 Chapter 39 of the Pickwick Papers, read by Patty Brugman. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please go to LibriVox.org. Chapter 39. Mr. Samuel Weller, being entrusted with the mission of love, proceeds to execute it. With what success will here and after appear? During the whole of next day, Sam kept Mr. Winkle steadily in sight, fully determined not to take his eyes off him for one instant, until he should receive express instructions from the Fountainhead. However disagreeable, Sam's very close watch and great vigilance were to Mr. Winkle, he thought it better to bear with them than, by any act of violent opposition to hazard being carried away by force, which Mr. Weller, more than once strongly hinted, was the line of conduct that a strict sense of duty prompted him to pursue. There is little reason to doubt that Sam would very speedily have quieted his scruples by bearing Mr. Winkle back to bath. Bound hand and foot had not Mr. Pickwick's prompt attention to the note which Daller had undertaken to deliver, forestalled any such proceeding. In short, at eight o'clock in the evening, Mr. Pickwick himself walked into the coffee room of the bush tavern and told Sam with a smile to his very great relief that he had done quite right, and it was unnecessary for him to mount guard any longer. I thought it better to come myself, said Mr. Pickwick, addressing Mr. Winkle as Sam disencumbered himself of his great coat and travelling shawl, to ascertain before I gave my consent to Sam's employment in this matter that you are quite an earnest and serious with respect to this young lady. Serious from the heart, my soul, returned Mr. Winkle with great energy. Remember, said Mr. Pickwick with beaming eyes, we met her at our excellent and hospitable friend, Winkle's. It would not be an ill return to tamper lightly, and without due consideration with his young lady's affections. I'll not allow that, sir. I'll not allow it. I hath no such intention indeed exclaimed Mr. Winkle warmly. I hath considered the matter well for a long time, and I feel that my happiness is bound up in her. That's what we call tying it up in a small parcel, sir, interposed Mr. Weller with an agreeable smile. Mr. Winkle looked somewhat stern at this interruption, and Mr. Pickwick angrily requested that his attendant not to jest with one of the best feelings of our nature, to which Sam replied that he wouldn't if he was aware of it. But there was so many on him that he had hardly known which was the best ones when he heard him mentioned. Mr. Winkle then recounted what had passed between himself and Mr. Ben Allen, relative to Arabella, stated that his object was to gain an interview with the young lady and to make a form of disclosure of his passion, and declared his conviction, founded on certain dark hints and mutterings of the aforesaid Ben, that wherever she was at present immured it was somewhere near the Downs, and this was his whole stock of knowledge or suspicion on the subject. With this very slight clue to guide him, it was determined that Mr. Weller should start next morning on an expedition of discovery. It was also arranged that Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle, who were less confident of their powers, should parade the town, meanwhile, and accidentally drop in upon Mr. Bob Sawyer, in the course of the day in the hope of seeing or hearing something of the young lady's whereabouts. Accordingly, the next morning Sam Weller issued forth upon his quest. In no way daunted by the very discouraging prospect before him, and away he walked up one street and down another. We were going to say up one hill and down another, only it's all uphill at Clifton, without meeting with anything or anybody that tended to throw the faintest light on the matter at hand. Many were the colloquies into which Sam entered with grooms who were airing horses on roads and nursemaids who were airing children in lanes. But nothing could Sam elicit from either the first mentioned or the last, which bore the slightest reference to the object of his artfully prosecuted inquiries. There were many young ladies in a great many houses, the greater part whereof were shrewdly suspected by the male and female domestics to be deeply attached to somebody or perfectly ready to become so if opportunity offered. But as none among these young ladies was Mrs. Arabella Allen, the information left Sam at exactly the old point of wisdom at which he had stood before. Sam struggled across the Downs against a good high wind, wondering whether it was always necessary to hold your hat on with both hands in that part of the country and came to a shady by-place, about which were sprinkled several little villas of quiet and secluded appearance. Outside a stable door at the bottom of a long back lane without a thoroughfare, a groom in undress was idling about, apparently persuading himself that he was doing something with a spade and a wheelbarrow. We may remark in this place that we have scarcely ever seen a groom near a stable in his lazy moments, who has not been to a greater or lesser extent the victim of this singular delusion. Sam thought he might as well talk to this groom, as to anyone else, especially as he was very tired with walking, and there was a good large stone just opposite the wheelbarrow. He strolled down the lane and, sitting himself upon the stone, opened a conversation with ease and freedom for which he was remarkable. Morning, old friend, said Sam. Afternoon, you mean, replied the groom, casting a surly look at Sam. You're very right, old friend, said Sam. I do mean afternoon. And how are you? Why don't find myself much the better for seeing a view? replied the ill-tempered groom. That's very odd, that is, said Sam. For you look so uncommon, cheerful, and seem altogether so lively that it does one's heart good to see you. This early groom looked surly or still at this, and not sufficiently so to produce any effect upon Sam, who immediately inquired with the countenance of great anxiety whether his master's name was not Walker. No attain't, said the groom. No brown, I suppose, said Sam. No attain't. Nor wilson? No, nor that neither, said the groom. Belle, said Sam. Then I'm mistaken, and he hasn't got the honour of my quintance, which I thought he had. Don't wait here at all compliment to me, said Sam, as the groom wheeled in the wheelbarrow and prepared to shut the gate. Easy for ceremony, old boy. I'll excuse you. I'd knock your head off, or have a crown, said the surly groom, bolting one half of the gate. Couldn't afford to have it done on those terms, rejoined Sam. It'd be worth a life's more wages, at least, to you. And it'd be cheap at that. Make my compliments indoors. Tell them not to evade dinner for me and say they needn't mind putting by any. For it'd be cold before I come in. In reply to this, the groom, waxing very wroth, muttered desire to damage somebody's person, but disappeared without carrying it into execution, slamming the door angrily after him, and wholly unheeding Sam's affectionate request that he would leave him a lock of his hair before he went. Sam continued to sit on a large stone, meditating upon what was best to be done and revolving in his mind a plan for docking at all the doors within five miles of Bristol, taking them to a hundred and fifty or two hundred a day, and endeavouring to find Miss Arabella by that expedient. When accident all of a sudden threw in his way what he might have sat there for a twelve-month, and yet not found without it. Into the lane where he had sat there opened three or four garden gates belonging to as many houses, which, though detached from each other, were only separated by their gardens. As these were large and long and well planted with trees, the houses were not only at some distance off, but the greater part of them were nearly concealed from view. Sam was sitting with his eyes fixed upon the dust heap outside the next gate to that by which the groom had disappeared profoundly turning over in his mind the difficulties of his present undertaking. When the gate opened and a female servant came out into the lane to shake some bedside carpets. Sam was so very busy with his own thoughts that it is probable he would have taken no more notice of the woman than just raising his head and remarking that she had a very neat and pretty figure if his feelings of gallantry had not been most strongly roused by observing that she had no one to help her and that the carpets seemed too heavy for her, single strength. Mr. Weller was a gentleman of great gallantry in his own way and he no sooner remarked the circumstance than he hastily rose from the large stone in advance toward her. My dear, said Sam, sliding up with the air of great respect, you'll spoil that wary pretty figure all out of proportion if you shake them carpets by yourself. Let me help you. The young lady who had been coyly affecting not to know that a gentleman was so near turned round as Sam spoke. No doubt indeed, she said so afterward, to decline this offer from a perfect stranger when instead of speaking she started back and uttered a half suppressed scream. Sam was scarcely less staggered for in the countenance of the well-shaped female servant he beheld the very features of his Valentine, the pretty housemaid from Mr. Knupkins. Why, Mary, my dear, said Sam. Lot, Mr. Weller, said Mary, how did you frighten one? Sam made no verbal answer to this complaint, nor can we precisely say what reply he did make. We merely know that after a short pause Mary said, Lot, do one, Mr. Weller, and that his hat had fallen off for a few moments before. From both of which tokens we should be disposed to infer that one kiss or more had passed between the parties. Why, how did you come here, said Mary, when the conversation to which this interruption had been offered was resumed. Of course I came to look after you, my darling, replied Mr. Weller, for once permitting his passion to get the better of his veracity. And how did you know I was here, inquired Mary? Who could have told you that I took another service at Ipswich and that they afterwards moved all the way here? Who could have told you that, Mr. Weller? Ah, to be sure, said Sam, with a cunning look, that's the point. Who could have told me? It wasn't Mr. Muzzle, was it, inquired Mary? Oh, no, replied Sam, with the solemn shake of the head. It weren't him. It must have been the cook, said Mary. Of course it must, said Sam. Well, I never heard the like of that, exclaimed Mary. No more dies, said Sam, but Mary, my dear. Here Sam's manner grew extremely affectionate. Mary, my dear, I've got another affair in hand as his worry passing. As one of my governor's friends, Mr. Winkle, you remember him? Him in the green coat, said Mary. Oh, yes, I remember him. Well, said Sam, his in a horrid state of love regularly confuseled and done over with it. Lord, interposed Mary. Yes, said Sam, but that's nothing if we could find out the young woman. And here, Sam, with many digressions upon the personal beauty of Mary and the unspeakable tortures he had experienced