 51 In which Mr. Pickwick encounters an old acquaintance, to which fortunate circumstance the reader is mainly indebted, for matter of thrilling interest herein set down, concerning two great public men of might and power. The morning which broke upon Mr. Pickwick's sight at eight o'clock was not at all calculated to elevate his spirits or to lessen the depression which the unlooked for result of his embassy inspired. The sky was dark and gloomy, the air was damp and raw, the streets were wet and sloppy. The smoke hung sluggishly above the chimney tops as if it lacked the courage to rise, and the rain came slowly and doggedly down as if it had not even the spirit to pour. The game cock in the stable yard deprived of every spark of his accustomed animation balanced himself dismally on one leg in a corner. A donkey moping with drooping head under the narrow roof of an outhouse appeared from his meditative and miserable countenance to be contemplating suicide. In the street umbrellas were the only things to be seen, and the clicking of patterns and splashing of raindrops were the only sounds to be heard. The breakfast was interrupted by very little conversation. Even Mr. Bob Sawyer felt the influence of the weather and the previous day's excitement. In his own expressive language he was floored, so was Mr. Ben Allen, so was Mr. Pickwick. In protracted expectation of the weather clearing up, the last evening paper from London was read and reread with an intensity of interest only known in cases of extreme destitution. Every inch of the carpet was walked over with similar perseverance. The windows were looked out of, often enough to justify the imposition of an additional duty upon them. All kinds of topics of conversation were started and failed, and at length Mr. Pickwick, when noon had arrived without a change for the better, rang the bell resolutely and ordered out the shays. Although the roads were mirey and the drizzling rain came down harder than it had done yet, and although the mud and wet splashed in at the open windows of the carriage to such an extent that the discomfort was almost as great as to the pair of insides as to the pair of outsides, still there was something in the motion and the sense of being up and down, which was so infinitely superior to being pent in a dull room, looking at the dull rain dripping into a dull street, that they all agreed on starting that the change was a great improvement and wondered how they could possibly have delayed making it as long as they had done. When they stopped to change at Coventry, the steam ascended from the horses in such clouds as wholly to obscure the hostler, whose voice was however heard to declare from the mist that he expected the first gold medal from the Humane Society on their next distributioner for wards for taking the post-boy's hat off. The water descending from the brim of which the invisible gentleman declared, must have drowned him, the post-boy, but for his great presence of mind in tearing it promptly from his head, and drying the gasping man's countenance with a wisp of straw. "'This is pleasant,' said Bob Sawyer, turning up his coat-collar and putting the shawl over his mouth to concentrate the fumes of a glass of brandy just swallowed. "'Wary!' replied Sam, composedly. "'You don't seem to mind it, observe Bob. "'Vy, I don't exactly see no good in mindin' on it, adieu, sir,' replied Sam. "'It's an unanswerable reason anyhow,' said Bob. "'Yes, sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller, "'whatever it is is right, as the young nobleman sweetly remarked when they put him down in the pension list, because his mother's uncle's wife's grandfather once lit the king's pipe with a portable tinder-box. "'Not a bad notion that,' said Sam,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer, approvingly. "'Just thought the young nobleman said every quarter day afterwards for the rest of his life,' replied Mr. Weller. "'Was you ever called in?' inquired Sam, glancing at the driver after a short silence and lowering his voice to a mysterious whisper. "'Was you ever called in when you was apprenticed to a saw-bones to visit a post-boy?' "'I don't remember that I ever was,' replied Bob Sawyer. "'You never see a post-boy in that year's hospital as you walked?' As he says of the ghost, "'Did you?' demanded Sam. "'No,' replied Bob Sawyer. "'I don't think I ever did. "'Never know to churchyard where there was a post-boy's tombstone, or see a dead post-boy, did you?' inquired Sam, pushing his catechism. "'No,' rejoined Bob. "'I never did. "'No,' rejoined Sam triumphantly. "'Nor ever will, and there's another thing that no man never see, and that's a dead donkey. No man never see a dead donkey except a gentleman in the black silk spalls as no the young woman has kept a goat. And that was a French donkey, so very likely he weren't one of the regular breed. "'Well, what has that got to do with a post-boy's?' asked Bob Sawyer. "'This year,' replied Sam, without going so far as to assert, as some very sensible people do, that post-boy's and donkey's is both immortal, what I say is this, that whenever they feel themselves getting stiff and past their work, they just rides off together, one post-boy, to appear in the usual way. What becomes on them, nobody knows, but it's very probable as they starts a day to take their pleasure in some other world, for there ain't a man alive as ever see either a donkey or a post-boy have taken his pleasure in this. Expatiating upon this learned and remarkable theory and citing many curious statistical and other facts in its support, Sam weller beguiled a time until they reached Dunn Church, where a dry post-boy and fresh horses were procured, the next stage was Daventry, and the next Towsester, and at the end of each stage it rained harder than it had done at the beginning. I say, remonstrated Bob Sawyer, looking at the coach window as they pulled up before the door of the Saracen's Head Towsester. This won't do, you know. Lest me, said Mr. Pickwick, just awakening from a knot, I'm afraid you're wet. Oh, you are, are you, returned Bob? Yes, I am, a little that way, uncomfortably damp, perhaps. Bob did look dampish in as much as the rain was streaming from his neck, elbows, cuffs, skirts, and knees, and his whole apparel shone so with the wet that it might have been mistaken for a full suit of prepared oil skin. I am rather wet, said Bob, giving himself a shake and casting a little hydraulic shower around like a Newfoundland dog just emerging from the water. I think it's quite impossible to go on tonight, interposed Ben. Out of the question, sir, remarked Sam weller, coming to assist in the conference. It's a cruelty to animals, sir, to ask him to do it. There's beds here, sir, said Sam, addressing his master. Everything's clean and comfortable. Very good little dinner, sir. They can get ready in half an hour. Pair of foul, sir, and a wheel cutlet. French beans, taters, tart, and tidiness. You'd better stop verioir, sir, if I might recommend. Take it white, sir, as the doctor said. The host of the Saracens head opportunally appeared at this moment to confirm Mr. Weller's statement relative to the accommodations of the establishment, and to back his entreaties with a variety of dismal conjectures regarding the state of the roads, the doubt of fresh horses to be had at the next stage, the dead certainty of its raining all night, the equally mortal certainty of its clearing up in the morning, and other topics of inducement familiar to innkeepers. Well said Mr. Pickwick, but I must send a letter to London by some convent so that it may be delivered the very first thing in the morning, or I must go forwards at all hazards. The landlord smiled his delight. Nothing could be easier than for the gentleman to enclose letter in a sheet of brown paper and send it on, either by the mail or the night coach from Birmingham. If the gentleman were particularly anxious to have it left as soon as possible, he might right outside to be delivered immediately, which was sure to be attended to, or pay the bearer half a crown extra for instant delivery, which was sure still. Very well said Mr. Pickwick, then we will stop here. Lights in the sun, John, make up the fire. The gentleman are wept, cried the landlord. This way, gentlemen, don't trouble yourselves about the post-boy now, sir. I'll send him to you when you ring for him, sir. Now, John, the candles. The candles were brought, the fire was stirred, and a fresh log of wood thrown on. In ten minutes' time a waiter was laying the cloth for dinner, the curtains were drawn, the fire was blazing brightly, and everything looked, as everything always does, in all decent English ins, as if the travellers had been expected and their comforts were prepared, for days beforehand. Mr. Pickwick sagged down at a side-table, and hastily indicted a note to Mr. Winkle, merely informing him that he was detained by stress of weather, but would certainly be in London next day, until when he deferred any account of his proceedings. This note was hastily made