life. He chose Snodgrass for his second, hoping the latter would tell
Mr. Pickwick; but Snodgrass, he soon found to his dismay, had no idea of
doing so. The day wore heavily away, and Winkle could think of no
escape. At sunset they walked to the appointed spot--a lonely field--and
at last Winkle found himself, pistol in hand, opposite another man armed
likewise, and waiting the signal to shoot.
At that moment Doctor Slammer saw that the man he faced was not the one
who had insulted him at the ball. Explanations were soon made and the
whole party walked back together to the inn, where Winkle introduced his
new friends to the Pickwickians. Jingle, however, was with the latter,
and Doctor Slammer at once recognized him as the wearer of the blue
dress suit. The doctor flew into a rage and only the statement of his
fellow officer, that Jingle was not a gentleman, but a strolling actor
far beneath the doctor's dignity, prevented an encounter. As it was,
Slammer stumped off in anger, leaving the Pickwickians to enjoy the
evening in their own way.
II
TUPMAN HAS A LOVE-AFFAIR WITH A SPINSTER, AND
THE PICKWICKIANS FIND OUT THE REAL
CHARACTER OF JINGLE
Next day a military drill was held just outside the town and the
Pickwickians went to see it. In the confusion of running officers and
prancing horses they became separated from one another. Mr. Pickwick,
Snodgrass and Winkle found themselves between two lines of troops, in
danger of being run down. At this moment they saw Tupman standing in an
open carriage near by and, hurrying to it, were hoisted in.
The carriage belonged to a short, stout old gentleman named Wardle who
had attended some of the club's meetings in London and knew Mr. Pickwick
by sight. He lived at a place near by called Dingley Dell, from which he
had driven to see the drill, with his old maid sister and his own two
pretty daughters. Fastened behind was a big hamper of lunch and on the
box was a fat boy named Joe, whom Mr. Wardle kept as a curiosity because
he did nothing but eat and sleep. Joe went on errands fast asleep and
snored as he waited on the table. He had slept all through the roaring
of the cannon and the old gentleman had to pinch him awake to serve the
luncheon.
They had a merry time that day, Tupman being deeply smitten with the
charms of the elderly Miss Wardle, and Snodgrass no less in love with
Emily, one of the pretty daughters. When the review was over the old
gentleman invited them all to visit Dingley Dell next day.
Early in the morning they set out, Mr. Pickwick driving Tupman and
Snodgrass in a chaise, while Winkle rode on horseback to uphold his
reputation as a sportsman. Mr. Pickwick was distrustful of the horse he
hired, but the hostler assured him that even a wagon-load of monkeys
with their tails burnt off would not make him shy.
Winkle had never ridden a horse before, but he was ashamed to admit it.
For a while all went well; then the luckless Winkle dropped his whip and
when he dismounted the horse would not let him mount again. Mr. Pickwick
got out of the chaise to help, and at this the animal jerked the bridle
away and trotted home. Hearing the clatter the other horse bolted, too.
Snodgrass and Tupman jumped for their lives and the chaise was smashed
to pieces against a wooden bridge. With difficulty the horse was freed
from the ruins and, leading him, the four friends walked the seven miles
to Dingley Dell, where they found Mr. Wardle and the fat boy, the latter
fast asleep as usual, posted in the lane to meet them.
Brushes, a needle and thread and some cherry-brandy soon cured their
rents and bruises and they forgot their misfortunes in an evening of
pleasure. Mr. Wardle's mother was a deaf old lady with an ear-trumpet,
who loved to play whist. When she disliked a person she would pretend
she could not hear a word he said, but Mr. Pickwick's jollity and
compliments made her forget even to use her ear-trumpet. Tupman flirted
with the spinster aunt and Snodgrass whispered poetry into Emily's ear
to his heart's content.
Next morning Mr. Wardle took Winkle rook-shooting. The pair set out with
their guns, preceded by the fat boy and followed by Mr. Pickwick,
Snodgrass and the corpulent Tupman. Winkle, who disliked to admit his
ignorance of guns, showed it in a painful way. His first shot missed the
birds, and lodged itself in the arm of Tupman, who fell to the ground.
The confusion that followed can not be described. They bound up his
wounds and supported him to the house, where the ladies waited at the
garden gate, Mr. Wardle calling out to them not to be frightened.
The warning, however, had no effect on the spinster aunt. At the sight
of her Tupman wounded, she began to scream. Old Mr. Wardle told her not
to be a fool, but Tupman was affected almost to tears and spoke her name
with such romantic tenderness that the poor foolish lady felt quite a
flutter at her heart.