since he last saw her, he have a faithful account of Mr. Winkle's present predicament. Well, said Mary, I never did. Of course not, said Sam, nobody never did, nor never will either. And here I'm a walkin' about like the wanderin' Jew, a sportin' character you have perhaps heared on, Mary. My dear, as I was always doin' a magic in time and never went to sleep. Lookin' at her this year, Miss Arabella Allen. Miss Whom? said Mary in great astonishment. Miss Arabella Allen, said Sam. Goodness gracious, said Mary, pointing to the garden door which the sulky groom had locked after him. Why, it's that very house she's been livin' there these six weeks. The upper house's maid, which is Lady's maid, too, told me all about it over the washin' house pilin before the family was out to the bed one morning. What? The wary next door to you, said Sam. The very next, replied Mary. Mr. Weller was so deeply overcome on receiving this intelligence that he found it absolutely necessary to cling to his fair informant for support. And diverse little love passages had passed between them before he was sufficiently collected to return to the subject. Welles, said Sam at length, if this don't beat cock fightin', nothin' never will. As the Lord Mayor said then the Chief Secretary of State proposed his Mrs. Health after dinner. That wary next house. Why, I've got a message to her as I've been tryin' all day to deliver. Ah, said Mary, but she can't deliver it now because she only walks in the garden in the evening and then only for a very little time she never goes out without the old lady. Sam ruminated for a few moments and finally hit upon the following plan of operations. That he should return just to dusk, the time at which Arabella invariably took her walk and, being admitted by Mary into the garden of the house to which she belonged, would contrive to scramble up the wall with the overhanging boughs of the large pear tree which would effectually screen him from observation. Would there deliver his message in a range of possible an interview on behalf of Mr. Winkle for the ensuing evening at the same hour. Having made this arrangement with great dispatch he assisted Mary in a long deferred occupation of shaking the carpets. It is not half as innocent a thing as it looks that shaking little pieces of carpet, at least there may be no great harm in the shaking but the folding is a very insidious process. So long as the shaking lasts and the two parties are kept the carpets length apart it is as innocent an amusement as can well be devised but when the folding begins and the distance between them gets gradually lessened from one half of its former length to one quarter and then to an eighth then then to a sixteenth and then to a thirty second if the carpet be long enough it becomes dangerous. We do not know to an nicety how many pieces of carpet were folded in this instant but we can venture to state that as many pieces as there were so many times did Sam kiss the pretty housemaid. Mr. Weller regaled himself with moderation at the nearest tavern until it was nearly dusk and then returned to the lane without the thoroughfare having been admitted into the garden by Mary and having received from that lady sundry admonitions concerning the safety of his limbs and neck. Sam mounted into the pear tree to wait until Arabella should come into sight. He waited so long without this anxiously expected event occurring that he began to think it was not going to take place at all when he heard light footsteps upon the gravel and immediately afterwards beheld Arabella walking pensively down the garden. As soon as she came nearly below the tree Sam began by a way of gently indicating his presence to make sundry diabolical noises similar to those which would probably be natural to a person of middle age who had been afflicted with a combination of inflammatory sore throat croup and whooping cough from his earliest infancy. Upon this the young lady cast a hurried glance toward the spot from whence the dreadful sounds proceeded and her previous alarm, being not at all diminished when she saw a man among the branches she would most certainly have decamped and alarmed the house had not fear fortunately deprived her of the power of moving and caused her to sink down on a garden seat which happened by good luck to be near at hand. She's a go-and-off, soliloquized Sam in great perplexity. What a thing it is as there, here young creatures will go a faint in a way just when they oughtn't to. Here young woman, Miss Sawbones, Miss Winkle, don't? Whether it was the magic of Mr. Winkle's name or the coolness of the open air or some recollection of Mr. Weller's voice that revived Arabella matters not. She raised her head and languidly inquired Who's that and what do you want? Posh, said Sam, swinging himself onto the wall and crouching there in as small a compass as he could reduce himself to. Only me, Miss, only me. Mr. Pickwick's servant, said Arabella earnestly But what we say, Miss, replied Sam Here's Mr. Winkle regularly sewed up with desperation, Miss Ah, said Arabella, drawing nearer the wall Ah, indeed, said Sam We thought we should have been obliged to straight-vesket him last night He's been our raven all day and he says If he can't see you up for tomorrow night's over he wishes he may be something unpleasant if he don't run himself Oh, no, no, Mr. Weller said Arabella clasping her hands That's what he says, Miss, replied Sam He's a man o' his word and it's my opinion he'll do it, Miss He's heard all about you from the sawbones in barnacles For my brother, said Arabella having some faint recognition of Sam's description I don't rightly know which is your brother, Miss, replied Sam Is it the dirtiest fun of the two? Yes, yes, Mr. Weller returned to Arabella Go on, make haste to pray Well, Miss, said Sam He's heard all about it from him and it's the governor's opinion that if you don't see him very quick the sawbones, as we've been speaking of on he'll get as much extra lead in his head as he'll damage that weepest all the origins that they've ever been put in spirits afterwards Oh, what can I do to prevent these dreadful quarrels? exclaimed Arabella It's a suspicion of a priory attachment as is the cause of it all, replied Sam You better see him, Miss But how? Where? cried Arabella I dare not leave the house alone My brother is so unkind, so unreasonable I know how strange my talking thus to you must appear, Mr. Weller But I am very, very unhappy and here poor Arabella wept so bitterly that Sam grew chivalrous It may seem very strange talking to you, me, about these hero fairs, Miss said Sam, with great vehemence But all I can say is that I'm not only ready, but villain to do anything as I'll make matters agreeable and if Chuck and either of them sawbones out to the winder, I'll do it I'm the man As Sam Weller said this, he tucked up his wristbands at the imminent hazard of falling off the wall in so doing, so intimate his readiness to set to work immediately Flattering as these professions of good feeling were Arabella resolutely declined, most unaccountably, as Sam thought to avail herself of them For some time she strenuously refused to grant Mr. Winkle the interview Sam had so pathetically requested But at length, when the conversation threatened to be interrupted by the unwelcome arrival of a third party she hurriedly gave him to understand with many professions of gratitude that it was barely possible she might be in the garden an hour later next evening Sam understood this perfectly well and Arabella bestowing upon him one of her sweetest smiles tripped gracefully away, leaving Mr. Weller in a state of very great admiration of her charms, both personal and mental Having descended in safety from the wall and not forgotten to devote few moments to his own particular business in the same department Mr. Weller then made the best of his way back to the bush where the prolonged absence has occasioned much speculation and some alarm We must be careful, said Mr. Pickwick after listening attentively to Sam's tale Not for our own sakes, but for that of the young lady We must be very cautious We, said Mr. Winkle with marked emphasis Mr. Pickwick's momentary look of indignation at the tone of this remark subsided into his characteristic expression of benevolence as he replied We, sir, I shall accompany you You, said Mr. Winkle I, replied Mr. Pickwick mildly In affording you this interview the young lady has taken a natural perhaps but still a very imprudent step If I am present at the meeting a mutual friend who is old enough to be the father of both parties the voice of Calumni can never be raised against her hereafter Mr. Pickwick's eyes lightened with honest exultation at his own foresight as he spoke thus Mr. Winkle was touched by this little trait of his delicate respect for the young protege of his friend and took his hand with a feeling of regard akin to veneration You shall go, said Mr. Winkle I will, said Mr. Pickwick Sam, have my great-coach and shawl ready and order a conveyance to be at the door tomorrow evening rather earlier than is absolutely necessary in order that we may be in good time Mr. Weller touched his hat as an earnest of his obedience and withdrew to make all needful preparations for the expedition The coach was punctual to the time appointed and Mr. Weller, after duly installing Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle inside took his seat on the box by the driver They alighted, as had been agreed on, about a quarter of a mile from the place of Rendezvous and desiring the coachman to await their return preceded the remaining distance on foot It was at this stage of the undertaking that Mr. Pickwick, with many smiles and various other indications of great self-satisfaction produced from one of his coat pockets a dark lantern with which he had specially provided himself for the occasion and the great mechanical beauty of which he proceeded to explain to Mr. Winkle as they walked along to the no small surprise of the few stragglers they met I should have been the better for something of this kind in my last garden expedition at night Eh Sam, said Mr. Pickwick, looking good humoredly around, at his follower who was trudging behind Worry nice things if they're managed properly, sir, replied Mr. Weller But when you don't want to be seen, I think they're more useful after the candle's gone out than when it's alit Mr. Pickwick appeared struck by Sam's remarks for he put the lantern into his pocket again and they walked on in silence Down here, sir, said Sam, let me lead the way, this is the lane, sir Down the lane they went and dark enough it was Mr. Pickwick brought out the lantern once or twice as they groped their way along and threw a very brilliant little tunnel of light before them about a foot in diameter It was very pretty to look at but seemed to have the effect of rendering surrounding objects rather darker than before At length they arrived at a large stone Here Sam recommended his master and Mr. Winkle seat themselves while he reconordered and ascertained whether Mary