into a parcel and dispatched to the bar for Mr. Samuel Weller. Sam left it with a landlady, and was returning to pull his master's boots off, after drying himself by the kitchen fire, when glancing casually through a half-open door he was arrested by the sight of a gentleman with a sandy head, who had a large bundle of newspapers lying at the table before him, and was perusing the leading article of one with a settled sneer, which curled up his nose, and all other features into a majestic expression of haughty contempt. Hello, said Sam. I ought to know that year, Ed, and then features the eyeglass, too, in the broad brim tile, Eaton'sville to Vitt, or I'm a Roman. Sam was taken with a troublesome cough at once for the purpose of attracting the gentleman's attention. The gentleman started at the sound, raised his head in his eyeglass, and disclosed to view the profound and thoughtful features of Mr. Pot of the Eaton's Will Gazette. Begging your pardon, sir, said Sam, advancing with a bow. My master's here, Mr. Pot. Hush, hush, cried Pot, drawing Sam into the room and closing the door with accountants of mysterious dread and apprehension. What's the matter, sir? inquired Sam, looking vacantly about him. Not a whisper of my name, replied Pot. This is a buffed neighborhood. If the excited and irritable populace knew I was here, I should be torn to pieces. No. Would you, sir? inquired Sam. I should be the victim of their fury, replied Pot. Now, young man, what of your master? He's a stop in here tonight, on his way to town, with a couple of frims, replied Sam. Is Mr. Winkle one of them? inquired Pot, with a slight frown. No, sir. Mr. Winkle stops at home now, rejoined Sam. He's married. Married, exclaimed Pot, with frightful vehemence, he stopped, smiled darkly, and added in a low vindictive tone. It serves him right. Having given vent to this cruel abolition of deadly malice and cold-blooded triumph over a folly enemy, Mr. Pot inquired whether Mr. Pickwick's friends were blue. Receiving a most satisfactory answer in the infirmative from Sam, who knew as much about the matter as Pot himself, he consented to accompany him to Mr. Pickwick's room, where a hearty welcome awaited him, and an agreement to club their dinners together, was at once made and ratified. And how are matters going on in Eaton's Will, inquired Mr. Pickwick, when Pot had taken a seat near the fire, and the whole party had got their wet boots off, and dry slippers on? Is the Independent still in being? The Independent, sir, replied Mr. Pot, is still dragging on a wretched and lingering career, abhorred and despised by even the few or a cognizant of its miserable and disgraceful existence, stifled by the very filth it so profusely scatters, rendered deaf and blind by the exhalations of its own slime. The obscene journal, happily unconscious of its own degraded state, is rapidly sinking beneath that treacherous mud, which, while it seems to give it a firm standing with the low and debased classes of society, is nevertheless rising above its detested head, and will speedily engulf it forever. Having delivered this manifesto, which formed a portion of his last week's leader, with vehement articulation, the editor paused to take breath and looked majestically at Bob Sawyer. You were a young man, sir, said Pot. Mr. Bob Sawyer nodded. So are you, sir, said Pot, addressing Mr. Ben Allen, and admitted the soft impeachment, and are both deeply imbued with those blue principles which, so long as I live, I have pledged myself to the people of these kingdoms to support and to maintain, suggested Pot. Why, I don't exactly know about that, replied Bob Sawyer. I am. Not buff, Mr. Pickwick, interrupted Pot, drawing back his cheer. Your friend is not buff, sir. No, no, rejoined Bob. I'm a kind of plaid at present, a compound of all sorts of colors. A waverer, said Pot solemnly. A waverer. I should like to show you a series of eight articles, sir, that have appeared in the Eaton's Will Gazette. I think I may venture to say that you would not be long in establishing your opinions on a firm and solid blue basis, sir. I daresay I should turn very blue long before I got to the end of them, responded Bob. Mr. Pot looked dubiously at Bob Sawyer for some seconds, and, turning to Mr. Pickwick, said, You have seen the literary articles which have appeared at intervals in the Eaton's Will Gazette in the course of the last three months, and which have excited such general, I may say such universal, attention and admiration? Why, replied Mr. Pickwick, slightly embarrassed by the question. The fact is, I have been so much engaged in other ways that I really have not had an opportunity of perusing them. You should do so, sir, said Pot, with a severe countenance. I will, said Mr. Pickwick. They appeared in the form of a copious review of a work on Chinese metaphysics, sir, said Pot. Oh, observed Mr. Pickwick, from your own pen, I hope? From the pen of my critic, sir, rejoined Pot with dignity. An abstruse subject I should conceive, said Mr. Pickwick. Very, sir, responded Pot, looking intensely sage. He crammed for it to use a technical but expressive term. He rid up for the subject at my desire in the Encyclopedia Britannica. Indeed, said Mr. Pickwick, I was not aware that that valuable work contained any information respecting Chinese metaphysics. He rid, sir, rejoined Pot, laying his hand on Mr. Pickwick's knee, and looking round with a smile of intellectual superiority. He rid for metaphysics under the letter M and for China under the letter C, and combined his information, sir. Mr. Pot's features assume so much additional grandeur at the recollection of the power and research displayed in the learned effusions in question that some minutes elapsed before Mr. Pickwick felled emboldened to renew the conversation. At length, as the editor's countenance gradually relaxed into its customary expression of moral supremacy, he ventured to resume the discourse by asking, Is it fair to inquire what great object has brought you so far from home? That object which actuates and animates me in all my gigantic labours, sir, replied Pot with a calm smile. My country's good. I supposed it was some public mission, observed Mr. Pickwick. Yes, sir, resumed Pot. It is. Here, bending towards Mr. Pickwick, he whispered in a deep hollow voice, A buff ball, sir, will take place in Birmingham tomorrow evening. God bless me, exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. Yes, sir, and supper, added Pot. You don't say so, ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. Pot nodded portentiously. Now, although Mr. Pickwick feigned to stand aghast at this disclosure, he was so little versed in local politics that he was unable to form an adequate comprehension of the importance of the dire conspiracy it referred to, observing which Mr. Pot, drawing forth the last number of the Eden's Will Gazette, and referring to the same, delivered himself of the following paragraph. Hole in corner buffery. A reptile contemporary has recently sweltered forth his black venom in the vain and hopeless attempt of sullying the fair name of our distinguished and excellent representative, the Honorable Mr. Slumkey. That Slumkey whom we, long before he gained his present noble and exalted position, predicted would one day be, as he is now, at once his country's brightest honour and her proudest boast, alike her bold offender and her honest pride. Our reptile contemporary, we say, has made himself merry at the expense of a superbly embossed, plaited coal-scuttle, which has been presented to that glorious man by his enraptured constituents, and towards the purchase of which the nameless wretch insinuates the Honorable Mr. Slumkey himself contributed, through a confidential friend of his butlers, more than three-fourths of the whole sum subscribed. Why, does not the crawling creature see that even if this be the fact, the Honorable Mr. Slumkey only appears in a still more amiable and radiant light than before, if that be possible? Does not even his obtuse-ness perceive that this amiable and touching desire to carry out the hearts and souls of such of his fellow townsmen as are not worse than swine, or in other words, who are not as debased as our contemporary himself? But such is the wretched trickery of whole and corner-buffery. These are not its only artifices. Treason is abroad. We boldly state that we are goaded to the disclosure and we throw ourselves on the country and its constables for protection. We boldly state that secret preparations are at this moment in progress for a buff ball, which is to be held in the buff town, in the very heart and center of a buff population, which is to be conducted by a buff master of ceremonies, which is to be attended by four ultra-buff members of parliament, and the admission to which is to be by buff tickets. Does our keen-dish accomplice wince? Let him writhe in impotent malice as we pen the words. We will be there. There, sir, said Pott, folding up the paper quite exhausted, that is the state of the case. The landlord and waiter entered