet-bag, aroused him from his tranquil meditation.

‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘Sir,’ said Mr. Weller.

‘I have just been thinking, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that having left a

good many things at Mrs. Bardell’s, in Goswell Street, I ought to

arrange for taking them away, before I leave town again.’

‘Wery good, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.

‘I could send them to Mr. Tupman’s, for the present, Sam,’ continued Mr.

Pickwick, ‘but before we take them away, it is necessary that they

should be looked up, and put together. I wish you would step up to

Goswell Street, Sam, and arrange about it.’

‘At once, Sir?’ inquired Mr. Weller.

‘At once,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘And stay, Sam,’ added Mr. Pickwick,

pulling out his purse, ‘there is some rent to pay. The quarter is not

due till Christmas, but you may pay it, and have done with it. A month’s

notice terminates my tenancy. Here it is, written out. Give it, and tell

Mrs. Bardell she may put a bill up, as soon as she likes.’

‘Wery good, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘anythin’ more, sir?’

‘Nothing more, Sam.’

Mr. Weller stepped slowly to the door, as if he expected something more;

slowly opened it, slowly stepped out, and had slowly closed it within a

couple of inches, when Mr. Pickwick called out--

‘Sam.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, stepping quickly back, and closing the door

behind him.

‘I have no objection, Sam, to your endeavouring to ascertain how Mrs.

Bardell herself seems disposed towards me, and whether it is really

probable that this vile and groundless action is to be carried to

extremity. I say I do not object to you doing this, if you wish it,

Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

Sam gave a short nod of intelligence, and left the room. Mr. Pickwick

drew the silk handkerchief once more over his head, And composed himself

for a nap. Mr. Weller promptly walked forth, to execute his commission.

It was nearly nine o’clock when he reached Goswell Street. A couple of

candles were burning in the little front parlour, and a couple of caps

were reflected on the window-blind. Mrs. Bardell had got company.

Mr. Weller knocked at the door, and after a pretty long interval--

occupied by the party without, in whistling a tune, and by the party

within, in persuading a refractory flat candle to allow itself to be

lighted--a pair of small boots pattered over the floor-cloth, and Master

Bardell presented himself.

‘Well, young townskip,’ said Sam, ‘how’s mother?’

‘She’s pretty well,’ replied Master Bardell, ‘so am I.’

‘Well, that’s a mercy,’ said Sam; ‘tell her I want to speak to her, will

you, my hinfant fernomenon?’

Master Bardell, thus adjured, placed the refractory flat candle on the

bottom stair, and vanished into the front parlour with his message.

The two caps, reflected on the window-blind, were the respective head-

dresses of a couple of Mrs. Bardell’s most particular acquaintance, who

had just stepped in, to have a quiet cup of tea, and a little warm

supper of a couple of sets of pettitoes and some toasted cheese. The

cheese was simmering and browning away, most delightfully, in a little

Dutch oven before the fire; the pettitoes were getting on deliciously in

a little tin saucepan on the hob; and Mrs. Bardell and her two friends

were getting on very well, also, in a little quiet conversation about

and concerning all their particular friends and acquaintance; when

Master Bardell came back from answering the door, and delivered the

message intrusted to him by Mr. Samuel Weller.

‘Mr. Pickwick’s servant!’ said Mrs. Bardell, turning pale.

‘Bless my soul!’ said Mrs. Cluppins.

‘Well, I raly would not ha’ believed it, unless I had ha’ happened to

ha’ been here!’ said Mrs. Sanders.

Mrs. Cluppins was a little, brisk, busy-looking woman; Mrs. Sanders was

a big, fat, heavy-faced personage; and the two were the company.

Mrs. Bardell felt it proper to be agitated; and as none of the three

exactly knew whether under existing circumstances, any communication,

otherwise than through Dodson & Fogg, ought to be held with Mr.