was yet in waiting After an absence of five or ten minutes Sam returned to say that the gate was opened and all quiet Following him with stealthy tread, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle soon found themselves in the garden Here everybody said hush a good many times and that being done no one seemed to have any very distinct apprehension of what was to be done next Is Miss Allen in the garden yet Mary? inquired Mr. Winkle, much agitated I don't know, sir, replied the pretty housemaid The best thing to be done, sir, will be for Mr. Weller to give you a hoist up into the tree and perhaps Mr. Pickwick will have the goodness to see that nobody comes up the lane while I watch at the other end of the garden Goodness gracious, what's that? That, her blessed lantern, will be the death of us all, exclaimed Sam peevishly Take care of what you're doing on, sir You're ascending a blaze of light right into the back parlor window Dear me, said Mr. Pickwick, turning hastily aside, I didn't mean to do that Now it's in the next house, sir, remonstrated Sam Bless my heart, exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, turning round again Now it's in the stable and they'll think the place is a fire, said Sam Shut it up, sir, can't you? It's the most extraordinary lantern I ever met within all my life, exclaimed Mr. Pickwick Greatly bewildered by the effects he had so unintentionally produced I never saw such a powerful reflector It'll be one too powerful for us if you keep a blaze in the vein that manner, sir Replied Sam as Mr. Pickwick after various unsuccessful efforts Managed to close the slide There's the young lady's footsteps Now, Mr. Winkle, sir, up with you Up, stop, said Mr. Pickwick, I must speak to her first Help me up, Sam Gently, sir, said Sam, planting his hand against the wall and making a platform of his back Step atop of that flower pot, sir Now, then, up with you I'm afraid I shall hurt you, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick Never mind me, sir, replied Sam Lend him a hand, Mr. Winkle, sir Steady, steady, sir That's the time of day As Sam spoke, Mr. Pickwick, by exertions almost supernatural In a gentleman of his years and weight Contrived to get upon Sam's back And Sam, gently raising himself up Then Mr. Pickwick's holding on fast by the top of the wall While Mr. Winkle clasped him tight by the legs They contrived by these means to bring his spectacles just above the level of the coping My dear, said Mr. Pickwick, looking over the wall and catching sight of Arabella on the other side Don't be frightened, my dear, it's only me Oh, pray, go away, Mr. Pickwick, said Arabella Tell them all to go away, I'm so dreadfully frightened Dear, dear, Mr. Pickwick, don't stop there You'll fall down and kill yourself, I know you will Now, pray, don't alarm yourself, my dear, said Mr. Pickwick, soothingly There is not the slightest cause for fear, I assure you Stand firm, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick, looking down All right, sirs, replied Mr. Veller Don't be longer than you can conveniently help, sir You're rather heavy Only another moment, Sam, replied Mr. Pickwick I merely wished you to know, my dear, that I should not have allowed my young friend To see you in this clandestine way The situation in which you are placed had left him any alternative Unless the impropriety of this step should cause you any uneasiness, my love It may be a satisfaction to you to know that I am present That's all, my dear Indeed, Mr. Pickwick, I am very much obliged to you for your kindness and consideration Replied Arabella, drying her tears with her handkerchief She would probably have said much more had not Mr. Pickwick's head disappeared With great swiftness and consequence of a false step on Sam's shoulder Which brought him suddenly to the ground He was up again in an instant, however, and bidding Mr. Winkle Make haste and get the interview over Ran out into the lane to keep watch with all the courage and ardour of youth Mr. Winkle himself, by the occasion, was on the wall in a moment Merely pausing to request Sam to be careful of his master I'll take care of him, sir, replied Sam, leave him to me Where is he? What is he doing, Sam? inquired Mr. Winkle Bless his old gaiters, rejoined Sam looking out of the garden door He's a keepin' guard in the lane of that air dark lantern Like an amiable guy fox I never see such a fine creature in my days Blessed if I don't think his heart must have been born twenty and five After his body at least Mr. Winkle stayed not to hear the incominium upon his friend He had dropped from the wall, thrown himself at Arabella's feet And by this time was bleeding the sincerity of his passion With an eloquence worthy even of Mr. Pickwick himself While these things were going on in the open air An elderly gentleman of scientific attainments was seated in his library Two or three houses off riding a philosophical treatise And ever and anon moistening his clay and his labours With a glass of claret from a venerable looking bottle Which stood by his side In the agonies of composition the elderly gentleman looked Sometimes at the carpet, sometimes at the ceiling And sometimes at the wall And when neither carpet, ceiling nor wall Afforded a requisite degree of inspiration He looked out of the window In one of these pauses of invention The scientific gentleman was gazing abstractly On the thick darkness outside When he was very much surprised By observing a most brilliant light glide through the air At a short distance above the ground And almost instantaneously vanish After a short time the phenomenon was repeated Not once or twice but several times At last the scientific gentleman laying down his pen Began to consider at what natural causes these appearances Were to be assigned They were not meteors, they were too low They were not glow worms, they were too high They were not will of the wisps They were not fireflies, they were not fireworks What could they be? Some extraordinary and wonderful phenomenon of nature Which no philosopher had ever seen before Something which had been reserved for him alone To discover and which he should immortalize His name by chronicling for the benefit of posterity Full of this idea The scientific gentleman seized his pen again And committed to paper sundering notes Of these unparalleled appearances With the date, hour, minute And precise second at which they were visible All of which were to form the data Of the voluminous treaties Of great research and deep learning Which should astonish all the atmospheric sages That ever drew breath in any part of the civilized globe He threw himself back in his easy chair Wrapped in contemplations of his future greatness The mysterious light appeared more brilliantly than before Dancing to all appearances up and down the lane Crossing from side to side And moving in an orbit as eccentric as comments themselves The scientific gentleman was a bachelor He had no wife to call in and astonish So he rang the bell for his servant Profil, said the scientific gentleman, There is something very extraordinary in the air tonight Did you see that? Said the scientific gentleman pointing out of the window As the light became visible Yes, I did, sir What do you think of it, Profil? Think of it, sir Yes, you have been bred up in this country What should you say was the cause of those lights now? The scientific gentleman smiling Anticipated Profil's reply that he could assign no cause for them at all Profil meditated I should say, sir, it was thieves, said Profil at length You're a fool and may go downstairs, said the scientific gentleman Thank you, sir, said Profil And down he went But the scientific gentleman could not rest under the idea Of the ingenious treatise that he had projected being lost to the world Which must inevitably be the case If the speculation of the ingenious Mr. Profil Were not stifled in its birth He put on his hat and walked quickly down the garden Determined to investigate the matter to the very bottom Now, shortly before the scientific gentleman walked out into the garden Mr. Pickwick had run down the lane as fast as he could To convey a false alarm that somebody was coming that way Occasionally drawing back the slide of the dark lantern To keep himself from the ditch The alarm was no sooner given Than Mr. Winkle scrambled back over the wall And Arabella ran into the house The garden gate was shut And the three adventurers were making the best of their way down the lane When they were startled by the scientific gentleman Unlocking his garden gate Hull hard, whispered Sam Who was, of course, the first of the party Sure light for just one second, sir Mr. Pickwick did as he was desired And Sam, seeing a man's head peeping out very cautiously Within half a yard of his own Gave it a gentle tap with his clenched fist Which knocked it with a hollow sound against the gate Having performed his feet with great suddenness and dexterity Mr. Weller caught Mr. Pickwick up on his back And followed Mr. Winkle down the lane at the pace which Considering the burden he carried Was perfectly astonishing Have you got your vend back again, sir? Inquired Sam when the head reached the end Quite, quite now, replied Mr. Pickwick Then come along, sir, said Sam Setting his master on his feet again Come between us, sir Not half a mile to run Think you're a vinn in a cup, sir Now, for it! Thus encouraged Mr. Pickwick made the very best use of his legs It may be confidently stated There's a pair of black gators Never got over the ground in better style than those Of Mr. Pickwick on this memorable occasion The coach was waiting, the horses were fresh The roads were good and the driver was willing The whole party arrived in safety at the bush Before Mr. Pickwick had recovered his breath In with yet one, sir, said Sam as he helped his master out Don't stop a second in the street after that air exercise Beg your pardon, sir, continued Sam Touching his hat as Mr. Winkle descended Hope there weren't a prior attachment, sir Mr. Winkle grasped his humble friend by the hand And whispered in his ear, It's all right, Sam, quite right Upon which Mr. Weller struck three distinct blows Upon his nose and token of intelligence Smiled, winked, and proceeded to put the steps up With the countenance expressive of lively satisfaction As to the scientific gentleman He demonstrated in the masterfully treatise That these wonderful lights were the effect of electricity Which clearly proved the same by detailing How a flash of fire danced before his eyes When he put his head out of the gate And how he received a shock which stunned him For a quarter of an hour afterwards Which demonstration delighted all the scientific Associations beyond measure And caused him to be considered a light of science Ever afterward End of chapter 39 Chapter 40 of the Pickwick Papers This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Deborah Lynn The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens Chapter 40 introduces Mr. Pickwick to a new And not uninteresting scene in the great drama