A surgeon found the wound a slight one, and as a cricket match was to be
played that day, the host left Tupman in the care of the ladies and
carried off the others to the game.
When they reached the field, the first words that fell on Mr. Pickwick's
ear made him start:
"This way--capital fun--glorious day--make yourself at home--glad to see
you--very." It was Jingle, still clad in his faded green coat. He had
fallen in with the visiting players, and by telling wonderful tales of
the games he had played in the West Indies, soon convinced them he was a
great cricket player. Seeing him greet Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Wardle,
thinking him a friend of his guest, procured him an invitation to the
dinner that followed the match. There Jingle made good use of his time
in eating and drinking, and at midnight was heard leading with great
effect the chorus:
"We won't go home till morning."
Meanwhile, the romantic Tupman at Dingley Dell had been free to woo the
middle-aged spinster. This he did with such success that when evening
came, he and she sat together in a vine-covered arbor in the garden like
a pair of carefully folded kid gloves--bound up in each other. He had
just printed a kiss on her lips when both looked up to see the fat boy,
perfectly motionless, staring into the arbor.
"Supper's ready," said the fat boy, and his look was so blank that they
both concluded he must have been asleep and had seen nothing.
It was long past midnight when a tremendous noise told that the absent
ones had returned. All rushed to the kitchen, where Jingle's voice was
heard crying: "Cricket dinner--glorious party--capital songs--very
good--wine ma'am--wine!" Mr. Pickwick, Snodgrass and Winkle went to bed,
but the talkative Jingle remained with the ladies and before they
retired had made Tupman almost mad with jealousy by his attentions to
the spinster aunt, who showed herself greatly pleased with his
politeness.
Now the fat boy, for once in his life, had not been asleep when he had
announced supper that evening. He had seen Tupman's love-making, and
took the first occasion to tell the deaf old lady, as she sat in the
garden arbor next morning. He was obliged to shout it in her ear, and
thus the whole story was overheard by Jingle, who happened to be near.
The deceitful Jingle saw in this a chance to benefit himself. The
spinster, he thought, had money; what could he better do than turn her
against Tupman, and marry her himself? With this plan he went to Tupman,
recited what the fat boy had told, and advised him, for a time, in order
to throw off the suspicions of the old lady and of Mr. Wardle, to pay
special attention to one of the younger daughters and to pretend to care
nothing for the spinster. He told Tupman that the latter herself had
made this plan and wished him to carry it out for her sake. Tupman,
thinking it the wish of his lady-love, did this with such success that
the old lady concluded the fat boy must have been dreaming.
The spinster, however, thought Tupman false, and Jingle used the next
few days to make such violent love to her that the silly creature
believed him, forgot Tupman, and agreed to run away with the deceiver to
London.
There was great excitement when their absence was discovered, and the
wrathful Mr. Wardle and Mr. Pickwick pursued them at once in a
four-horse chaise. They rode all night and, reaching London, at once
began to inquire at various inns to find a trace of the runaway pair.
They came at length to one called The White Hart, in whose courtyard a
round-faced man-servant was cleaning boots. This servant, whose name was
Sam Weller, wore a coat with blue glass buttons, a bright red
handkerchief tied around his neck and an old white hat stuck on the side
of his head. He spoke with a quaint country accent, but he was a witty
fellow, with a clever answer for every one.
"Werry well, I'm agreeable," he said when Mr. Pickwick gave him a gold
piece. "What the devil do you want with me, as the man said when he see
the ghost?"
With Sam Weller's aid, they soon found that Jingle and the spinster were
there, and entered the room in which the couple sat at the very moment
Jingle was showing the marriage license which he had just brought. The
spinster at once went into violent hysterics, and Jingle, seeing the
game was up, accepted the sum of money which Mr. Wardle offered him to
take himself off.
There were deep lamentations when the confiding spinster found herself
deserted by the faithless Jingle, and slowly and sadly Mr. Pickwick and
Mr. Wardle bore her back to Dingley Dell.
The heartbroken Tupman had already left there, and with feelings of
gloom Mr. Pickwick, with Snodgrass and Winkle, also departed.
III
MR. PICKWICK HAS AN INTERESTING SCENE WITH
MRS. BARDELL, HIS HOUSEKEEPER. FURTHER
PURSUIT OF JINGLE LEADS TO AN
ADVENTURE AT A YOUNG LADIES'
BOARDING-SCHOOL
Mr. Pickwick lived in lodgings, let for a single gentleman, in the house
of a Mrs. Bardell, a widow with one little boy. For a long time she had
secretly adored her benevolent lodger, as some one far above her own
humble station.