Pickwick’s servant, they were all rather taken by surprise. In this

state of indecision, obviously the first thing to be done, was to thump

the boy for finding Mr. Weller at the door. So his mother thumped him,

and he cried melodiously.

‘Hold your noise--do--you naughty creetur!’ said Mrs. Bardell.

‘Yes; don’t worrit your poor mother,’ said Mrs. Sanders.

‘She’s quite enough to worrit her, as it is, without you, Tommy,’ said

Mrs. Cluppins, with sympathising resignation.

‘Ah! worse luck, poor lamb!’ said Mrs. Sanders.

At all which moral reflections, Master Bardell howled the louder.

‘Now, what shall I do?’ said Mrs. Bardell to Mrs. Cluppins.

‘I think you ought to see him,’ replied Mrs. Cluppins. ‘But on no

account without a witness.’

‘I think two witnesses would be more lawful,’ said Mrs. Sanders, who,

like the other friend, was bursting with curiosity.

‘Perhaps he’d better come in here,’ said Mrs. Bardell.

‘To be sure,’ replied Mrs. Cluppins, eagerly catching at the idea; ‘walk

in, young man; and shut the street door first, please.’

Mr. Weller immediately took the hint; and presenting himself in the

parlour, explained his business to Mrs. Bardell thus--

‘Wery sorry to ‘casion any personal inconwenience, ma’am, as the

housebreaker said to the old lady when he put her on the fire; but as me

and my governor ‘s only jest come to town, and is jest going away agin,

it can’t be helped, you see.’

‘Of course, the young man can’t help the faults of his master,’ said

Mrs. Cluppins, much struck by Mr. Weller’s appearance and conversation.

‘Certainly not,’ chimed in Mrs. Sanders, who, from certain wistful

glances at the little tin saucepan, seemed to be engaged in a mental

calculation of the probable extent of the pettitoes, in the event of

Sam’s being asked to stop to supper.

‘So all I’ve come about, is jest this here,’ said Sam, disregarding the

interruption; ‘first, to give my governor’s notice--there it is.

Secondly, to pay the rent--here it is. Thirdly, to say as all his things

is to be put together, and give to anybody as we sends for ‘em.

Fourthly, that you may let the place as soon as you like--and that’s

all.’

‘Whatever has happened,’ said Mrs. Bardell, ‘I always have said, and

always will say, that in every respect but one, Mr. Pickwick has always

behaved himself like a perfect gentleman. His money always as good as

the bank--always.’

As Mrs. Bardell said this, she applied her handkerchief to her eyes, and

went out of the room to get the receipt.

Sam well knew that he had only to remain quiet, and the women were sure

to talk; so he looked alternately at the tin saucepan, the toasted

cheese, the wall, and the ceiling, in profound silence.

‘Poor dear!’ said Mrs. Cluppins.

‘Ah, poor thing!’ replied Mrs. Sanders.

Sam said nothing. He saw they were coming to the subject.

‘I raly cannot contain myself,’ said Mrs. Cluppins, ‘when I think of

such perjury. I don’t wish to say anything to make you uncomfortable,

young man, but your master’s an old brute, and I wish I had him here to

tell him so.’

I wish you had,’ said Sam.

‘To see how dreadful she takes on, going moping about, and taking no

pleasure in nothing, except when her friends comes in, out of charity,

to sit with her, and make her comfortable,’ resumed Mrs. Cluppins,

glancing at the tin saucepan and the Dutch oven, ‘it’s shocking!’

‘Barbareous,’ said Mrs. Sanders.

‘And your master, young man! A gentleman with money, as could never feel

the expense of a wife, no more than nothing,’ continued Mrs. Cluppins,

with great volubility; ‘why there ain’t the faintest shade of an excuse

for his behaviour! Why don’t he marry her?’

‘Ah,’ said Sam, ‘to be sure; that’s the question.’