of life The remainder of the period which Mr. Pickwick had assigned Is the duration of the stay at Bath passed over Without the occurrence of anything material Trinity term commenced On the expiration of its first week Mr. Pickwick and his friends returned to London And the former gentleman attended, of course, by Sam Straightaway repaired to his old quarters at the George and Vulture On the third morning after their arrival Just as all the clocks in the city Were striking nine individually And somewhere about 999 collectively Sam was taking the air in George's yard When a queer sort of fresh painted vehicle drove up Out of which they jumped with great agility Throwing the reins to a stout man who sat beside him A queer sort of gentleman who seemed made for the vehicle And the vehicle for him The vehicle was not exactly a gig Neither was it a stand-hope It was not what is currently denominated a dog cart Neither was it a taxed cart Nor a chased cart Nor a guillotined cabriolet And yet it had something of the character Of each and every of these machines It was painted a bright yellow With the shafts and wheels picked out in black The driver sat in the orthodox sporting style On cushions piled about two feet above the rail The horse was a bay, a well-looking animal enough But with something of a flash and dog-fighting air About him nevertheless Which accorded both with the vehicle and his master The master himself was a man of about 40 With black hair and carefully combed whiskers He was dressed in a particularly gorgeous manner With plenty of articles of jewelry about him All about three sizes larger than those Which are usually worn by gentlemen And a rough great coat to crown the whole Into one pocket of this great coat He thrust his left hand the moment he dismounted While from the other he drew forth with his right A very bright and glaring silk handkerchief With which he whisked the speck or two of dust From his boots and then crumpling it in his hand Swaggered up the court It had not escaped Sam's attention That when this person dismounted A shabby-looking man in a brown great coat Shorn of diverse buttons Who had been previously slinking about On the opposite side of the way Crossed over and remained stationary close by Having something more than a suspicion Of the object of the gentleman's visit Sam preceded him to the Georgian vulture And turning sharp round planted himself In the center of the doorway Now my fine fellow Said the man in the rough coat in an imperious tone Attempting at the same time to push his way past Now, sir, what's the matter? Replied Sam, returning the push with compound interest Come, none of this, my man, this won't do with me Said the owner of the rough coat Raising his voice and turning white Here, smouch! Well, what's amiss here? Growled the man in the brown coat And gradually sneaking up the court During the short dialogue Only some insolence of this young man Said the principal, giving Sam another push Come, none of this gammon Growled smouch, giving him another And a harder one This last push had the effect Which it was intended by the experienced Mr. Smouch to produce For while Sam, anxious to return the compliment Was grinding that gentleman's body Against the doorpost, the principal crept past Had made his way to the bar Wither Sam, after bandying a few epithetical remarks With Mr. Smouch, followed at once Good morning, my dear, said the principal Addressing the young lady at the bar With botany bayese and New South Wales gentility Which is Mr. Pickwick's room, my dear Show him up, said the barmaid to a waiter Without dating another look at the exquisite And replied to his inquiry The waiter led the way upstairs As he was desired And the man in the rough coat followed With Sam behind him Who, in his progress up the staircase Indulged in sundry gestures Indicative of supreme contempt and defiance To the unspeakable gratification Of the servants and other lookers on Mr. Smouch, who was troubled with a horse cough Remained below and expected in the passage Mr. Pickwick was fast asleep in bed When his early visitor, followed by Sam Entered the room As they made and so doing, awoke him Shaving water, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick From within the curtains Shave you directly, Mr. Pickwick, said the visitor Drawing one of them back from the bed's head I've got an execution against you At the suit of Bardell Here's the warrant, common please Here's my card I suppose you'll come over to my house Giving Mr. Pickwick a friendly tap on the shoulder The sheriff's officer, for such he was Through his card on the counterpane And pulled a gold toothpick from his waistcoat pocket Namby's the name, said the sheriff's deputy As Mr. Pickwick took his spectacles from under the pillow And put them on to read the card Namby, Belle Alley Coleman Street At this point, Sam Weller, who had had his eyes fixed To the two on Mr. Namby's shining beaver, interfered Are you a Quaker, said Sam? I'll let you know I am Before I've done with you, replied the indignant officer I'll teach you manners, my fine fellow One of these fine mornings Thank you, said Sam, I'll do the same to you Take your hat off With this, Mr. Weller, in the most dexterous manner Knocked Mr. Namby's hat to the other side of the room With such violence that he had very nearly caused him To swallow the gold toothpick into the bargain Observe this, Mr. Pickwick, said the disconcerted officer Gasping for breath I've been assaulted in the execution of my duty By your servant in your chamber I'm in bodily fear I call you to witness this Don't witness nothing, sir, interposed Sam Shut your eyes up tight, sir I'd pitch him out a window only he couldn't fall far enough Because of the leads outside Sam, said Mr. Pickwick, in an angry voice As his attendant made various demonstrations of hostilities If you say another word or offer the slightest interference With this person, I discharge you that instant But, sir, said Sam Hold your tongue, interposed Mr. Pickwick Take that hat up again But this Sam flatly and positively refused to do And after he had been severely reprimanded by his master The officer, being in a hurry Kind ascended to pick it up himself Venting a great variety of threats against Sam, meanwhile Which that gentleman received with perfect composure Merely observing that if Mr. Namby would have the goodness To put his hat on again, he would knock it into the latter End of next week Mr. Namby, perhaps thinking that such a process Might be productive of inconvenience to himself Declined to offer the temptation And soon after called up Smouch Having informed him that the capture was made And that he was to wait for the prisoner Until he should have finished dressing Namby then swaggered out and drove away Smouch, requesting Mr. Pickwick in a surly manner To be as alive as he could for it was a busy time Drew up a chair by the door and sat there Until he had finished dressing Sam was then despatched for a hackney coach And then at the triumvirate proceeded to Coleman Street It was fortunate the distance was short For Mr. Smouch, besides possessing No very enchanting conversational powers Was rendered a decidedly unpleasant companion In a limited space by the physical weakness To which we have elsewhere adverted The coach having turned into a very narrow and dark street Stopped before a house with iron bars to all the windows The doorposts of which were graced by the name And title of Namby, Officer to the Sheriffs of London The inner gate having been opened by a gentleman Who might have passed for a neglected twin brother Mr. Smouch, and who was endowed with a large key For the purpose Mr. Pickwick was shown into the coffee room This coffee room was a front parlor The principal features of which were fresh sand And stale tobacco smoke Mr. Pickwick bowed to the three persons Who were seated in it when he entered And having despatched Sam for Perker Withdrew into an obscure corner And looked fenced with some curiosity Upon his new companions One of these was a mere boy of nineteen or twenty Who, though it was yet barely ten o'clock Was drinking gin and water and smoking a cigar Amusements to which, judging from his inflamed countenance He had devoted himself pretty constantly For the last year or two of his life Opposite him, engaged in stirring the fire With the toe of his right boot Was a coarse vulgar young man of about thirty Sallow face and harsh voice Evidently possessed of that knowledge of the world And captivating freedom of manner Which is to be acquired in public house parlors And at low billiard tables The third tenant of the apartment Was a middle-aged man in a very old suit of black Who looked pale and haggard And paced up and down the room incessantly Stopping now and then to look with great anxiety Out of the window as if he expected somebody Assuming his walk. You'd better have the loan of my razor this morning, Mr. Aresley, Said the man who was stirring the fire Tipping the wink to his friend the boy. Thank you, no, I shan't want it. I expect I shall be out in the course of an hour or so, Replied the other in a hurried manner, Then walking again up to the window And once more returning disappointed He sighed deeply and left the room A pound which the other two burst into a loud laugh. Well, I never saw such a game as that, Said the gentleman who had offered the razor, Whose name appeared to be Price. Never. Mr. Price confirmed the assertion with an oath And then laughed again when, of course, the boy Who thought his companion, one of the most dashing fellows Alive, laughed also. You'd hardly think, would you now? Said Price, turning towards Mr. Pickwick, That that chap's been here a week yesterday And never once shaved himself yet As he feels so certain he's going to get out In half an hour's time. Thinks he may as well put it off till he gets home. Poor man, said Mr. Pickwick, Are his chances of getting out of his difficulties Really so great? Chances be damned, replied Price. He has in half the ghost of one. I wouldn't give that for his chance Of walking about the streets this time ten years. With this Mr. Price snapped his fingers Contemptuously and rang the bell. Give me a sheet of paper, Crookie, Said Mr. Price, to the attendant, Who, in dress and general appearance, Looked something between a bankrupt glazier And a drover in a state of insolvency. And a glass of brandy and water, Crookie, Do you hear? I'm going to write to my father, And I must have a stimulant, or I shan't Be able to pitch it strong enough into the old boy. At this facetious speech, the young boy, It is almost needless to say, was fairly convulsed. That's right, said Mr. Price, Never say die, all fun, ain't it? Prime, said the young gentleman. You've got some spirit about you, you have, Said Price, you've seen something of life. I rather think I have, replied the boy. He had looked at it through the dirty Panes of glass in a bar door. Mr. Pickwick, feeling not a little Disgusted with this dialogue, As well as with the air and manner Of the two beings by whom it had been