Mr. Pickwick had not forgotten Sam Weller, the servant who had aided in
the pursuit of Jingle, and on returning to London he wrote, asking Sam
to come to see him, intending to offer him a position as body-servant.
Sam came promptly and Mr. Pickwick then proceeded to tell his landlady
of his plan--a more or less delicate matter, since it would cause some
change in her household affairs.
"Mrs. Bardell," said he, "do you think it a much greater expense to keep
two people than one?"
"La, Mr. Pickwick!" answered Mrs. Bardell, fancying she saw matrimony in
his eye. "That depends on whether it's a saving person."
"Very true," said Mr. Pickwick, "but the person I have in my eye"--here
he looked at Mrs. Bardell--"has this quality. And to tell you the truth,
I have made up my mind."
Mrs. Bardell blushed to her cap border. Her lodger was going to propose!
"Oh, Mr. Pickwick!" she said, "you're very kind, sir. I'm sure I ought
to be a very happy woman."
"It'll save you a deal of trouble," Mr. Pickwick went on, "and when I'm
in town you'll always have somebody to sit with you."
"Oh, you dear--" said Mrs. Bardell.
Mr. Pickwick started.
"Oh, you kind, good, playful dear!" said Mrs. Bardell, and flung herself
on his neck with a cataract of tears.
The astonished Mr. Pickwick struggled violently, pleading and reproving,
but in vain. Mrs. Bardell clung the tighter, and exclaiming frantically
that she would never leave him, fainted away in his arms. At the same
moment Tupman, Winkle and Snodgrass entered the room. Mr. Pickwick tried
to explain, but in their faces he read that they suspected him of making
love to the widow.
This reflection made him miserable and ill at ease. He lost no time in
taking Sam Weller into his service, on condition that he travel with the
Pickwickians in their further search for adventures, and at once
proposed to his three comrades another journey.
Next day, therefore, found them on the road for Eatanswill, a town near
London which was then on the eve of a political election. This was a
very exciting struggle and interested them greatly.
Here, one morning soon after their arrival, a fancy dress breakfast was
given by Mrs. Leo Hunter, a lady who had once written an _Ode to an
Expiring Frog_ and who made a great point of knowing everybody who was
at all celebrated for anything. All of the Pickwickians attended the
breakfast. Mr. Pickwick's dignity was too great for him to don a fancy
costume, but the rest wore them, Tupman going as a bandit in a green
velvet coat with a two-inch tail.
Mrs. Leo Hunter herself, in the character of Minerva, insisted on
presenting Mr. Pickwick to all the guests.
In the midst of the gaiety Mrs. Leo Hunter's husband called out: "My
dear, here comes Mr. Fitz-Marshall," and, to his astonishment, Mr.
Pickwick heard a well-known voice exclaiming: "Coming, my dear
ma'am--crowds of people--full room--hard work--very!"
It was Jingle. Mr. Pickwick indignantly faced him, but the impostor, at
the first glance turned and fled. Mr. Pickwick, after hurriedly
questioning his hostess, who told him Mr. Fitz-Marshall lived at an inn
in a village not far away, left the entertainment instantly, bent on
pursuit. With Sam Weller, his faithful servant, he took the next
stage-coach and nightfall found him lodged in a room in that very inn,
while Sam set himself to discover Jingle's whereabouts.
With the money Mr. Wardle had paid him Jingle had set up as a gentleman:
he even had a servant--a sneaking fellow with a sallow, solemn face and
lank hair, named Job Trotter, who could burst into tears whenever it
suited his purpose and whose favorite occupation seemed to be reading a
hymn-book. Sam Weller soon picked an acquaintance with Job, and it was
not long before the latter confided to him that Jingle his master (whom
he pretended to think very wicked) had plotted to run away that same
night, with a beautiful young lady from a boarding-school just outside
the village, at which he was a frequent caller. Job said his master was
such a villain that he had made up his mind to betray him.
Sam took Job to Mr. Pickwick, to whom he repeated his tale, adding that
he and his master were to be let into the school building at ten
o'clock, and that if Mr. Pickwick would climb over the garden wall and
tap on the kitchen door a little before midnight, he, Job, would let him
in to catch Jingle in the very act of eloping.
This seemed to Mr. Pickwick a good plan, and he proceeded to act upon
it. In good time that night Sam hoisted him over the high garden-wall of
the school, after which he returned to the inn, while his master
stealthily approached the building.