‘Question, indeed,’ retorted Mrs. Cluppins, ‘she’d question him, if

she’d my spirit. Hows’ever, there is law for us women, mis’rable

creeturs as they’d make us, if they could; and that your master will

find out, young man, to his cost, afore he’s six months older.’

At this consolatory reflection, Mrs. Cluppins bridled up, and smiled at

Mrs. Sanders, who smiled back again.

‘The action’s going on, and no mistake,’ thought Sam, as Mrs. Bardell

re-entered with the receipt.

‘Here’s the receipt, Mr. Weller,’ said Mrs. Bardell, ‘and here’s the

change, and I hope you’ll take a little drop of something to keep the

cold out, if it’s only for old acquaintance’ sake, Mr. Weller.’

Sam saw the advantage he should gain, and at once acquiesced; whereupon

Mrs. Bardell produced, from a small closet, a black bottle and a wine-

glass; and so great was her abstraction, in her deep mental affliction,

that, after filling Mr. Weller’s glass, she brought out three more wine-

glasses, and filled them too.

‘Lauk, Mrs. Bardell,’ said Mrs. Cluppins, ‘see what you’ve been and

done!’

‘Well, that is a good one!’ ejaculated Mrs. Sanders.

‘Ah, my poor head!’ said Mrs. Bardell, with a faint smile.

Sam understood all this, of course, so he said at once, that he never

could drink before supper, unless a lady drank with him. A great deal of

laughter ensued, and Mrs. Sanders volunteered to humour him, so she took

a slight sip out of her glass. Then Sam said it must go all round, so

they all took a slight sip. Then little Mrs. Cluppins proposed as a

toast, ‘Success to Bardell agin Pickwick’; and then the ladies emptied

their glasses in honour of the sentiment, and got very talkative

directly.

‘I suppose you’ve heard what’s going forward, Mr. Weller?’ said Mrs.

Bardell.

‘I’ve heerd somethin’ on it,’ replied Sam.

‘It’s a terrible thing to be dragged before the public, in that way, Mr.

Weller,’ said Mrs. Bardell; ‘but I see now, that it’s the only thing I

ought to do, and my lawyers, Mr. Dodson and Fogg, tell me that, with the

evidence as we shall call, we must succeed. I don’t know what I should

do, Mr. Weller, if I didn’t.’

The mere idea of Mrs. Bardell’s failing in her action, affected Mrs.

Sanders so deeply, that she was under the necessity of refilling and re-

emptying her glass immediately; feeling, as she said afterwards, that if

she hadn’t had the presence of mind to do so, she must have dropped.

‘Ven is it expected to come on?’ inquired Sam.

‘Either in February or March,’ replied Mrs. Bardell.

‘What a number of witnesses there’ll be, won’t there?’ said Mrs.

Cluppins.

‘Ah! won’t there!’ replied Mrs. Sanders.

‘And won’t Mr. Dodson and Fogg be wild if the plaintiff shouldn’t get

it?’ added Mrs. Cluppins, ‘when they do it all on speculation!’

‘Ah! won’t they!’ said Mrs. Sanders.

‘But the plaintiff must get it,’ resumed Mrs. Cluppins.

‘I hope so,’ said Mrs. Bardell.

‘Oh, there can’t be any doubt about it,’ rejoined Mrs. Sanders.

‘Vell,’ said Sam, rising and setting down his glass, ‘all I can say is,

that I vish you _may _get it.’

‘Thank’ee, Mr. Weller,’ said Mrs. Bardell fervently.

‘And of them Dodson and Foggs, as does these sort o’ things on spec,’

continued Mr. Weller, ‘as vell as for the other kind and gen’rous people

o’ the same purfession, as sets people by the ears, free gratis for

nothin’, and sets their clerks to work to find out little disputes among

their neighbours and acquaintances as vants settlin’ by means of

lawsuits--all I can say o’ them is, that I vish they had the reward I’d

give ‘em.’

‘Ah, I wish they had the reward that every kind and generous heart would

be inclined to bestow upon them!’ said the gratified Mrs. Bardell.