at the moment with dinner, caused Mr. Pott to lay his finger on his lips, in token that he considered his life in Mr. Pickwick's hands, and depended on his secrecy. Messers Bob Sawyer and Benjamin Allen, who had irreverently fallen asleep during the reading of the quotation from the Eaton's Well Gazette, and the discussion which followed it, were roused by the mere whispering of the talismanic word dinner in their ears, and to dinner they went with good digestion, waiting on appetite, and health on both, and a waiter on all three. In the course of the dinner, and the sitting which succeeded it, Mr. Pott descending for a few moments to domestic topics, informed Mr. Pickwick that the ear of Eaton's Well not agreeing with his lady, she was then engaged in making a tour of different fashionable watering places, with a view to the recovery of her wanted health and spirits. This was a delicate veiling of the fact that Mrs. Pott, acting upon her often-repeated thread of separation had, in virtue of an arrangement negotiated by her brother, the Lieutenant, and concluded by Mr. Pott, permanently retired with a faithful body card upon one moiety, or half part, of the annual income and profits arising from the editorship and sale of the Eaton's Well Gazette. While the great Mr. Pott was dwelling upon this and other matters, and livening the conversation from time to time with various extracts from his own lucubrations, a stern stranger, calling from the window of a stage coach outward bound, which halted at the end to deliver packages, requested to know whether if he stopped short on his journey and remained there for the night, he could be furnished with the necessary accommodation of a bed and bedstead. Certainly, sir, replied the landlord. I can, can I, inquired the stranger who seemed habitually suspicious and look and manner. No doubt of it, sir, replied the landlord. Good said the stranger. Coachman, I get down here, guard my carpet bag. Bidding the other passengers good night in a rather snappish manner, the stranger lighted. He was a shortest gentleman, with very stiff black hair cut in the porcupine or blacking brush style, and standing stiff and straight all over his head, his aspect was pompous and threatening, his manner was peremptory, his eyes were sharp and restless, and his whole bearing bespoke a feeling of great confidence in himself and a consciousness of immeasurable superiority over all other people. This gentleman was shown into the room originally assigned to the patriotic Mr. Pott, and the waiter remarked, in dumb astonishment at the singular coincidence, that he had no sooner lighted the candles than the gentleman diving into his hat, drew forth a newspaper and began to read it with the very same expression of indignant scorn, which, upon the majestic features of Pott, had paralyzed his energies an hour before. The man observed, too, that whereas Mr. Pott's scorn had been roused by a newspaper, headed the eaton-swill independent, this gentleman's withering contempt was awakened by a newspaper entitled the Eaton-swill Gazette. Send the landlord, said the stranger. Yes, sir, rejoined the waiter. The landlord was sent and came. Are you the landlord? inquired the gentleman. I am, sir, replied the landlord. My name is Slurk, said the gentleman. The landlord slightly inclined his head. Slurk, sir, repeated the gentleman haughtily. Do you know me now, man? The landlord scratched his head, looked at the ceiling, and at the stranger and smiled feebly. Do you know me now, man? inquired the stranger angrily. The landlord made a strong effort, and at length replied, Well, sir, I do not know you. Great Heaven, said the stranger, dashing his clenched fist upon the table, and this is popularity. The landlord took a step or two towards the door, the stranger fixing his eyes upon him, resumed. This, said the stranger, this is gratitude for years of labor and study in behalf of the masses. Iolite, wet and weary. No enthusiastic crowds pressed forward to greet their champion. The church bells are silent. The very name elicits no responsive feeling in their torpid bosoms. It is enough, said the agitated Mr. Slurk, pacing to and fro, to curdle the ink in one's pen, and induce one to abandon their cause forever. Did you say, brandy and water, sir? said the landlord, venturing a hint. Rum, said Mr. Slurk, turning fiercely upon him. Have you got a fire anywhere? We can light one directly, sir, said the landlord, which will throw out no heat until it is bedtime. Interrupted Mr. Slurk, is there anybody in the kitchen? Not a soul. There was a beautiful fire. Everybody had gone, and the house door was closed for the night. I will drink my rum and water, said Mr. Slurk, by the kitchen fire. So, gathering up his hat and newspaper, he stalked solemnly behind the landlord to that humble apartment, and throwing himself on a settle by the fireside, resumed his countenance of scorn, and began to read and drink in silent dignity. Now, some demon of discord, flying over the Saracen's head at that moment, on casting down his eyes in mere idle curiosity, happened to behold Slurk established comfortably by the kitchen fire, and pot slightly elevated with wine in another room, upon which the malicious demon, darting down into the last mentioned apartment with inconceivable rapidity, passed it once into the head of Mr. Bob Sawyer, and prompted him for his, the demon's, own evil purpose to speak as follows. I say, we've let the fire out. It's uncommonly cold after the rain, isn't it? It really is, replied Mr. Pickwick shivering. It wouldn't be a bad notion to have a cigar by the kitchen fire, would it? said Bob Sawyer, still prompted by the demon aforesaid. It would be particularly comfortable, I think, replied Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Pot, what do you say? Mr. Pot yielded a ready ascent, and all four travelers, each with his glass in his hand, had once betook themselves to the kitchen, with Sam Weller heading the procession to show them the way. The stranger was still reading. He looked up and started. Mr. Pot started. What's the matter? whispered Mr. Pickwick. That reptile, replied Pot. What reptile, said Mr. Pickwick, looking about him for fear he should tread on some overgrown black beetle or dropsicle spider. That reptile, whispered Pot, catching Mr. Pickwick by the arm and pointing towards the stranger. That reptile's work of the independent. Perhaps we had better retire, whispered Mr. Pickwick. Never, sir, rejoined Pot. Pot valiant, in a double sense. Never. With these words Mr. Pot took up his position on an opposite settle, and selecting one from a little bundle of newspapers began to read against his enemy. Mr. Pot, of course, read the independent, and Mr. Slurk, of course, read the gazette. And each gentleman audibly expressed his contempt at the other's compositions by bitter laughs and sarcastic sniffs. Once they proceeded to more open expressions of opinions such as absurd, wretched, atrocity, humbug, navery, dirt, filth, slime, ditch water, and other critical remarks of a light nature. Both Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Ben Allen had beheld these symptoms of rivalry and hatred with a degree of delight which imparted great additional relish to the cigars at which they were puffing most vigorously. The moment they began to flag, the mischievous Mr. Bob Sawyer, addressing Slurk with great politeness, said, Will you allow me to look at your paper, sir, when you have quite done with it? You will find very little to repay you for your trouble in this contemptible thing, sir, replied Slurk, bestowing a satanic frown on Pot. You shall have this presently, said Pot, looking up pale with rage and quivering in his speech from the same cause. Ha, ha, you will be amused with this fellow's audacity. Terrible emphasis was laid upon Thing and Fellow, and the faces of both editors began to glow with defiance. The ribaldry of this miserable man is despicably disgusting, said Pot, pretending to address Bob Sawyer and scowling upon Slurk. Here Mr. Slurk laughed very hardly and folding up the paper so as to get at a fresh column conveniently said that the block had really amused him. What an impudent blunderer this fellow is, said Pot, turning from pink to crimson. Did you ever read any of this man's foolery, sir, inquired Slurk of Bob Sawyer? Never replied Bob. Is it very bad? Oh, shocking, shocking, rejoined Slurk. Really, dear me, this is too atrocious, exclaimed Pot at this juncture, still fanging to be absorbed in his reading. If you can wade through a few sentences of malice, meanness, falsehood, perjury, treachery, and can't, said Slurk, handing the paper to Bob, you will perhaps be somewhat repaid by a laugh at the style of this ungrammatical twaddler. What's that you said, sir? inquired Mr. Pot, looking up, trembling all over with passion. What's that you said, sir? replied Slurk. Ungrammatical twaddler was it, sir? said Pot. Yes, sir, it was, replied Slurk. And blue bore, sir, if you like that better, ha-ha! Mr. Pot retorted not a word at this