Carried on, was about to inquire How he could not be accommodated with a Private sitting room when two or three Strangers of gentile appearance entered, At sight of whom the boy threw his cigar Into the fire and whispering to Mr. Price That they had come to make it all right For him, joined them at a table In the farther end of the room. It would appear, however, that matters Were not going to be made all right Quite so speedily as the young gentleman Anticipated, for a very long Conversation ensued of which Pickwick could not avoid hearing Certain angry fragments regarding Dissolute conduct and repeated Forgiveness. At last there were very distinct Illusions made by the oldest gentleman Of the party to one white cross street At which the young gentleman not Withstanding his primeness and his Spirit and his knowledge of life Into the bargain reclined his head Upon the table and howled dismally. Very much satisfied with this Sudden bringing down of the youth's And this effectual lowering of his tone, Mr. Pickwick rang the bell and was shown At his own request into a private room Furnished with a carpet, table, chairs, Sideboard, and sofa, and ornamented With a looking-glass and various old Prints. Here he had the advantage Of hearing Mrs. Namby's performance On a square piano overhead while The breakfast was getting ready. When it came, Mr. Perker came too. Ah-ha, my dear sir, said the little man, Nailed at last, eh? Come, come, I'm not sorry for it, Either, because now you'll see the Absurdity of this conduct. I've noted down the amount of the Taxed costs and damages for which The casso was issued, and we Had better settle at once and lose No time. Namby has come home By this time, I dare say. What say you, my dear sir? Shall I draw a check or will you? The little man rubbed his hands With affected cheerfulness as he Said this, but glancing at Mr. Pickwick's countenance could Not forbear at the same time Casting a desponding look toward Sam Weller. Perker, said Mr. Pickwick, let Me hear no more of this, I beg. I see no advantage in staying here, So I shall go to prison tonight. You can't go to White Cross Street, my dear sir, said Perker. Impossible! There are sixty Beds and a ward in the bolts On sixteen hours out of the four I would rather go to some other place Of confinement if I can, said Mr. Pickwick. If not, I must make the Best I can of that. You can go to the fleet, my dear sir, If you're determined to go somewhere, Said Perker. That'll do, said Mr. Pickwick. I'll go there directly I have finished my breakfast. Stop, stop, my dear sir, Not the least occasion for being In such a violent hurry to get into A place that most other men are Is eager to get out of, said Attorney. We must have a habeas corpus. There'll be no judge at chamber Still four o'clock this afternoon. You must wait till then. Very good, said Mr. Pickwick, with unmoved patience. Then we will have a chop here at two, See about it, Sam, and tell them To be punctual. Mr. Pickwick, remaining firm Despite all the remonstrances And arguments of Perker, the chops Appeared and disappeared in due course. He was then put into another Hackney coach and carried off to Chance Relayne, after waiting half an hour Or so for Mr. Namby, who had A select dinner party and could On no account be disturbed before. There were two judges in attendance At Sargent's Inn. One King's Bench and one Common Please, and a great deal Of business appeared to be Transacting before them if the Number of lawyers clerks who were Hurrying in and out with bundles Of papers afforded any test. When they reached the Low Archway Which forms the entrance to the Inn Perker was detained a few moments Parlaying with the coachman about The fare and the change, and Mr. Pickwick, stepping to one side To be out of the way of the stream Of people that were pouring in and out Looked about him with some curiosity. The people that attracted his attention Most were three or four men Of shabby, gentile appearance Who touched their hats to many Of the attorneys who passed They had to have some business there The nature of which Mr. Pickwick could Not divine. There were curious looking fellows One was a slim and rather lame man In rusty black and a white Neckerchip, another was a stout Burly person dressed in the same Apparel with a great reddish Black cloth round his neck. A third was a little wheezing Drunken looking body with a pimply Face. They were loitering about With their hands behind them With an anxious countenance whispered Something in the ear of some of the gentlemen With papers as they hurried by. Mr. Pickwick remembered to have Very often observed them lounging Under the archway when he had been walking Past, and his curiosity was Quite excited to know to what branch Of the profession these dingy-looking Loungers could possibly belong. He was about to propound The question to Namby, who kept Close beside him, sucking a large Gold ring on his little finger When Perker bustled up and observing That there was no time to lose Led the way into the inn. As Mr. Pickwick followed The lame man stepped up to him And, civilly touching his hat, held Out a written card which Mr. Pickwick Not wishing to hurt the man's feelings By refusing, courteously Accepted and deposited in his waistcoat Pocket. Now, said Perker, turning round Before he entered one of the offices To see that his companions were close And entertained him. In here, my dear sir. Hello, what do you want? This last question was addressed To the lame man, who, unobserved By Mr. Pickwick, made one of the Party, and replied to it The lame man touched his hat again With all imaginable politeness And motioned towards Mr. Pickwick. No, no, said Perker with a smile. We don't want you, my dear friend. We don't want you. I begged your pardon, sir, said The gentleman took my card. I hope you will employ me, sir. The gentleman nodded to me. I'll be judged by the gentleman himself. You nodded to me, sir? Poo, poo, nonsense. You didn't nod to anybody, Pickwick. A mistake, a mistake, said Perker. The gentleman handed me his card, Replied Mr. Pickwick, Producing it from his waistcoat pocket. I accepted it, as the gentleman Seemed to wish it. In fact, I had some curiosity And I should be at leisure. The little attorney burst into a loud Laugh and, returning the card to the lame Man, informing him it was all A mistake, whispered to Mr. Pickwick As the man turned away in dungeon That he was only a bail. A what? exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. A bail, replied Perker. A bail. Yes, my dear sir. Half a dozen of them here. Bail you to any amount and only Charge half a crown. Perker's trade, isn't it? Said Perker, regaling himself With a pinch of snuff. What? Am I to understand that these men Earn a livelihood by waiting About here to perjure themselves Before the judges of the land At the rate of half a crown of crime? Exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite aghast Of the disclosure. Why, I don't exactly know about Perjury, my dear sir, replied The little gentleman. Legal fiction, my dear sir, nothing more. Saying which, the attorney shrugged His shoulders, smiled, took a second Pitch of snuff, and led the way Into the office of the judge's clerk. This was a room of specially dirty Appearance with a very low ceiling And old paneled walls, and so Badly lighted that although it was Broad day outside, great tallow Candles were burning on the desks. At one end was a door Leading to the judge's private apartment Round which were congregated A crowd of attorneys and managing clerks Who were called in in the order In which their respective appointments Stood upon the file. Every time this door was open To let a party out, the next party Made a violent rush to get in. And, as in addition to the numerous Dialogues which passed between the gentlemen Who were waiting to see the judge A variety of personal squabbles Insued between the greater part Of those who had seen him, there Was as much noise as could well be Raised in an apartment of such confined Dimensions. Nor were the conversations of these gentlemen The only sounds that broke upon the ear. Standing on a box behind A wooden bar at another end Of the room was a clerk in spectacles Who was taking the affidavits. Large batches of which were From time to time carried Into the private room by another clerk For the judge's signature. There were a large number Of attorneys' clerks to be sworn And it being a moral impossibility To swear them all at once The struggles of these gentlemen To reach the clerk in spectacles Were like those of a crowd to get in At the pit door of a theater When gracious majesty honors it With its presence. Another functionary from time to Time exercised his lungs In calling over the names of those Who had been sworn. For the purpose of restoring to them Had been signed by the judge, which Gave rise to a few more scuffles. And all these things going on At the same time occasioned as Much bustle as the most active And excitable person could desire To behold. There were yet another class of persons Those who were waiting to attend Summons as their employers had taken Out, which it was optional to The attorney on the opposite side To attend or not, and whose business It was from time to time to cry That attorney's name to make certain That he was not in attendance without Their knowledge. For example, leaning against the wall Close beside the seat Mr. Pickwick Had taken was an office lad Of fourteen with a tenor voice Near him a common law clerk With a base one. A clerk hurried in with a bundle Of papers and stared about him. Sniggle and blink, cried the tenor. Porgan and snob growled the base. Stumpy and deacon said The newcomer, nobody answered. The next man who came in Was bailed by the whole three And he in his turn shouted For another firm, and then somebody Else roared in a loud voice For another, and so forth. All this time the man in the Spectacles was hard at work Swearing the clerks, the oath Being invariably administered Without any effort at punctuation And usually in the following terms. Take the book in your right Hand, this is your name in Handwriting, you swear that the contents Of this, your affidavit are true So help you God, a shilling You must get changed, I haven't got it. Well, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick, I suppose they are getting The habeas corpus ready? Yes, said Sam, And I wish they'd bring out To have his carcass. It's weary unpleasant keeping us Vating here. I'd have got half A dozen have his carcasses ready For the next time. What sort of cumbersome Unmanageable machine Sam Weller imagined the habeas corpus To be does not appear, for Perker At that moment walked up and took Mr. Pickwick away. The usual forms having been gone Through the body of Samuel Pickwick Was soon afterwards confided To the custody of the tip staff To be by him taken to the warden Of the fleet prison, and there Detained until the amount of the In the action of Bardell against Pickwick was fully paid and satisfied. And that, Said Mr. Pickwick, laughing, Will be a very