‘Amen to that,’ replied Sam, ‘and a fat and happy liven’ they’d get out

of it! Wish you good-night, ladies.’

To the great relief of Mrs. Sanders, Sam was allowed to depart without

any reference, on the part of the hostess, to the pettitoes and toasted

cheese; to which the ladies, with such juvenile assistance as Master

Bardell could afford, soon afterwards rendered the amplest justice--

indeed they wholly vanished before their strenuous exertions.

Mr. Weller wended his way back to the George and Vulture, and faithfully

recounted to his master, such indications of the sharp practice of

Dodson & Fogg, as he had contrived to pick up in his visit to Mrs.

Bardell’s. An interview with Mr. Perker, next day, more than confirmed

Mr. Weller’s statement; and Mr. Pickwick was fain to prepare for his

Christmas visit to Dingley Dell, with the pleasant anticipation that

some two or three months afterwards, an action brought against him for

damages sustained by reason of a breach of promise of marriage, would be

publicly tried in the Court of Common Pleas; the plaintiff having all

the advantages derivable, not only from the force of circumstances, but

from the sharp practice of Dodson & Fogg to boot.

CHAPTER XXVII. SAMUEL WELLER MAKES A PILGRIMAGE TO DORKING, AND BEHOLDS

HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW

There still remaining an interval of two days before the time agreed

upon for the departure of the Pickwickians to Dingley Dell, Mr. Weller

sat himself down in a back room at the George and Vulture, after eating

an early dinner, to muse on the best way of disposing of his time. It

was a remarkably fine day; and he had not turned the matter over in his

mind ten minutes, when he was suddenly stricken filial and affectionate;

and it occurred to him so strongly that he ought to go down and see his

father, and pay his duty to his mother-in-law, that he was lost in

astonishment at his own remissness in never thinking of this moral

obligation before. Anxious to atone for his past neglect without another

hour’s delay, he straightway walked upstairs to Mr. Pickwick, and

requested leave of absence for this laudable purpose.

‘Certainly, Sam, certainly,’ said Mr. Pickwick, his eyes glistening with

delight at this manifestation of filial feeling on the part of his

attendant; ‘certainly, Sam.’

Mr. Weller made a grateful bow.

‘I am very glad to see that you have so high a sense of your duties as a

son, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘I always had, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.

‘That’s a very gratifying reflection, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick

approvingly.

‘Wery, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘if ever I wanted anythin’ o’ my

father, I always asked for it in a wery ‘spectful and obligin’ manner.

If he didn’t give it me, I took it, for fear I should be led to do

anythin’ wrong, through not havin’ it. I saved him a world o’ trouble

this vay, Sir.’

‘That’s not precisely what I meant, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, shaking his

head, with a slight smile.

‘All good feelin’, sir--the wery best intentions, as the gen’l’m’n said

ven he run away from his wife ‘cos she seemed unhappy with him,’ replied

Mr. Weller.

‘You may go, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘Thank’ee, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; and having made his best bow, and

put on his best clothes, Sam planted himself on the top of the Arundel

coach, and journeyed on to Dorking.

The Marquis of Granby, in Mrs. Weller’s time, was quite a model of a

roadside public-house of the better class--just large enough to be

convenient, and small enough to be snug. On the opposite side of the

road was a large sign-board on a high post, representing the head and

shoulders of a gentleman with an apoplectic countenance, in a red coat

with deep blue facings, and a touch of the same blue over his three-

cornered hat, for a sky. Over that again were a pair of flags; beneath

the last button of his coat were a couple of cannon; and the whole

formed an expressive and undoubted likeness of the Marquis of Granby of

glorious memory. The bar window displayed a choice collection of

geranium plants, and a well-dusted row of spirit phials. The open

shutters bore a variety of golden inscriptions, eulogistic of good beds

and neat wines; and the choice group of countrymen and hostlers lounging

about the stable door and horse-trough, afforded presumptive proof of

the excellent quality of the ale and spirits which were sold within. Sam

Weller paused, when he dismounted from the coach, to note all these

little indications of a thriving business, with the eye of an

experienced traveller; and having done so, stepped in at once, highly

satisfied with everything he had observed.