It was very still. When the church chimes struck half-past eleven Mr.
Pickwick tapped on the door. Instead of being opened by Job, however, a
servant-girl appeared with a candle. Mr. Pickwick had presence of mind
enough to hide behind the door as she opened it. She concluded the noise
must have been the cat.
Mr. Pickwick did not know what was best to do. To make matters worse, a
thunder-storm broke and he had no refuge from the rain. He was thoroughly
drenched before he dared repeat the signal.
This time windows were thrown open and frightened voices demanded "Who's
there?" Mr. Pickwick was in a dreadful situation. He could not retreat,
and when the door was timidly opened and some one screamed "A man!"
there was a dreadful chorus of shrieks from the lady principal, three
teachers, five female servants and thirty young lady boarders, all
half-dressed and in a forest of curl papers.
Mr. Pickwick was desperate. He protested that he was no robber--that he
would even consent to be tied or locked up, only to convince them. A
closet stood in the hall; as a pledge of good faith he stepped inside
it. Its door was quickly locked and only then the trembling principal
consented to listen to him. By the time he had told his story, he knew
that he had been cruelly hoaxed by Jingle and Job Trotter. She knew not
even the name of Mr. Fitz-Marshall. For her own part she was certain Mr.
Pickwick was crazy, and he had to stay in the stuffy closet over an hour
while at his request some one was sent to find Sam Weller.
The latter came at length, bringing with him old Mr. Wardle, who, as it
happened, unknown to Mr. Pickwick, was stopping at the inn. Explanations
were made and Mr. Pickwick, choking with wrath, returned to the inn to
find Jingle and his servant gone, and to be, himself, for some time
thereafter, a prey to rheumatism.
A serious matter at this juncture called Mr. Pickwick home. This was a
legal summons notifying him that Mrs. Bardell, his landlady, had brought
a suit for damages against him, claiming he had promised to marry her
and had then run away. A firm of tricky lawyers had persuaded her to
this in the hope of getting some money out of it themselves. Mr.
Pickwick was very angry, but there was nothing for it but to hire a
lawyer, so he and Sam Weller set out without delay.
IV
SAM WELLER MEETS HIS FATHER, AND THE PURSUIT OF
JINGLE IS CONTINUED. MR. PICKWICK MAKES
A STRANGE CALL ON A MIDDLE-AGED
LADY IN YELLOW
CURL PAPERS
Having arranged this matter in London, master and servant sat one
evening in a public house when Sam recognized in a stout man with his
face buried in a quart pot, his own father, old Tony Weller, the
stage-coach driver, and with great affection introduced him to Mr.
Pickwick.
"How's mother-in-law?" asked Sam.
The elder Mr. Weller shook his head as he replied, "I've done it once
too often, Samivel. Take example by your father, my boy, and be very
careful o' widders, 'specially if they've kept a public house."
Mrs. Weller the second, indeed, was the proprietress of a public house.
To a shrill voice and a complaining disposition she added a dismal sort
of piety which showed itself in much going to meeting, in considering
her husband a lost and sinful wretch and in the entertaining of a
prim-faced, red-nosed, rusty old hypocrite of a preacher who sat by her
fireside every evening consuming quantities of toast and pineapple rum,
and groaning at the depravity of her husband, who declined to give money
to the preacher's society for sending flannel waistcoats and colored
handkerchiefs to the infant negroes of the West Indies. As may be
imagined, Sam's father led a sorry life at home.
The meeting with the elder Weller proved a fortunate one, for when Sam
told of their experiences with Jingle and Job Trotter, his father
declared that he himself had driven the pair to the town of Ipswich,
where they were then living. Nothing would satisfy Mr. Pickwick, when he
heard this, but pursuit, and he and Sam set out next morning by coach,
Mr. Pickwick having written to the other Pickwickians to follow him.
On the coach was a red-haired man with an inquisitive nose and blue
spectacles, whose name was Mr. Peter Magnus, and with whom (since they
stopped at the same inn) Mr. Pickwick dined on his arrival. Mr. Magnus,
before they parted for the night, grew confidential and informed him
that he had come there to propose to a lady who was in the inn at that
very moment.
For some time after he retired, Mr. Pickwick sat in his bedroom
thinking. At length he rose to undress, when he remembered he had left
his watch down stairs, and taking a candle he went to get it. He found
it easily, but to retrace his steps proved more difficult. A dozen doors
he thought his own, and a dozen times he turned a door-knob only to
hear a gruff voice within. At last he found what he thought was his own
room, the door ajar. The wind had blown out his candle, but the fire was
bright, and Mr. Pickwick, as he retired behind the bed curtains to
undress, smiled till he almost cracked his nightcap strings as he
thought of his wanderings.