long time. Sam, call another Hackney coach. Perker, my dear friend, goodbye. I shall go with you And see you safe there, said Perker. Indeed, replied Mr. Pickwick, I would rather go without Any other attendant than Sam. As soon as I get settled I will write and let you know And I shall expect you immediately. Until then, goodbye. As Mr. Pickwick said this He got into the coach Which had by this time arrived Followed by the tip staff. Sam, having stationed himself on the box It rolled away. Most extraordinary man that, Said Perker as he stopped to pull on his gloves. What a bankrupt he'd make, sir, Observed Mr. Loudon, Who was standing near. How he would bother the commissioners, He'd said them at defiance if they talked Of committing him, sir. The attorney did not appear very much Delighted with his clerk's professional Estimate of Mr. Pickwick's character, For he walked away without Daining any reply. The Hackney coach jolted along Fleet Street, as Hackney coaches Usually do. The horses went better, the driver said When they had anything before them. They must have gone at a most extraordinary Pace when there was nothing. Mr. Pickwick's physical kept behind a cart. When the cart stopped, it stopped. And when the cart went on again, It did the same. Mr. Pickwick sat opposite the tip staff And the tip staff sat with his hat Between his knees, whistling a tune And looking out of the coach window. Time performs wonders. By the powerful old gentlemen's Aid even a Hackney coach Gets over half a mile of ground. They stopped at length And Mr. Pickwick alighted at the gate The tip staff just looking over his shoulder To see that his charge was Following close at his heels Preceded Mr. Pickwick into the prison Turning to the left after they entered They passed through an open door Into a lobby from which a heavy gate Opposite to that by which they had entered And which was guarded by a stout Turn key with the key in his hand Let it once into the interior Of the prison. Here they stopped while the tip staff Delivered his papers and here Mr. Pickwick was apprised that he would remain Until he had undergone the ceremony Known to the initiated as Sitting for your portrait Sitting for my portrait Said Mr. Pickwick Having your lightness taken, sir Replied the stout turn key We're capital hands that lightness is here Take them in no time and always exact Walk in, sir, and make yourself at home Mr. Pickwick complied with the invitation And sat himself down When Mr. Weller, who stationed himself At the back of the chair, whispered That the sitting was merely another term For undergoing an inspection By the different turn keys In order that they might know prisoners From visitors. Well, Sam said Mr. Pickwick Then I wished the artist would come This is rather a public place. They won't belong, sir, I just say Replied Sam There's a Dutch clock, sir So I see observed Mr. Pickwick And a bird cage, sir, says Sam Veals within veals a prison In a prison, ain't it, sir? As Mr. Weller made this Philosophical remark, Mr. Pickwick Was aware that his sitting had commenced The stout turn key, having been Relieved from the lock Sat down and looked at him Carelessly from time to time While a long thin man who had relieved Him thrust his hands Beneath his coat tails And planting himself opposite took A good long view of him. A third rather surly looking gentleman Who had apparently been disturbed At his teeth, for he was disposing Of the last remnant of a crust and Butter when he came in, stationed Himself close to Mr. Pickwick And resting his hands on his hips Inspectioned him narrowly While two others mixed with the group And studied his features with Most intent and thoughtful faces Mr. Pickwick winced a good deal Under the operation, and he Appeared to sit very uneasily In his chair. But he made no remark to anybody While it was being performed, not Even to Sam, who reclined upon The back of the chair, reflecting Partly on the situation of his Master, and partly on the great Satisfaction that would have afforded Him to make a fierce assault upon All the turn keys there assembled One after the other, if it were Lawful and peaceable to do so. At length the lightness was Completed, and Mr. Pickwick was Informed that he might now proceed Into the prison. Where am I to sleep tonight? Enquired Mr. Pickwick. Why, I don't rightly know about Tonight, replied the stout turn Key, you'll be chummed on somebody Tomorrow, and then you'll be all Snug and comfortable. The first Night's generally rather unsettled But you'll be sat all squares Tomorrow. After some discussion it was discovered That one of the turn keys had a bed To let, which Mr. Pickwick could Have for that night. He gladly Agreed to hire it. If you'll come with me, I'll Show it you at once, said the man. It ain't a largely, but it's an Outnoter to sleep in. This way, Sir. They passed through the inner gate And descended a short flight of Steps. The key was turned after Them, and Mr. Pickwick found Himself for the first time in his Alls of a debtor's prison. End of Chapter 40 Chapter 41 of the Pickwick Paper is read by Patty Brugman. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the Public domain. For more information Or to volunteer, please go to LibriVox.org Chapter 41 What befell Mr. Pickwick when He got into the fleet. What Prisoners he saw there, and how He passed the night. Mr. Tom Roker, the gentleman who Had accompanied Mr. Pickwick into The prison, turned sharp around To the right when he got to the Bottom of the little flight of Steps and led the way through an Iron gate which stood open, and Up another short flight of Steps into a long narrow gallery Dirty and low paved with stone And very dimly lighted by a Window at each remote end. This, said the gentleman Thrusting his hands into his And looking carelessly over his Shoulder to Mr. Pickwick, this here Is the hall flight. Oh, replied Mr. Pickwick Looking down a dark and filthy Staircase which appeared to lead To a range of damp and gloomy Stone vaults beneath the ground. And those, I suppose, are the Little cellars where the prisoners Keep their small quantities of Coals, unpleasant places To have to go down to. But very convenient, I dare Say. Yes, I shouldn't wonder if it was Convenient, replied the gentleman Seeing that a few people live there Pretty snug. That's the fair That is. My friend, said Mr. Pickwick, You don't really mean to say that Human beings live down in those Wretched dungeons. Don't I? replied Mr. Rogar with indignant Astonishment. Why shouldn't I? Live, live down there Explain, Mr. Pickwick. Live down there, yes, And die down there, too. Very often, said Mr. Rogar. And what of that? Who's got to say anything again it? Live down there, yes, and a very Good place it is to live in, ain't it? As Rogar turned somewhat Fiercely upon Mr. Pickwick In saying this, and moreover Muttered in an excited fashion Certain unpleasant invocations Concerning his own eyes, Limbs, and circulating fluids The latter gentleman deemed It advisable to pursue the discourse No further. Mr. Rogar then Proceeded to mount another staircase As dirty as that which Led to the place which had just Been the subject of discussion In which assent he was Closely followed by Mr. Pickwick And Sam. There, said Mr. Rogar, pausing For a breath when they reached Another gallery of the same dimensions This is the coffee room flight The one above's the third And the one above's that the top And the room where you're Going to sleep tonight is the warden's room And it's this way, come on Having said all this in a breath Mr. Rogar mounted another flight Of stairs with Mr. Pickwick And Sam while they're following At his heels. These staircases received Light from sundry windows Placed at some little distance above the floor And looking into a graveled area Bounded by a high brick wall With iron cheva de frist at the top This area it appeared For Mr. Rogar's statement was the racket Ground. And it further appeared On the testimony of the same gentleman That there was a smaller area In that portion of the prison Which was nearest Fartington Street Denominated and called The painted ground from the fact Of its walls having once displayed The resemblances of various men of war In full sale. And other artistical effects Achieved in bygone times By some imprisoned drotsman In his leisure hours. Having communicated this piece of information Apparently more for the purpose Of discharging his bosom of an important fact Than with any specific View of enlightening Mr. Pickwick The guide, having at length Reached another gallery Led the way into a small passage At the extreme end Opened a door and disclosed An apartment of an appearance By no means inviting Containing eight or nine iron Bed-sets. There said Mr. Rogar holding the door open And looking triumphantly round At Mr. Pickwick There's a room. Mr. Pickwick's face, however, Be tokened such a very trifling Portion of satisfaction At the appearance of his lodging Mr. Rogar looked for a reciprocity of feeling Into the countenance of Samuel Weller Who until now had observed A dignified silence. There's a room, young man, Observed Mr. Rogar. I see it, replied Sam With a placid nod of the head. You wouldn't think To find such a room as this In the Farrington Hotel, would you? Said Mr. Rogar With a complacent smile. To this Mr. Weller replied With an easy and unsteadied closing Of one eye, which might be considered To mean either that he would have Thought it, or that he would not Have thought it, or that he had never Thought anything at all about it, as The observer's imagination suggested. Having executed this feat and reopened His eye, Mr. Weller proceeded To inquire which was the individual Bed-stead that Mr. Rogar had So flatteringly described As an out-and-outer to sleep in. That's it, replied Mr. Rogar, Pointing to a very rusty one in the corner. It would make anyone go to sleep That Bed-stead would, whether they wanted To or not. I should think, said Sam, Eyeing the piece of furniture in question With a look of excessive disgust. I should think poppies Was nothing to it. Nothing at all, said Mr. Rogar. And disposed, said Sam, With a side-long glance at his master, As if to see whether there were any Symptoms of his determination Being shaken by what past. I suppose the other gentleman As sleeps here are gentlemen. Nothing but it, said Mr. Rogar. One of them takes his twelve pints Of ale a day and never leaves off Smoking even at his meal. He must be a first raider, Said Sam. A one, replied Mr. Rogar. Nothing undaunted Even by this intelligence Mr. Pigwick smilingly Announced his determination to test The powers of the narcotic Bedstead for the night. And Mr. Rogar, after informing him That he could retire to rest At whatever hour he thought proper Without any further notice or formality, Walked off, leaving him standing With Sam in the gallery. It was getting dark, that is to say A few gas jets were kindled in the Place which was never lied By complaint to the evening Which had set in outside. As it was rather warm, some of the Tenants of the numerous little rooms