‘Now, then!’ said a shrill female voice the instant Sam thrust his head

in at the door, ‘what do you want, young man?’

Sam looked round in the direction whence the voice proceeded. It came

from a rather stout lady of comfortable appearance, who was seated

beside the fireplace in the bar, blowing the fire to make the kettle

boil for tea. She was not alone; for on the other side of the fireplace,

sitting bolt upright in a high-backed chair, was a man in threadbare

black clothes, with a back almost as long and stiff as that of the chair

itself, who caught Sam’s most particular and especial attention at once.

He was a prim-faced, red-nosed man, with a long, thin countenance, and a

semi-rattlesnake sort of eye--rather sharp, but decidedly bad. He wore

very short trousers, and black cotton stockings, which, like the rest of

his apparel, were particularly rusty. His looks were starched, but his

white neckerchief was not, and its long limp ends straggled over his

closely-buttoned waistcoat in a very uncouth and unpicturesque fashion.

A pair of old, worn, beaver gloves, a broad-brimmed hat, and a faded

green umbrella, with plenty of whalebone sticking through the bottom, as

if to counterbalance the want of a handle at the top, lay on a chair

beside him; and, being disposed in a very tidy and careful manner,

seemed to imply that the red-nosed man, whoever he was, had no intention

of going away in a hurry.

To do the red-nosed man justice, he would have been very far from wise

if he had entertained any such intention; for, to judge from all

appearances, he must have been possessed of a most desirable circle of

acquaintance, if he could have reasonably expected to be more

comfortable anywhere else. The fire was blazing brightly under the

influence of the bellows, and the kettle was singing gaily under the

influence of both. A small tray of tea-things was arranged on the table;

a plate of hot buttered toast was gently simmering before the fire; and

the red-nosed man himself was busily engaged in converting a large slice

of bread into the same agreeable edible, through the instrumentality of

a long brass toasting-fork. Beside him stood a glass of reeking hot

pine-apple rum-and-water, with a slice of lemon in it; and every time

the red-nosed man stopped to bring the round of toast to his eye, with

the view of ascertaining how it got on, he imbibed a drop or two of the

hot pine-apple rum-and-water, and smiled upon the rather stout lady, as

she blew the fire.

Sam was so lost in the contemplation of this comfortable scene, that he

suffered the first inquiry of the rather stout lady to pass unheeded. It

was not until it had been twice repeated, each time in a shriller tone,

that he became conscious of the impropriety of his behaviour.

‘Governor in?’ inquired Sam, in reply to the question.

‘No, he isn’t,’ replied Mrs. Weller; for the rather stout lady was no

other than the quondam relict and sole executrix of the dead-and-gone

Mr. Clarke; ‘no, he isn’t, and I don’t expect him, either.’

‘I suppose he’s drivin’ up to-day?’ said Sam.

‘He may be, or he may not,’ replied Mrs. Weller, buttering the round of

toast which the red-nosed man had just finished. ‘I don’t know, and,

what’s more, I don’t care.--Ask a blessin’, Mr. Stiggins.’

The red-nosed man did as he was desired, and instantly commenced on the

toast with fierce voracity.

The appearance of the red-nosed man had induced Sam, at first sight, to

more than half suspect that he was the deputy-shepherd of whom his

estimable parent had spoken. The moment he saw him eat, all doubt on the

subject was removed, and he perceived at once that if he purposed to

take up his temporary quarters where he was, he must make his footing

good without delay. He therefore commenced proceedings by putting his

arm over the half-door of the bar, coolly unbolting it, and leisurely

walking in.

‘Mother-in-law,’ said Sam, ‘how are you?’