jokos insult, but deliberately folded up his copy of the independent, flattened it carefully down, crushed it beneath his boot, spat upon it with great ceremony, and flung it into the fire. There, sir, said Pot, retreating from the stove, and that's the way I would serve the viper who produces it, if I were not fortunately for him restrained by the laws of my country. Serve him so, sir, cried Slurk, starting up, those laws shall never be appealed to by him, sir, in such a case. Serve him so, sir, here, here, said Bob Sawyer. Nothing can be fairer, observed Mr. Ben Allen. Serve him so, sir, reiterated Slurk in a loud voice. Mr. Pot darted a look of contempt, which might have withered an anchor. Serve him so, sir, reiterated Slurk in a louder voice than before. I will not, sir, rejoin Pot. Oh, you won't, won't you, sir? said Mr. Slurk in a taunting manner. You hear this, gentlemen? He won't. Not that he's afraid. Oh, no, he won't. Ha-ha! I consider you, sir, said Mr. Pot, moved by this sarcasm. I consider you a viper. I look upon you, sir, as a man who has placed himself beyond the pale of society by his most audacious, disgraceful, and abominable public conduct. I view you, sir, personally and politically at no other light than as a most unparalleled and unmitigated viper. The indignant independent did not wait to hear the end of this personal denunciation. For, catching up his carpet-bag, which was well stuffed with movables, he swung it in the air as Pot turned away and letting it fall with a circular sweep on his head, just at that particular angle of the bag where a good thick hairbrush happened to be packed, caused a sharp crash to be heard throughout the kitchen and brought him at once to the ground. Gentlemen, cried Mr. Pickwick, as Pot started up and seized the fire shovel. Gentlemen, consider for heaven's sake. Help, Sam, hear. Pray, gentlemen, interfere somebody. Uttering these incoherent exclamations, Mr. Pickwick rushed between the infuriated combatants just in time to receive the carpet-bag on one side of his body and the fire shovel on the other. Whether the representatives of the public feeling of eaton's will were blinded by animosity or, being both acute reasoners, saw the advantage of having a third party between them to bear all the blows, certain it is that they paid not the slightest attention to Mr. Pickwick, but defying each other with great spirit plied the carpet-bag and the fire shovel most fearlessly. Mr. Pickwick would, unquestionably, have suffered severely for his humane interference if Mr. Weller, attracted by his master's cries, had not rushed in at the moment and snatching up a meal sack, effectually stopped the conflict by drawing it over the head and shoulders of the mighty pot and clasping him tighter round the shoulders. Take away that ear-bag from Tother Madman, said Sam to Ben Allen and Bob Sawyer, who had done nothing but dodge round the group, each with a tortoise shell lancet in his hand, ready to bleed the first man stunned. Give it up, you wretched little creature, or I'll smother you in it. Awed by these threats and quite out of breath, the independent suffered himself to be disarmed, and Mr. Weller, removing the extinguisher from pot, set him free with a caution. You take yourselves off to bed quietly, said Sam, or I'll put you both in it and let you fight it out with the mouth tied, as I would a dozen-sitch, if they played these games, and you have the goodness to come this here away, sir, if you please. Thus addressing his master, Sam took him by the arm, and let him off, while the rival editors were severally removed to their beds by the landlord, under the inspection of Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen, breathing as they went away many sanguinary threats, and making vague appointments for moral combat next day. When they came to think it over, however, it occurred to them that they could do it much better in print, so they recommenced deadly hostilities without delay, and all Eaton's will rung with their boldness on paper. They had taken themselves off in separate coaches early next morning, before the other travelers were stirring, and the weather having now cleared up, the Shays' companions once more turned their faces to London. End of Chapter 51 Recording by Edward Ilmer, San Antonio, Texas changed in the Weller family and the untimely downfall of Mr. Stiggins. Considering it a matter of delicacy to abstain from introducing either Bob Sawyer or Ben Allen to the young couple, until they were fully prepared to expect them, and wishing to spare Arabella's feelings as much as possible, Mr. Pickwick proposed that he and Sam should alight in the neighborhood of the Georgian vulture, and that the two young men should, for the present, take up their quarters elsewhere. To this they very readily agreed, and the proposition was accordingly acted upon. Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer be taking themselves to a sequestered pot shop on the remotest confines of the borough, behind the bar door of which their names had in other days very often appeared at the head of long and complex calculations worked in white chalk. Dear me, Mr. Weller, said the pretty housemaid meeting Sam at the door. Dear me, I wish it was, my dear, replied Sam, dropping behind, to let his master get out of hearing. What a sweet-looking critter you are, Mary. Lot, Mr. Weller, what nonsense you do talk, said Mary. Oh, don't, Mr. Weller. Don't what, my dear, said Sam. Why that? replied the pretty housemaid. Lord, do get along with you. Thus, admonishing him, the pretty housemaid pushed Sam against the wall, declaring that he had tumbled her cap and put her hair quite out of curl. And prevented what I was going to say besides, added Mary. There's a letter been waiting here for you four days. You hadn't gone away half an hour when it came, and more than that, it's got immediate on the outside. There is it, my love, inquired Sam. I took care of it for you, or I daresay it would have been lost long before this, replied Mary. There, take it. It's more than you deserve. With these words, after many pretty little coquettish doubts and fears and wishes that she might not have lost it, Mary produced the letter from behind the nicest little muslin tucker possible, and handed it to Sam, who thereupon kissed it with much gallantry and devotion. My goodness me, said Mary, adjusting the tucker and feigning unconsciousness. You seem to have grown very fond of it all at once. To this, Mr. Weller only replied by a wink, the intense meaning of which no description could convey the faintest idea of, and sitting himself down beside Mary on a window seat, opened the letter and glanced at the contents. Oh, lo! exclaimed Sam, what's all this? Nothing the matter, I hope, said Mary, peeping over his shoulder. Bless them eyes, a yarn, said Sam, looking up. Never mind my eyes. You had much better read your letter, said the pretty housemaid, and as she said so, she made the eyes twinkle with such slowness and beauty that they were perfectly irresistible. Sam refreshed himself with a kiss and read as follows. Marcus Grandby, Dorkin, Wednesday My dear Sammel, I am very sorry to have the pleasure of being a bear of ill news. Your mother-in-law, court cold, consequence of imprudently setting too long on the damp grass in the rain, a hearing of a shepherd who weren't able to leave off till late at night, owing to his having bound his self up with brandy and water, and not being able to stop his self till he got a little sober, which took him many hours to do. The doctor says that if she had swallowed warm brandy and water, instead of a four, she might not have been no of us. Her veils thus immediately greased and everything done to set her a-going, as could be unwanted, your father had hopes, as she would have verked round as usual, but just as she was, a turn in the corner, my boy, she took the wrong road and went downhill, with a velocity you never see, and notwithstanding that the drag was put on directly by the medical man, it warned of no use at all, for she paid the last pike at twenty minutes of four, six o'clock yesterday evening, having done the journey very much under the regular time, which perhaps was partly owing to her having taken in wary little luggage. By the way, your father says that if you will come and see me, Sammy, he will take it as a wary great favor, for I am wary lonely, Sammable, and be, he will have it spelt that way, which I say ain't right, and as there is such a many things to settle, he is sure your governor won't object, of course, he will not, Sammy, for I knows him better, so he sends his duty, and which I join, and am, Sammable, infernal of yours, Tony Veller. What an incomprehensible letter said, Sam, who's to know what it means, with all this heeing and eyeing. It ain't my father's writing, except this here signature and print letters, that's his. Perhaps he got somebody to write it for him, and signed it himself afterwards, said the pretty housemaid. Stop a minute, replied Sam, running over the letter again, and