Which had opened into the gallery on Either hand had set their doors ajar. Mr. Pigwick peeped into them As he passed along with great Curiosity and interest. Here four or five great hulking Fellows just visible through A cloud of tobacco smoke Were engaged in noisy and riotous Conversation over half emptied Pots of beer or playing at All fours with a very greasy Pack of cards. In the adjoining room some solitary Tenant might be seen pouring By the light of feeble tallow candle Over a bundle of soiled and tattered Papers, yellow with dust And dropping to pieces from age, Writing for the hundredth time Some lengthened statements of his Grievances for the perusal Of some great man whose eyes It would never reach or whose heart It would never touch. In a third a man With his wife and a whole Crowd of children might be seen Making up a scanty bed on the ground Or upon a few chairs for the Younger ones to pass the night in And in a fourth and the fifth And a sixth and a seventh The noise and the beer and the Tobacco smoke and the cards All came over again In greater force than before In the galleries themselves And more especially on the staircases There lingered a great number Of people who came there Some because their rooms were empty And lonesome others because Their rooms were full and hot The greater part because they were Restless and uncomfortable and not Possessed of the secret of exactly Knowing what to do with themselves There were many classes of people here From the laboring man in his fustian Jacket to the broken down Spendthrift in his shawl dressing Gown most appropriately out at elbows But there was the same air about them All a listless jailbird A vaggar, a vagabondish Who's afraid sort of bearing Which is wholly indescribable in words But which any man can understand In one moment, if he wish, by setting foot In the nearest debtor's prison And looking at the very first group Of people he sees there with the same Interest as Mr. Pickwick did It strikes me, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick leaning over the iron rail At the stairhead It strikes me, Sam, that imprisonment For debt is scarcely any punishment All Think not, sir, inquired Mr. Weller You see how these fellows Drink and smoke and roar Replyed Mr. Pickwick It's quite impossible that they can mind it much That's just the worry thing Rejoined Sam They don't mind it It's a regular holiday to them All porter and skittles It the other ones that gets done over With the sort of thing Them downhearted fellows as Kansas Played skittles neither Them as would pay if they could And get slow by being boxed up I'll tell you what it is, sir Them as always idling at public houses They don't damage at all And them as isn't always a work And when they can, it damages too much It's unethical As my father used to say When his grog weren't made Half and half, it's unethical And that's the fault on it I think you're right, Sam Mr. Pickwick, after a few moments' reflection Quite right Perhaps now and then there's some honest people As can likes it, observed Mr. Weller In a rummative tone But I never heard of one as can Call to mind except a little dirty-faced Man in a brown coat And that was a force of habit And who was he, inquired Mr. Pickwick Well, that's the very point As nobody never known, replied Sam But what did he do? Why, he what many men has been Much better known as done In their time, sir, replied Sam He ran a march against the constable And vun it In other words, I suppose, said Mr. Pickwick He got into debt Just that, sir, replied Sam And in course of time He come in consequence That weren't much execution for nine Pound nothing, multiplied by five For costs, but, however, so Here he stopped for seventeen Year If he got any wrinkles in his face They was stopped up with the dirt For they, as dirty-faced and brown coat Was just the same at the end of the time As they was at the beginning He was a wary, peaceful, inoffending little creature It was always a bustling About for somebody or playing rackets And never vinnin' So at last the turn keys They got quite fond on him And he was in the lodge every night To chatter in with him and tellin' stories About all that air Fun night he was in there as usual Along with a wary old friend of his As was in the lock Then he says all of a sudden I ain't seen the market outside built, he says Fleet market was there at the time I ain't seen the market outside built, he says For seventeen year I know you ain't said the turn keys Mookin' his pipe I should like to see it for a minute, Bill, he says Where he probable says the turn keys Mookin' his pipe Where he fears and makin' believe He warrant up to what the little man wanted Bill says the little man More abrupt than before I've got a fancy in my head Let me see the public streets Once more before I die And if I ain't struck with apoplexy I'll be back in five minutes by the clock And what'd it become of me If he was struck with apoplexy Said the turn key Whoever found me'd bring me home And I've got my card, my pocket bill, he says Number twenty Coffee room flight And that was true sure enough For when he wanted to make the acquaintance Of some newcomer He used to pull out that little limp card With them words on it And nothin' else In consideration of which he was Always called number twenty And the turn key takes a fixed look at him And at last he says in a sullen manner Twenty, he says I'll trust ya You won't get your old friend in the trouble No, my boy I hope I found something behind here Says the little man And as he said it He hit his little vest kit very hard And then a tear started out of each eye Which was very extraordinary For it was supposed that water Never touched his face He shook the turn key by the hand Out he vent He came back Said Mr. Pickwick Wrong for once Sir replied Mr. Weller For a back he come Two minutes before the time A billin' with rage Saying how he'd been nearly run over By acne coach And he weren't used to it And he was blowed If he wouldn't write to the Lord Mayor They got impassified at last And for five years after that He never even so much Is peeped out of a lodge gate At the expiration of that time He died, I suppose Said Mr. Pickwick No, he didn't reply to Sam He got a curiosity to go And taste the beer in the new public house Over the way And it was such a very nice parlor That he took it into his head To go there every night Which he did for a very long time Always coming back regular About a quarter an hour before the gate shut Which was all very snug and comfortable At last he began to get So precious jolly That he used to forget how the time Then took care of it all about it And he vent on getting later and later Until one night his old friend Was just shut in the gate And turned the key In fact, when he come up Hold hard, Bill, he says But ain't you come home yet? Twenty, says the turnkey I thought she was in long ago Now I wasn't, says the little man With a smile Well then, tell you what it is My friend, says the turnkey Open in the gate, wary slowly and sulky It's my opinion, as you've got Into bad company or late Which I'm wary sorry to see Now I don't wish to do nothing harsh, she says But if you can't confine yourself To steady circles and find yourself Way back at regular hours As sure as you're standing there I'll shut you out altogether The little man was seized With a violent, oh, trembling And never vent outside the prison walls Attawards. As sound concluded, Mr. Pickwick Slowly retraced his steps downstairs After a few thoughtful turns In the painted ground, which, As it was now dark, was nearly deserted He intimated to Mr. Weller That he thought it high time For him to withdraw for the night Requesting him to seek a bed In some adjacent public house And return early in the morning To make arrangements for the removal From the George and Vulture This request Mr. Samuel Weller Prepared to obey with as good A grace as he could muster But with a very considerable show Of reluctance, nevertheless He even went so far as to a Say sundry ineffectual hint Regarding the expediency of stretching Himself on the gravel for the night But finding Mr. Pickwick obstinately Deaf to any such suggestions Finally withdrew. There is no disguising the fact That Mr. Pickwick felt very low-spirited And uncomfortable Nor for lack of society For the prison was very full In a bottle of wine Would at once have purchased The utmost good fellowship of a few Choice spirits without any more Formal ceremony of introduction But he was alone In a coarse vulgar crowd And felt the depression of spirit And sinking of heart naturally consequent Upon the reflection that he was Pooped and caged up without A prospect of liberation As to the idea of releasing himself By ministering to the sharpness Of dogson and fog It never for an instant entered His thoughts. In this frame of mind he turned again Into the coffee room gallery and walked Slowly to and fro. The place was intolerably dirty And the smell of tobacco smoke Perfectly suffocating. There was a perpetual slamming As the people went in and out And the noise of their voices and footsteps Echoed and re-echoed through the passages Constantly. A young woman with a child in her arms Who seemed scarcely able to crawl From emancipation and misery Was walking up and down the passage In conversation with her husband Who had no other place to see her In. As they passed Mr. Pickwick He could hear the female sob And once she burst into such a passion To lean against the wall for support While the man took the child in his arms And tried to soothe her. Mr. Pickwick's heart was really Too full to bear it and he went Upstairs to bed. Now although the warden's room Was a very uncomfortable one Being in every point of decoration and convenience Several hundred degrees inferior To the commonest infirmary of a county jail It had at present The merit of being wholly deserted Saved by Mr. Pickwick himself. So he sat down At the foot of his little iron bedstead To begin to wonder how much a year The warden made out of the dirty room. Having Satisfied himself by a mathematical Calculation that the apartment was About equal in annual value To the free hold Of a small street in the suburbs of London He took to wondering what Possible temptation could have induced A dingy looking fly That was crawling over his pantalons To come into a close prison When he had the choice of So many airy situations A course of meditation which Led him to the irresistible conclusion That the insect was mad. After settling this point He began to be conscious That he was getting sleepy Whereupon he took his nightcap out Of his pocket in which he had Had the precaution to stow in the morning And leisurely undressing himself Got into bed and fell asleep. Bravo! Heel and toe Cut and shuffle, pay way it Zephyr! I'm smothered If the opera house isn't to a proper hemisphere. Keep it up, hooray! These expressions Delivered in a most boisterous tone And accompanied with loud Peels of laughter Rouse Mr. Pickwick from one of those Sound slumbers which lasting in Reality some half