‘Why, I do believe he is a Weller!’ said Mrs. W., raising her eyes to

Sam’s face, with no very gratified expression of countenance.

‘I rayther think he is,’ said the imperturbable Sam; ‘and I hope this

here reverend gen’l’m’n ‘ll excuse me saying that I wish I was _the

_Weller as owns you, mother-in-law.’

This was a double-barrelled compliment. It implied that Mrs. Weller was

a most agreeable female, and also that Mr. Stiggins had a clerical

appearance. It made a visible impression at once; and Sam followed up

his advantage by kissing his mother-in-law.

‘Get along with you!’ said Mrs. Weller, pushing him away.

‘For shame, young man!’ said the gentleman with the red nose.

‘No offence, sir, no offence,’ replied Sam; ‘you’re wery right, though;

it ain’t the right sort o’ thing, ven mothers-in-law is young and good-

looking, is it, Sir?’

‘It’s all vanity,’ said Mr. Stiggins.

‘Ah, so it is,’ said Mrs. Weller, setting her cap to rights.

Sam thought it was, too, but he held his peace.

The deputy-shepherd seemed by no means best pleased with Sam’s arrival;

and when the first effervescence of the compliment had subsided, even

Mrs. Weller looked as if she could have spared him without the smallest

inconvenience. However, there he was; and as he couldn’t be decently

turned out, they all three sat down to tea.

‘And how’s father?’ said Sam.

At this inquiry, Mrs. Weller raised her hands, and turned up her eyes,

as if the subject were too painful to be alluded to.

Mr. Stiggins groaned.

‘What’s the matter with that ‘ere gen’l’m’n?’ inquired Sam.

‘He’s shocked at the way your father goes on in,’ replied Mrs. Weller.

‘Oh, he is, is he?’ said Sam.

‘And with too good reason,’ added Mrs. Weller gravely.

Mr. Stiggins took up a fresh piece of toast, and groaned heavily.

‘He is a dreadful reprobate,’ said Mrs. Weller.

‘A man of wrath!’ exclaimed Mr. Stiggins. He took a large semi-circular

bite out of the toast, and groaned again.

Sam felt very strongly disposed to give the reverend Mr. Stiggins

something to groan for, but he repressed his inclination, and merely

asked, ‘What’s the old ‘un up to now?’

‘Up to, indeed!’ said Mrs. Weller, ‘Oh, he has a hard heart. Night after

night does this excellent man--don’t frown, Mr. Stiggins; I _will _say

you _are _an excellent man--come and sit here, for hours together, and

it has not the least effect upon him.’

Well, that is odd,’ said Sam; ‘it ‘ud have a wery considerable effect

upon me, if I wos in his place; I know that.’

‘The fact is, my young friend,’ said Mr. Stiggins solemnly, ‘he has an

obderrate bosom. Oh, my young friend, who else could have resisted the

pleading of sixteen of our fairest sisters, and withstood their

exhortations to subscribe to our noble society for providing the infant

negroes in the West Indies with flannel waistcoats and moral pocket-

handkerchiefs?’

‘What’s a moral pocket-ankercher?’ said Sam; ‘I never see one o’ them

articles o’ furniter.’

‘Those which combine amusement With instruction, my young friend,’

replied Mr. Stiggins, ‘blending select tales with wood-cuts.’

‘Oh, I know,’ said Sam; ‘them as hangs up in the linen-drapers’ shops,

with beggars’ petitions and all that ‘ere upon ‘em?’

Mr. Stiggins began a third round of toast, and nodded assent.

‘And he wouldn’t be persuaded by the ladies, wouldn’t he?’ said Sam.

‘Sat and smoked his pipe, and said the infant negroes were--what did he

say the infant negroes were?’ said Mrs. Weller.

‘Little humbugs,’ replied Mr. Stiggins, deeply affected.

‘Said the infant negroes were little humbugs,’ repeated Mrs. Weller. And

they both groaned at the atrocious conduct of the elder Mr. Weller.