Suddenly the smile faded--some one had entered the room and locked the
door. "Robbers!" thought Mr. Pickwick. He peered out between the
curtains and almost fainted with horror. Standing before the mirror was
a middle-aged lady in yellow curl papers, brushing her back-hair.
"Bless my soul!" thought Mr. Pickwick. "I must be in the wrong room.
This is fearful!"
He waited a while, then coughed, first gently, then more loudly.
"Gracious Heaven!" said the middle-aged lady. "What's that?"
"It's--it's only a gentleman, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick.
"A strange man!" exclaimed the lady with a terrific scream.
Mr. Pickwick put out his head in desperation.
"Wretch!" she said, covering her face with her hands. "What do you want
here?"
"Nothing, ma'am--nothing whatever, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick earnestly.
"I am almost ready to sink, ma'am, beneath the confusion of addressing
a lady in my nightcap (here the lady snatched off hers) but I can't get
it off, ma'am! (here Mr. Pickwick gave it a tremendous tug). It is
evident to me now that I have mistaken this bedroom for my own."
"If this be true," said the lady sobbing violently, "you will leave it
instantly."
"Certainly, ma'am," answered Mr. Pickwick appearing, "I--I--am very
sorry, ma'am."
The lady pointed to the door. With his hat on over his nightcap, his
shoes in his hand and his coat over his arm, Mr. Pickwick opened the
door, dropping both shoes with a crash. "I trust, ma'am," he resumed,
bowing very low, "that my unblemished character--" but before he could
finish the sentence the lady had thrust him into the hall and bolted the
door.
Luckily Mr. Pickwick met, coming along the corridor, the faithful Sam
Weller who took him safely to his room.
V
THE PICKWICKIANS FIND THEMSELVES IN THE
GRASP OF THE LAW. THE FINAL EXPOSURE
OF JINGLE, AND A CHRISTMAS
MERRYMAKING
Mr. Pickwick was still indoors next morning, when Sam, strolling through
the town, met, coming from a certain garden-gate, the wily Job Trotter.
Job tried at first to disguise himself by making a horrible face, but
Sam was not to be deceived, and finding this trick vain, the other burst
into tears of joy to see him.
Job told Sam that his master, Jingle, had bribed the mistress of the
boarding-school to deny to Mr. Pickwick that she knew him, and had then
cruelly deserted the beautiful young lady for a richer one. But this
time Sam was too wise to believe anything Job said.
Meanwhile, in the inn, Mr. Pickwick was giving Mr. Peter Magnus some
good advice as to the best method of proposing. The latter finally
plucked up his courage, saw the lady, proposed to her, and was accepted.
In his gratitude, he insisted on taking Mr. Pickwick to be introduced to
her.
The instant he saw her, however, Mr. Pickwick uttered an exclamation,
and the lady, with a slight scream, hid her face in her hands. She was
none other than the owner of the room into which Mr. Pickwick had
intruded the night before.
Mr. Peter Magnus, in astonishment, demanded where and when they had seen
each other before. This the lady declared she would not reveal for the
world, and Mr. Pickwick likewise refusing, the other flew into a jealous
rage, which ended in his rushing from the room swearing he would
challenge Mr. Pickwick to mortal combat. Tupman, Winkle and Snodgrass
being announced at that moment, Mr. Pickwick joined them, and the
middle-aged lady was left alone in a state of terrible alarm.
The longer she thought the more terrified she became at the idea of
possible bloodshed and harm to her lover. At length, overcome by dread,
and knowing no other way to stop the duel, she hastened to the house of
the mayor of the town, a pompous magistrate named Nupkins, and begged
him to stop the duel. Not wishing to make trouble for Mr. Peter Magnus,
she declared that the two rioters who threatened to disturb the peace of
the town were named Pickwick and Tupman; these two, Nupkins, thinking
them cutthroats from London, at once sent men to arrest.
Mr. Pickwick was just telling his followers the story of his mishap of
the night before, when a half-dozen officers burst into the room.
Boiling with indignation, Mr. Pickwick had to submit, and the officers
put him and Tupman into an old sedan-chair and carried them off,
followed by Winkle and Snodgrass and by all the town loafers.
Sam Weller met the procession and tried to rescue them, but was knocked
down and taken prisoner also. So they were all brought to Nupkins's
house.