pausing here and there, to reflect as he did so. You've hit it. The gentleman has wrote it was a tellin' all about the Miss Fortin in a proper vey, and then my father comes lookin' over him, and complicates the whole concern by puttin' his oar in. That's just the weary sorta thing he'd do. You're right, Mary, my dear. Having satisfied himself on this point, Samm read the letter all over once more, and, appearing to form a clear notion of its contents for the first time, ejaculated thoughtfully as he folded it up. And so the poor creeders dead. I'm sorry for it. She warn't a bad disposed omen if them shepherds did let her alone. I'm wary sorry for it. Mr. Weller uttered these words in so serious a manner that the pretty housemaid cast down her eyes, and looked very grave. Howsever, said Sam, putting the letter in his pocket with a gentle sigh, it was to be, and was, as the old lady said, out of she'd married the footman. Can't be helped now, can't it, Mary? Mary shook her head and sighed, too. I must apply to the Emperor for leave of absence, said Sam. Mary sighed again. The letter was so very affecting. Goodbye, said Sam. Goodbye rejoined the pretty housemaid turning her head away. Well, shake hands, won't you, said Sam? The pretty housemaid put out a hand, which, although it was a housemaid's, was a very small one, and rose to go. I shan't be weary long away, said Sam. You're always away, said Mary, giving her head the slightest possible toss in the air. You know sooner come, Mr. Weller, than you go again. Mr. Weller drew the household beauty closer to him, and entered upon a whispering conversation, which had not proceeded far, when she turned her face round and condescended to look at him again. When they parted, it was somehow or other indispensably necessary for her to go to her room and arrange the cap and curls before she could think of presenting herself to her mistress. Which preparatory ceremony she went off to perform, bestowing many nods and smiles on Sam over the banisters as she tripped upstairs. I shan't be of aid more than a day or two, sir, at the furthest, said Sam, when he had communicated to Mr. Pickwick the intelligence of his father's loss. As long as may be necessary, Sam replied, Mr. Pickwick, you have my full permission to remain. Sam bowed. You will tell your father, Sam, that if I can be of any assistance to him in his present situation, I shall be most willing and ready to lend him any aid in my power, said Mr. Pickwick. Thank you, sir, rejoined Sam. I'll mention it, sir. And with some expressions of mutual goodwill and interest, master and man separated. It was just seven o'clock when Samuel Weller, a lighting from the box of a stagecoach, which passed through dorking, stood within a few hundred yards of the Marquis of Granby. It was a cold, dull evening. The little street looked dreary and dismal, and the mahogany countenance of the noble and gallant Marquis seemed to wear a more sad and melancholy expression than it was want to do, as it swung to and fro, creaking mournfully in the wind. The blinds were pulled down, and the shutters partly closed. Of the knot of loungers that usually collected about the door, not one was to be seen. The place was silent and desolate. Seeing nobody of whom he could ask any preliminary questions, Sam walked softly in, and glancing round, he quickly recognized his parent in the distance. The widower was seated at a small round table in the little room behind the bar, smoking a pipe with his eyes intently fixed upon the fire. The funeral had evidently taken place that day, for attached to his hat, which he still retained on his head, was a hat-band measuring about a yard and a half in length, which hung over the top rail of the chair and streamed negligently down. Mr. Weller was in a very abstracted and contemplative mood. Knot was standing, that Sam called him by name several times. He still continued to smoke with the same fixed and quiet countenance, and was only roused ultimately by his sons placing the palm of his hand on his shoulder. Sammy, said Mr. Weller, you're welcome. I've been a-calling to you half a dozen times, said Sam, hanging his hat on a peg, but you didn't hear me. No, Sammy replied Mr. Weller, again looking thoughtfully at the fire. I was in a referee, Sammy. What about, inquired Sam, drawing his chair up to the fire? In a referee, Sammy replied the elder Mr. Weller, regarding her, Sammable. Here Mr. Weller jerked his head in the direction of dorking churchyard in mute explanation that his words referred to the late Mrs. Weller. I was a-thinking, Sammy, said Mr. Weller, eyeing his son with great earnestness over his pipe, as if to assure him that however extraordinary and incredible the declaration might appear, it was nevertheless calmly and deliberately uttered. I was a-thinking, Sammy, that upon the whole I was very sorry she was gone. Well, and so you ought to be, replied Sam. Mr. Weller nodded his acquiescence in the sentiment, and again fastening his eyes on the fire shrouded himself in a cloud and mused deeply. Those was very sensible observations that she made, Sammy, said Mr. Weller, driving the smoke away with his hand after a long silence. What observations, inquired Sam. Them as she made, out if she was took ill, replied the old gentleman. What was they? Something to this here effect. Veller, she says, I'm afraid I have not done by you quite what I ought to have done. You are a very kind-hearted man, and I might have made your home more comfortabler. I begin to see now, she says, that it's too late that if a married woman wishes to be religious, she should begin with discharging her duties at home and making them, as it is about her, cheerful and happy, and that while she goes to church or chapel or whatnot at all proper times, she should be very careful not to convert this sort of thing into an excuse for idleness or self-indulgence. I have done this, she says, and I've wasted time and substance on them as has done it more than me, but I hope when I'm gone, Veller, that you'll think on me as I was before I know to them people and as I really was by nature. Susan, says I, I was took up very short by this Sammable. I won't deny it, my boy. Susan, I says, you've been a very good wife to me altogether. Don't say nothing at all about it. Keep a good heart, my dear, and you'll live to see me punch that air stiggens his head yet. She smiled at this Sammable, said the old gentleman, stifling aside with his pipe. But she died at her all. Vel, said Sam, venturing to offer a little homely consolation after the lapse of three or four minutes consumed by the old gentleman and slowly shaking his head from side to side and solemnly smoking. Vel, Governor, we must all come to it one day or another. So we must, Sammy, said Mr. Weller, the elder. There's a providence in it all, said Sam. Of course there is, replied his father, with a nod of grave approval. What had become of the undertakers without it, Sammy? Lost in the immense field of conjecture, opened by this reflection, the elder Mr. Weller laid his pipe on the table and stirred the fire with a meditative visage. While the old gentleman was thus engaged, a very buxom-looking cook, dressed in mourning, who had been bustling about in the bar, glided into the room and bestowing many smirks of recognition upon Sam, silently stationed herself at the back of his father's chair, and announced her presence by a slight cough, the witch being disregarded was followed by a louder one. Holo, said the elder Mr. Weller, dropping the poker as he looked round, and hastily drew his chair away. What's the matter now? Have a cup of tea. There's a good soul, replied the buxom-female coaxingly. I won't, replied Mr. Weller in a somewhat boisterous manner. I'll see you, Mr. Weller hastily checked himself and added in a low tone, further fussed. Oh, dear, dear, how odorsity does change people, said the lady, looking upwards. It's the only thing to exist in the doctor as shall change my condition, muttered Mr. Weller. I really never saw a man so cross, said the buxom-female. Never mind, it's all for my own good. Vitch is the reflection. Vitch, the penitent schoolboy, comforted his feelings. Then they flogged him, rejoined the old gentleman. The buxom-female shook her head with a compassionate and sympathizing air, and, appealing to Sam, inquired whether his father really ought not to make an effort to keep up and not give way to that lowness of spirits. You see, Mr. Samuel, said the buxom-female. As I was telling him yesterday, he will feel lonely. He can't expect what he should, sir, but he should keep up a good heart, because, dear me, I'm sure we all pity his loss and are ready to do anything for him, and there's no situation in life so bad, Mr. Samuel, that it can't be mended, which is what a very worthy person said to me when my husband died. Hear the speaker, putting her hand before her mouth, coughed again, and looked affectionately at the elder Mr. Weller. As I don't require any of your conversation just now, Mom, though you have the goodness to retire, inquired