A great many more iniquities of a similar nature might have been

disclosed, only the toast being all eaten, the tea having got very weak,

and Sam holding out no indications of meaning to go, Mr. Stiggins

suddenly recollected that he had a most pressing appointment with the

shepherd, and took himself off accordingly.

The tea-things had been scarcely put away, and the hearth swept up, when

the London coach deposited Mr. Weller, senior, at the door; his legs

deposited him in the bar; and his eyes showed him his son.

‘What, Sammy!’ exclaimed the father.

‘What, old Nobs!’ ejaculated the son. And they shook hands heartily.

‘Wery glad to see you, Sammy,’ said the elder Mr. Weller, ‘though how

you’ve managed to get over your mother-in-law, is a mystery to me. I

only vish you’d write me out the receipt, that’s all.’

‘Hush!’ said Sam, ‘she’s at home, old feller.’

She ain’t vithin hearin’,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘she always goes and

blows up, downstairs, for a couple of hours arter tea; so we’ll just

give ourselves a damp, Sammy.’

Saying this, Mr. Weller mixed two glasses of spirits-and-water, and

produced a couple of pipes. The father and son sitting down opposite

each other; Sam on one side of the fire, in the high-backed chair, and

Mr. Weller, senior, on the other, in an easy ditto, they proceeded to

enjoy themselves with all due gravity.

‘Anybody been here, Sammy?’ asked Mr. Weller, senior, dryly, after a

long silence.

Sam nodded an expressive assent.

‘Red-nosed chap?’ inquired Mr. Weller.

Sam nodded again.

‘Amiable man that ‘ere, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, smoking violently.

‘Seems so,’ observed Sam.

‘Good hand at accounts,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Is he?’ said Sam.

‘Borrows eighteenpence on Monday, and comes on Tuesday for a shillin’ to

make it up half-a-crown; calls again on Vensday for another half-crown

to make it five shillin’s; and goes on, doubling, till he gets it up to

a five pund note in no time, like them sums in the ‘rithmetic book ‘bout

the nails in the horse’s shoes, Sammy.’

Sam intimated by a nod that he recollected the problem alluded to by his

parent.

‘So you vouldn’t subscribe to the flannel veskits?’ said Sam, after

another interval of smoking.

‘Cert’nly not,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘what’s the good o’ flannel veskits

to the young niggers abroad? But I’ll tell you what it is, Sammy,’ said

Mr. Weller, lowering his voice, and bending across the fireplace; ‘I’d

come down wery handsome towards strait veskits for some people at home.’

As Mr. Weller said this, he slowly recovered his former position, and

winked at his first-born, in a profound manner.

‘It cert’nly seems a queer start to send out pocket-’ankerchers to

people as don’t know the use on ‘em,’ observed Sam.

‘They’re alvays a-doin’ some gammon of that sort, Sammy,’ replied his

father. ‘T’other Sunday I wos walkin’ up the road, wen who should I see,

a-standin’ at a chapel door, with a blue soup-plate in her hand, but

your mother-in-law! I werily believe there was change for a couple o’

suv’rins in it, then, Sammy, all in ha’pence; and as the people come

out, they rattled the pennies in it, till you’d ha’ thought that no

mortal plate as ever was baked, could ha’ stood the wear and tear. What

d’ye think it was all for?’

‘For another tea-drinkin’, perhaps,’ said Sam.

‘Not a bit on it,’ replied the father; ‘for the shepherd’s water-rate,

Sammy.’

‘The shepherd’s water-rate!’ said Sam.