hour Seemed to the sleeper to have been For about three weeks or a month. The voice had no sooner ceased Than the room was shaken with violence That the windows rattled in their frames And the bed-deads trembled again. Mr. Pickwick started up And remained for some minutes fixed In mute astonishment at the scene before him. On the floor of the room A man in a broad-skirted green coat With corduroy knee-smalls And grey cotton stockings Was performing the most popular Steps of the hornpipe With a slang and burlesque caricature Of grace and lightness Which combined with the very appropriate Character of his costume Was inexpressibly absurd. Another man evidently very Drunk who had probably been tumbled Into bed by his companions Was sitting up between the sheets Warbling as much as he could Recall act of a comic song With the most intensely sentimental Feeling and expression. While a third seated on one of the Shades was applauding both performers With the air profound connoisseur And engaging them by such Evolutions of feeling As had already roused Mr. Pickwick From his sleep. The last man was an admirable specimen Of a class of gentry which never Can be seen in full perfection But in such places. They maybe met with in a perfect state Occasionally about stable yards In public houses, but they Never attained their full bloom At the top beds, which would almost seem To be considerably provided by the Legislature for the sole purpose Of rearing them. He was a tall fellow with an olive Complexion, long dark hair And very thick bushy whiskers meeting Under his chin. He wore no neckerchief as he had been Playing rackets all day and his open Shirt collar displayed their full Luxurians. On his head he wore one of the common 18 penny French skull caps Castled dangling therefrom Very happily in keeping with the Common fustian coat. His legs, which, being long, were Afflicted with weakness. Graced a pair of Oxford Miniature trousers made to show The full symmetry of the limbs. Being somewhat negligently Braced, however, and moreover But imperfectly buttoned, They fell in a series of Not the most graceful folds Over a pair of shoes sufficiently down To display a pair of very soiled White stockings. There was a rakish vagabond smartness And a kind of boastful rascality About the whole man that was worth A mine of gold. This figure was the first to perceive That Mr. Pickwick was looking on Upon which he winked to the Zephyr And entreated him with mock gravity Not to wake the gentlemen. While these blessed the gentlemen's Honest heart and soul Said the Zephyr, turning round To a primitive surprise, the gentleman Is awake. Shakespeare, how do you do it, sir? How is Mary and Sarah, sir? And the dear old lady at home, sir? Will you have the kindness to put My compliments into the first little Parcel year sent in that way, sir? And say that I would have sent him Before, only I was afraid They might be broken the wagon, sir? Don't overwhelm the gentleman with ordinary Civilities when you see he's anxious To have something to drink, said the gentleman Senator Kosair. Why'd you ask the gentleman What he'll take? Dear me, I quite forgot, replied the other. What will you take, sir? Will you take to port, sir? Or sherry wine, sir? I can recommend the ale, sir, Or perhaps you'd like to taste the porter, sir. Allow me to have the Felicity of hanging up your nightcap, sir. With this, the speaker Snatched the article of dress From Mr. Pickwick's head and fixed it In a twinkling on that of the drunken man Who firmly impressed with the belief That he was delighting a numerous assembly Continue to hammer away at the comic song In the most melancholy strains imaginable Taking a man's nightcap From his brow by violent means And adjusting it to the head Of an unknown gentleman of dirty exterior However ingenious a witticism in itself Is unquestionably one of those Which come under the denomination Of practical jokes. Viewing the matter precisely in this light Mr. Pickwick, without the slightest intimation Of his purpose, sprang vigorously out of bed, Struck the Zephyrus' smart blow in the chest As to deprive him of a considerable portion Of the commodity which sometimes bears his name, And then, recapturing his nightcap, Boldly placed himself in an attitude of defence. Now, said Mr. Pickwick, Gasping no less from excitement Than from the expenditure of so much energy, Come on, both of you, both of you! And with his liberal invitation The worthy gentleman communicated A revolving motion to his clenched fists By way of appalling his antagonists With the display of science, It may have been Mr. Pickwick's Very unexpected gallantry, Or it might have been the complicated manner In which he had got himself out of bed And fallen all in a mass upon the hornpipe man That touched his adversaries, Touched they were, For instead of then and there Making an attempt to commit manslaughter As Mr. Pickwick implicitly believed They would have done, they paused, Stare at each other for a short time, And finally laughed outright, Well, you're a trump, And I like y'all a better for it, Said the Zephyrus. Now jump into bed again, Or y'all catch the roommatics. No, malice, I hope, Said the man extending a hand About the size of a yellow clump of fingers And sometimes swings over a Glover's door. Certainly not, said Mr. Pickwick, With great alacrity, for now that The excitement was over, he began To feel rather cool about the legs. Allow me the honour, sir, Said the gentleman with the whiskers Presenting his dexter hand And aspirating the H. With much pleasure, sir, said Mr. Pickwick, And having executed a very long And solemn shake, got into bed again. My name is Smangle, sir, Said the man with the whiskers. Oh, said Mr. Pickwick. Mine is Mivins, said the man In the stockings. I am delighted to hear it, said Mr. Pickwick, And coughed Mr. Smangle. Did you speak, sir, said Mr. Pickwick? No, I did not, said Mr. Smangle. Oh, I thought you did, sir, Said Mr. Pickwick. All this was very genteel and pleasant, And to make matters still more comfortable, Mr. Smangle assured Mr. Pickwick In a great many times that he Chained a very high respect for Feelings of a gentleman, Which sentiment indeed did him Infinite credit, as he could be In no wise supposed to understand them. Are you going through the court, sir? Inquired Mr. Smangle. Through the what? Said Mr. Pickwick. Through the court, Portugal Street, The court for a relief, you know. Oh, no, replied Mr. Pickwick. No, I am not. Going out, perhaps, Suggested Mindens. I fear not, replied Mr. Pickwick. I refuse to pay some damages, And am here in consequence. Ah, said Mr. Smangle. Paper has been my ruin. A stationer, I presume, sir, Said Mr. Pickwick, innocently. Stationer? No, no, confound and curse me, Not so low as that. No trade. When I say paper, I mean bills. Oh, you wouldn't use the word in that sense, I see. Said Mr. Pickwick. Damn, a gentleman must expect reverses, Said Smangle. What of that? Here am I in the fleet prison. Well, good. What then? None the worse for it, am I? Not a bit, replied Mithens. And he was quite right, for so far from Mr. Smangle Being any the worse for it, He was something the better, He had attained gratuitous possession Of a certain article of jewelry, Which, long before that, Had found their way into the pawnbrokers. Well, but comes, said Mr. Smangle. This is dry work. Let's rinse our mouths To drop a burnt sherry. The last commercial stand it. Mithens shall fetch it, And I'll help drink it. That's a fair gentleman-like division Of labour now. Curse me. Unwilling to hazard another quarrel, Mr. Pickwick gladly assented To the proposition and consigned The money to Mr. Mithens, Who, as it was nearly eleven o'clock, Lost no time in repairing to the Coffee-room on his errand. I say, Whispers Smangle, A moment his friend had left the room, What did you give him? Half a sovereign, said Mr. Pickwick. He's a devilish, Pleasant gentlemanly dog, Said Mr. Smangle, infernal pleasant. I don't know anybody More so, but Here Mr. Smangle stopped short And shook his head dubiously. You don't think there is any possibility Of his appropriating the money To his own use, said Mr. Pickwick? Oh, no! Mind I don't say that. I expressly say that he's a devilishly Gentlemanly fellow, said Mr. Smangle. But I think perhaps if somebody went down Just to see what he didn't Drop his beak into the jug by accident, Or make some confounded mistake In losing the money as he came upstairs, It would be as well. Here you, sir, just run downstairs And look after that gentleman, will you? This request was addressed To the little, timid-looking, nervous man Whose appearance betook great poverty, And who had been crouching On his bedstead all the while, Apparently stupefied by the novelty Of the situation. You know where the Coffee-room is, Mr. Smangle? Just run down Tell the gentleman you've come To help him up with the jug. Or stop. I'll tell you what. I'll tell you how we'll do him, Said Smangle with a cunning look. How, said Mr. Pickwick? Send down were that he's to spend The change in cigars, capital thought. Run and tell him that to hear. They shan't be wasted, Continued Smangle turning to Mr. Pickwick. I'll smook him. This maneuvering was so exceedingly And with all performed, with such Immovable composure and coolness Than Mr. Pickwick would have had No wish to disturb it, even if he Had the power. In a short time Mr. Mivens returned, bearing the Sherry, which Mr. Smangle dispensed In two little, cracked mugs, Considerately remarking, with Reference to himself, that a gentleman Must not be particular under such Circumstances, and that for his part He was not too proud to drink out Of a jug. In which To show his sincerity, he forthwith Pledged the company in a drought Which half emptied it. An excellent understanding, having Been, by these means, promoted Mr. Smangle proceeded to entertain His hearers with a relation Of diverse romantic adventures In which he had been from Time to time engaged, involving Various interesting anecdotes Of a thoroughbred horse and a Magnificent Jewess, both The surpassing beauty, and much Provided by the nobility of gentry Of these kingdoms. Long before These elegant extracts from the Biography of a gentleman were concluded Mr. Mivens had be taken himself To bed, and set in snoring For the night, leaving the timid Stranger and Mr. Pickwick to the full Benefit of Mr. Smangle's experiences. Nor were the two last Named gentlemen as much Edified as they might have been By the moving passages narrated. Mr. Pickwick had been in a State of slumber for some time When he had a faint perception of The drunken man bursting forth afresh With a comic song, and receiving From Mr. Smangle a gentle intimation Through the medium of jug-water That his audience were not Musically disposed. Mr. Pickwick then once again Dropped off to sleep with the Confused consciousness that Mr. Smangle was still engaged In relating a long story, the Chief point of which appeared to be Particularly stated and set forth He had done a bill And a gentleman at the same time. End of chapter 41