Mr. Weller, in a grave and steady voice. Well, Mr. Weller said the buxom-female. I'm sure I only spoke to you out of kindness. Very likely, Mom, replied Mr. Weller. Sammelville, show the lady out and shut the door after her. This hint was not lost upon the buxom-female, for she at once left the room and slammed the door behind her, upon which Mr. Weller's senior, falling back in his chair in a violent perspiration, said, Sammel, if I was to stop here alone one week, only one week, my boy, that air omen had married me by force and violence before it was over. What, is she so wary-fond on you, inquired Sam? Fond, replied his father, I can't keep her away from me. If I was locked up in a fire-proof chest with a patent Brahmin, she'd find means to get at me, Sammel. What a thing it is to be so sought-arter, observed Sam, smiling. I don't take no pride out in it, Sammel, replied Mr. Weller, poking the fire vehemently. It's a horrid situation. I'm actively drove out of house and home by it. The breath was scarcely out of your poor mother-in-law's body, then one old omen sends me upon a jam, and another upon jelly, and another bruise a blessed large jug of chamomile tea that she brings in with her own hands. Mr. Weller paused with an aspect of intense disgust, and looking round, added in a whisper, there was all-witters, Sammy, all on him, except the chamomile tea-von, as was a single young lady of fifty-three. Sam gave a comical look and reply, and the old gentleman, having broken an obstinate lump of coal, with the countenance expressive of as much earnestness and malice as if it had been the head of one of the widow's last mentions, said, In short, Sammy, I feel that I ain't safe any where's but on the box. How are you safer there than any where's else? interrupted, Sam. Because a coachman's a privileged individual, replied Mr. Weller, looking fixedly at his son, because a coachman may do without suspicion what other men may not, because a coachman may be on the wary amicable-less terms with eighty-mile of females, and yet nobody think that he ever means to marry any-von among them, and what other man can say the same, Sammy. Well, there's something in that, said Sam. If your governor had been a coachman, reasoned Mr. Weller, do you suppose as that heir jury had ever hucked him, supposing it possible as the matter could have gone to that extremity, they dusted had done it? Why not? said Sam, rather disparagingly. Why not? rejoined Mr. Weller, because it had gone again their consciences. A regular coachman's a sort of connected link between singleness and matrimony, and every practicable man knows it. What? You mean their general favorites, and nobody takes advantage on them, perhaps, said Sam? His father nodded. How would ever come to that heir-pass? resumed the parent Weller. I can't say. Why it is that long-stage coachman possessed such insinuations, and as always looked up to, adored, I may say, by every young woman in every town he verks through, I don't know. I only know that so it is. It's a regulation of nature. A dispensary, as your poor mother-in-law used to say. A dispensation, said Sam, correcting the old gentleman. Very good, Sammable. A dispensation, if you like it better. Returned Mr. Weller. I call it a dispensary, and it's always rid up so, at the places where they give you physics for nothing in your own bottles. That's all. With these words Mr. Weller refilled and relighted his pipe, and once more summoning up a meditative expression of countenance continued as follows. Therefore, my boy, as I do not see the advisability of stopping here to be married whether I want to or not, and as at the same time I do not wish to separate myself from them interested members of society altogether, I have come to the determination of driving the safety and putting up once more at the bell savage, which is my natural-born element, Sammy. And watched become of the business, inquired Sam. The business, Sammable, replied the old gentleman. Goodwill, stock and fixtures, will be sold by private contract, and out of the money, two hundred pound, agreeable to a request of your mother-in-law's to me, a little before she died, will be invested in your name and what do you call them things again? What things, inquired Sam. Them things as as always are going up and down in the city. Omnibuses, suggested Sam. Nonsense, replied Mr. Weller. Them things as as always are fluctuating and getting their selves involved somehow or another with the national debt and the checkers bill and all that. Oh, the funds, said Sam. Ah, rejoined Mr. Weller. The funds. Two hundred pounds of the money is to be invested for you, Sammable, and the funds. Four and a half percent reduced counsel, Sammy. Where he kind of the old lady to think of me, said Sam, and I'm very much obliged to her. The rest will be invested in my name, continued the elder, Mr. Weller, and when I'm took off the road it'll come to you, so take care you don't spend it all at once, my boy, and mind that no witter gets an incline of your fortune or your done. Having delivered this warning, Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with a more serene countenance. The disclosure of these matters appearing to have eased his mind considerably. Somebody's a-tapping at the door, said Sam. Let him tap, replied his father with dignity. Sam acted upon the direction. There was another tap and another, and then a long row of taps, upon which Sam inquired why the tapper was not admitted. Hush! whispered Mr. Weller with apprehensive looks. Don't take no notice on him, Sammy. It's one of the witter's praps. No notice being taken of the taps. The unseen visitor, after a short lapse, ventured to open the door and peep in. It was no female head that was thrust in at the partially open door, but the long black locks and red face of Mr. Stiggins, Mr. Weller's pipe fell from his hands. The reverend gentleman gradually opened the door by almost imperceptible degrees, until the aperture was just wide enough to admit of the passage of his leg body, when he glided into the room and closed it after him with great care and gentleness. Turning towards Sam and raising his hands and eyes in token of the unspeakable sorrow, with which he regarded the calamity that had befallen the family, he carried the high back chair to his old corner by the fire, and seating himself on the very edge, drew forth a brown pocket handkerchief and applied the same to his optics. While this was going forward, the elder Mr. Weller sat back in his chair with his eyes wide open, his hands planted on his knees, and his whole countenance expressive of absorbing and overwhelming astonishment. Sam sat opposite him in perfect silence, waiting with eager curiosity for the termination of the scene. Mr. Stiggins kept the brown pocket handkerchief before his eyes for some minutes, moaning decently meanwhile, and then mastering his feelings by a strong effort, put it in his pocket and buttoned it up. After this he stirred the fire, after that he rubbed his hands and looked at Sam. Oh, my young friend, said Mr. Stiggins, breaking the silence in a very low voice. Here's a sorrowful affliction. Sam nodded very slightly. For the man of wrath, too, added Mr. Stiggins. It makes a vessel's heart bleed. Mr. Weller was overheard by his son to murmur something relative to making a vessel's nose bleed, but Mr. Stiggins heard him not. Do you know young man, whispered Mr. Stiggins, drawing his chair closer to Sam, whether she has left Emmanuel anything? Who's he? inquired Sam. The chapel, replied Mr. Stiggins. Our chapel, our fold, Mr. Samuel. She hasn't left the fold nothing, or the shepherd nothing, or the animals nothing, said Sam decisively, nor the dogs neither. Mr. Stiggins looked slyly at Sam, glanced at the old gentleman who was sitting with his eyes closed as if asleep, and drawing his chair still nearer, said, Nothing for me, Mr. Samuel? Sam shook his head. I think there's something, said Stiggins, turning as pale as he could turn. Consider, Mr. Samuel, no little token. Not so much as the birth of that old, old umbrella-yorn, replied Sam. Perhaps, said Mr. Stiggins hesitatingly, after a few moments' deep thought, Perhaps you recommended me to the care of the man of wrath, Mr. Samuel? I think that's where he likely, from what he said, rejoined Sam. He was speaking about you just now. Was he, though? exclaimed Mr. Stiggins, brightening up. He's changed, I daresay. We might live very comfortably together now, Mr. Samuel. A. I could take care of his property when you are away. Good care, you see. Heaving a long-drawn sigh, Mr. Stiggins paused for a response. Sam nodded, and Mr. Weller the Elder gave vent to an extraordinary sound, which, being neither a grown nor a grunt nor a gasp nor a growl, seemed to partake in some degree of the character of all four. Mr. Stiggins, encouraged by this sound, which he understood to be token remorse or repentance, looked about him, rubbed his hands, wept, smiled, wept again, and then, walking softly across the room to a well-remembered shelf in one corner, took