‘Ay,’ replied Mr. Weller, ‘there was three quarters owin’, and the

shepherd hadn’t paid a farden, not he--perhaps it might be on account

that the water warn’t o’ much use to him, for it’s wery little o’ that

tap he drinks, Sammy, wery; he knows a trick worth a good half-dozen of

that, he does. Hows’ever, it warn’t paid, and so they cuts the water

off. Down goes the shepherd to chapel, gives out as he’s a persecuted

saint, and says he hopes the heart of the turncock as cut the water off,

‘ll be softened, and turned in the right vay, but he rayther thinks he’s

booked for somethin’ uncomfortable. Upon this, the women calls a

meetin’, sings a hymn, wotes your mother-in-law into the chair,

wolunteers a collection next Sunday, and hands it all over to the

shepherd. And if he ain’t got enough out on ‘em, Sammy, to make him free

of the water company for life,’ said Mr. Weller, in conclusion, ‘I’m one

Dutchman, and you’re another, and that’s all about it.’

Mr. Weller smoked for some minutes in silence, and then resumed--

‘The worst o’ these here shepherds is, my boy, that they reg’larly turns

the heads of all the young ladies, about here. Lord bless their little

hearts, they thinks it’s all right, and don’t know no better; but

they’re the wictims o’ gammon, Samivel, they’re the wictims o’ gammon.’

‘I s’pose they are,’ said Sam.

‘Nothin’ else,’ said Mr. Weller, shaking his head gravely; ‘and wot

aggrawates me, Samivel, is to see ‘em a-wastin’ all their time and

labour in making clothes for copper-coloured people as don’t want ‘em,

and taking no notice of flesh-coloured Christians as do. If I’d my vay,

Samivel, I’d just stick some o’ these here lazy shepherds behind a heavy

wheelbarrow, and run ‘em up and down a fourteen-inch-wide plank all day.

That ‘ud shake the nonsense out of ‘em, if anythin’ vould.’

Mr. Weller, having delivered this gentle recipe with strong emphasis,

eked out by a variety of nods and contortions of the eye, emptied his

glass at a draught, and knocked the ashes out of his pipe, with native

dignity.

He was engaged in this operation, when a shrill voice was heard in the

passage.

‘Here’s your dear relation, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller; and Mrs. W. hurried

into the room.

‘Oh, you’ve come back, have you!’ said Mrs. Weller.

‘Yes, my dear,’ replied Mr. Weller, filling a fresh pipe.

‘Has Mr. Stiggins been back?’ said Mrs. Weller.

‘No, my dear, he hasn’t,’ replied Mr. Weller, lighting the pipe by the

ingenious process of holding to the bowl thereof, between the tongs, a

red-hot coal from the adjacent fire; and what’s more, my dear, I shall

manage to surwive it, if he don’t come back at all.’

‘Ugh, you wretch!’ said Mrs. Weller.

‘Thank’ee, my love,’ said Mr. Weller.

‘Come, come, father,’ said Sam, ‘none o’ these little lovin’s afore

strangers. Here’s the reverend gen’l’m’n a-comin’ in now.’

At this announcement, Mrs. Weller hastily wiped off the tears which she

had just begun to force on; and Mr. W. drew his chair sullenly into the

chimney-corner.

Mr. Stiggins was easily prevailed on to take another glass of the hot

pine-apple rum-and-water, and a second, and a third, and then to refresh

himself with a slight supper, previous to beginning again. He sat on the

same side as Mr. Weller, senior; and every time he could contrive to do

so, unseen by his wife, that gentleman indicated to his son the hidden

emotions of his bosom, by shaking his fist over the deputy-shepherd’s

head; a process which afforded his son the most unmingled delight and

satisfaction, the more especially as Mr. Stiggins went on, quietly

drinking the hot pine-apple rum-and-water, wholly unconscious of what

was going forward.

The major part of the conversation was confined to Mrs. Weller and the

reverend Mr. Stiggins; and the topics principally descanted on, were the

virtues of the shepherd, the worthiness of his flock, and the high

crimes and misdemeanours of everybody beside--dissertations which the

elder Mr. Weller occasionally interrupted by half-suppressed references

to a gentleman of the name of Walker, and other running commentaries of

the same kind.