down a tumbler, and with great deliberation put four lumps of sugar in it. Having got thus far, he looked about him again and sighed grievously. With that he walked softly into the bar, and presently returning with the tumbler, half full of pineapple rum, advanced to the kettle, which was seeing gaily on the hob, mixed his grog, stirred it, sipped it, sat down, and, taking a long and hardy pull at the rum and water, stopped for breath. The Elder Mr. Weller, who still continued to make various strange and uncouth attempts to appear asleep, offered not a single word during these proceedings, but when Stiggins stopped for breath, he darted upon him and snatched the tumbler from his hand through the remainder of the rum and water in his face and the glass itself into the grate. Then, seizing the Reverend Gentleman firmly by the collar, he suddenly felt the kicking him most furiously, accompanying every application of his top boot to Mr. Stiggins' person with sundry violent and incoherent anathemas upon his limbs, eyes, and body. Sammy, said Mr. Weller, put my hat on tight for me. Sam dutifully adjusted the hat with a long hat band more firmly on his father's head, and the old Gentleman, resuming his kicking with greater agility than before, tumbled with Mr. Stiggins through the bar and through the passage out at the front door and so into the street, the kicking continuing the whole way and increasing enviomence rather than diminishing every time the top boot was lifted. It was a beautiful and exhilarating sight to see the red-nosed man writhing in Mr. Weller's grasp and his whole frame quivering with anguish as kick followed kick in rapid succession. It was a still more exciting spectacle to behold Mr. Weller after a powerful struggle immersing Mr. Stiggins' head in a horse trough full of water and holding it there until he was half suffocated. There, said Mr. Weller, throwing all his energy into one most complicated kick, as he at length permitted Mr. Stiggins to withdraw his head from the trough, send any one of them lazy shepherds here and I'll pound him to a jelly first and drown him out of urge. Sammy, help me in and fill me a small glass of brandy. I'm out of breath, my boy. End of Chapter 52 Chapter 53 of the Pick With 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 Pick With Papers by Charles Stiggins Chapter 53 Comprising the final exit of Mr. Jingle and Job Trotter with a great morning of business in Grey's Inn Square concluding with a double knock at Mr. Perker's door. When Arabella, after some gentle preparation and many assurances that there was not the least occasion for being low-spirited, was at length made acquainted by Mr. Pickwick with the unsatisfactory result of his visit to Birmingham, she burst into tears and sobbing aloud lamented in moving terms that she should have been the unhappy cause of any estrangement between a father and his son. My dear girl, said Mr. Pickwick kindly, it is no fault of yours. It was impossible to foresee that the old gentleman would be so strongly prepossessed against his son's marriage, you know. I am sure, added Mr. Pickwick, glancing at her pretty face, he can have very little idea of the pleasure he denies himself. Oh, my dear Mr. Pickwick, said Arabella, what shall we do if he continues to be angry with us? Why wait patiently, my dear, until he thinks better of it, replied Mr. Pickwick cheerfully. But dear Mr. Pickwick, what is to become of Nathaniel if his father withdraws his assistance, urged Arabella. In that case, my love, rejoined Mr. Pickwick, I will venture to prophesy that he will find some other friend who will not be backward in helping him to start in the world. The significance of this reply was not so well disguised by Mr. Pickwick, but that Arabella understood it. So, throwing her arms round his neck and kissing him affectionately, she sobbed louder than before. Come, come, said Mr. Pickwick, taking her hand. We will wait here a few days longer and see whether he writes or takes any other notice of your husband's communication. If not, I have thought of half a dozen plans, any one of which would make you happy at once. There, my dear, there. With these words Mr. Pickwick gently pressed Arabella's hand and bade her dry her eyes and not distress her husband, upon which Arabella, who was one of the best little creatures alive, put her handkerchief in her reticule, and by the time Mr. Winkle joined them, exhibited in full luster the same beaming smiles and sparkling eyes that had originally captivated him. This is a distressing predicament for these young people, thought Mr. Pickwick as he dressed himself next morning. I'll walk up to Perkers and consult him about the matter. As Mr. Pickwick was further prompted to be taken himself to Grazian Square, by an anxious desire to come to a pecuniary settlement with the kind-hearted little attorney without further delay, he made a hurried breakfast and executed his intentions so speedily that ten o'clock had not struck when he reached Grazian. It still wanted ten minutes to the hour when he had ascended the staircase on which Perkers' chambers were. The clerks had not arrived yet, and he beguiled the time by looking out of the staircase window. The healthy light of a fine October morning made even the dingy old houses brighten up a little. Some of the dusty windows actually looking almost cheerful as the sun's rays gleamed upon them. Clerk after clerk hastened into the square by one or other of the entrances, and looking up at the hall-clock accelerated or decreased his rate of walking according to the time at which his office hours nominally commenced. The half-past nine o'clock people suddenly becoming very brisk, and the ten o'clock gentlemen falling into a pace of most aristocratic slowness. The clock struck ten, and clerks poured in faster than ever, each one in a greater perspiration than his predecessor. The noise of unlocking and opening doors echoed and re-echoed on every side. Heads appeared as if by magic in every window. The porters took up their stations for the day. The slip-shot laundress is hurried off. The postman ran from house to house, and the whole legal hive was in a bustle. "'You're early, Mr. Pickwick,' said a voice behind him. "'Ah, Mr. Lowton,' replied that gentleman, looking round and recognizing his old acquaintance. "'Precious warm walking, isn't it?' said Lowton, drawing a Brahma key from his pocket, with a small plug therein to keep the dust out. "'You appear to feel it,' so rejoined Mr. Pickwick, smiling at the clerk who was literally red-hot. "'I've come along, rather, I can tell you,' replied Lowton. "'It went the half hour as I came through the polygon. I'm here before him, though, so I don't mind.' Comforting himself with this reflection, Mr. Lowton extracted the plug from the door key, having opened the door, replugged and repocketed his Brahma, and picked up the letters which the postman had dropped through the box. He ushered Mr. Pickwick into the office. Here, in the twinkling of an eye, he divested himself of his coat, put on a threadbare garment which he took out of a desk, hung up his hat, pulled forth a few sheets of cartridge and blotting paper and alternate layers, and, sticking a pen behind his ear, rubbed his hands with an air of great satisfaction. "'There, you see, Mr. Pickwick,' he said, "'Now I'm complete. I've got my office coat on and my pad out, and let him come as soon as he likes. You haven't got a pinch of snuff about you, have you?' "'No, I have not,' replied Mr. Pickwick. "'I'm sorry for it,' said Lowton. "'Never mind. I'll run out presently and get a bottle of soda. Don't I look rather queer about the eyes, Mr. Pickwick?' The individual appealed to, surveyed Mr. Lowton's eyes from a distance, and expressed his opinion that no unusual queerness was perceptible in those features. "'I'm glad of it,' said Lowton. "'We were keeping it up pretty tolerably at the stump last night, and I'm rather out of sorts this morning. Perker's been about that business of yours, by the by.' "'What business?' inquired Mr. Pickwick. "'This is Bardell's costs.' "'No, I don't mean that,' replied Mr. Lowton, about getting that customer that we paid the ten shillings in the pound of the bill discounted for, on your account, to get him out of the fleet, you know, about getting him to Demarara.' "'Oh, Mr. Jingle,' said Mr. Pickwick hastily. "'Yes, well.' "'Well, it's all arranged,' said Lowton, mending his pen. The agent at Liverpool said he had been obliged to you many times when you were in business, and he would be glad to take him on your recommendation. "'That's well,' said Mr. Pickwick. "'I am delighted to hear it.' "'But I say,' resumed Lowton, scraping the back of the pen, preparatory to making a fresh split. "'What a soft chap that other is!' "'Which other?' "'Why, that servant or friend or whatever he is, you know, trodder.' "'Ah,' said Mr. Pickwick with a smile. "'I always thought him the reverse.' "'Well, and so did I, from what little I saw of him,' replied Lowton. "'It only shows how one may be deceived. "'What do you think of his going to Demarara, too?' "'What?' "'And giving up what was offered him here,' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. "'Treating Parker's offer of eighteen Bob a week in a rise if he behaved himself like dirt,' replied Lowton. He said he must go along with the other one, and so they persuaded Parker to write again, and they've got him something on the same estate. "'Not near so good,' Parker says, as a convict would get in New South Wales if he appeared at his trial in a new suit of clothes. "'Foolish fellow,' said Mr. Pickwick with glistening eyes. "'Foolish fellow.' "'Oh, it's worse than foolish it's downright sneaking, you know,' replied Lowton, nibbing the pen with a contemptuous face. He says that he's the only friend he ever had, and he's attached to him and all that. Friendship's a very good thing in its way. We are all very friendly and comfortable at the stomp, for instance, over our grog, where every man pays for himself. But damn hurting yourself for anybody else, you know. No man should have more than two attachments, the first to number one and the second to the ladies. That's what I say. Mr. Lowton concluded with a loud laugh, half in jocularity and half in derision, which was prematurely cut short by the sound of Parker's footsteps on the stairs, at the first approach of which he vaulted on his stool with an agility most remarkable and wrote intensely. The greeting between Mr. Pickwick and his professional advisor was warm and cordial. The client was scarcely ensconced in the attorney's arm chair, however, when a knock was heard at the door, and a voice inquired whether Mr. Parker was within. "'Hark!' said Parker. "'That's one of our vagabond friends. Jingle himself, my dear sir. Will you see him?' "'What do you think?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, hesitating. "'Yes, I think you had better.' "'Here, you sir, what's your name? Walk in, will you?' In compliance with this unceremonious invitation, Jingle and Joe walked into the room, but seeing Mr. Pickwick stopped short in some confusion. "'Well,' said Parker, don't you know that gentleman? "'Good reason, too,' replied Mr. Jingle, stepping forward. "'Mr. Pickwick, deepest obligations, life preserver, made a man of me. You shall never repent it, sir.' "'I am happy to hear you say so,' said Mr. Pickwick. "'You look much better. Thanks to you, sir, great change. Majesty's fleet, unwholesome place, very,' said Jingle, shaking his head. He was decently and cleanly dressed, and so was Job, who stood bold upright behind him, staring at Mr. Pickwick with a visage of iron. "'When do they go to Liverpool?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, half aside to Parker. "'This evening, sir, at seven o'clock,' said Job, taking one step forward, by the heavy coach from the city, sir. "'Are your places taken?' "'They are,' sir,' replied Job. "'You have fully made up your mind to go?' "'I have,' answered Job. "'With regard to such an outfit as was indispensable for Jingle,' said Parker, addressing Mr. Pickwick aloud, I have taken upon myself to make an arrangement for the deduction of a small sum from his quarterly salary, which, being made only for one year and regularly remitted, will provide for that expense. I entirely disapprove of your doing anything for him, my dear sir, which is not dependent on his own exertions and good conduct. Certainly,' interposed Jingle, with great firmness, clear head, man of the world quite right, perfectly. By compounding with his creditor, releasing his clothes from the pawnbrokers, relieving him in prison and paying for his passage, continued Parker, without noticing Jingle's observation, "'You have already lost upwards of fifty pounds.' "'Not lost,' said Jingle hastily. "'Pay it all. Stick to business, cash up every farthing. Yellow fever, perhaps, can't help that. If not?' Here Mr. Jingle paused, and striking the crown of his hat with great violence, passed his hand over his eyes and sat down. "'He means to say,' said Job, advancing a few paces, that if he is not carried off by the fever, he will pay the money back again. If he lives, he will, Mr. Pickwick. I will see it done. I know he will, sir,' said Job, with energy. I could undertake to swear it.' "'Well, well,' said Mr. Pickwick, who had been bestowing a score or two of frowns upon Parker to stop his summary of benefits conferred, which the little attorney obstinately disregarded. You must be careful not to play any more desperate cricket matches, Mr. Jingle, or to renew your acquaintance with Sir Thomas Blazo, and I have little doubt of your preserving your health.' Mr. Jingle smiled at this sally, but looked rather foolish, notwithstanding. So Mr. Pickwick changed the subject by saying, "'You don't happen to know, do you? What has become of another friend of yours, a more humble one, whom I saw at Rochester?' "'Dismal, Jemmy,' inquired Jingle. "'Yes,' Jingle shook his head. Clever rascal, queer fellow, hoaxing genius, Job's brother.' "'Job's brother,' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. "'Well, now I look at him closely. There is a likeness.' "'We were always considered like each other,' said Job, with a cunning look, just lurking in the corners of his eyes. Only I was really of a serious nature, and he never was. He emigrated to America, sir, in consequence of being too much sought after here to be comfortable. And has never been heard of since.' "'That accounts for my not having received the page from the romance of real life, which he promised me one morning, when he appeared to be contemplating suicide on Rochester Bridge, I suppose,' said Mr. Pickwick, smiling. "'I need not inquire whether his dismal behavior was natural or assumed.' "'He could assume anything, sir,' said Job. "'You may consider yourself very fortunate in having escaped him so easily. On intimate terms he would have been even the more dangerous acquaintance than—' Job looked at jingle, hesitated, and finally added, then myself even. "'A hopeful family yours, Mr. Trotter,' said Perker, sealing a letter which he had just finished writing. "'Yes, sir,' replied Job. "'Very much so.' "'Well,' said the little man, laughing, I hope you are going to disgrace it. "'Deliver this letter to the agent when you reach Liverpool, and let me advise you, gentlemen, not to be too knowing in the West Indies. If you throw away this chance, you will both richly deserve to be hanged, as I sincerely trust you will be. And now you had better leave Mr. Pickwick and me alone, for we have other matters to talk over, and time is precious.' As Perker said this, he looked towards the door with an evident desire to render the leave taking as brief as possible. It was brief enough on Mr. Jingle's part. He thanked the little attorney in a few hurried words for the kindness and promptitude with which he had rendered his assistance, and turning to his benefactor stood for a few seconds as if irresolute what to say or how to act. Job Trotter relieved his perplexity, for with a humble and grateful bow to Mr. Pickwick, he took his friend gently by the arm and led him away. "'A worthy couple,' said Perker, as the door closed behind them. "'I hope they may become so,' replied Mr. Pickwick. "'What do you think? Is there any chance of their permanent reformation?' Perker shrugged his shoulders doubtfully, but observing Mr. Pickwick's anxious and disappointed look rejoined, of course there is a chance. I hope it may prove a good one. They are unquestionably penitent now, but then you know they have the recollection of very recent suffering fresh upon them. What they may become when that fades away is a problem that neither you nor I can solve. However, my dear sir,' added Perker, laying his hand on Mr. Pickwick's shoulder, your object is equally honorable whatever the result is. Whether that species of benevolence, which is so very cautious and long-sighted that it is seldom exercised at all lest its owner should be imposed upon and so wounded in his self-love, be real charity or a worldly counterfeit, I leave to wiser heads than mine to determine. But if those two fellows were to commit a burglary tomorrow, my opinion of this action would be equally high. With these remarks, which were delivered in a much more animated and earnest manner than is usual in legal gentlemen, Perker drew his chair to his desk and listened to Mr. Pickwick's recital of old Mr. Winkle's obstinacy. Give him a week, said Perker, nodding his head prophetically. Do you think he will come round, inquired Mr. Pickwick? I think he will, rejoined Perker. If not, we must try the young lady's persuasion, and that is what anybody but you would have done at first. Mr. Perker was taking a pinch of snuff with various grotesque contractions of countenance eulogistic of the persuasive powers appertaining under young ladies, when the murmur of inquiry and answer was heard in the outer office, and Loudon tapped at the door. Come in, cried the little man. The clerk came in and shut the door after him with great mystery. What's the matter, inquired Perker? You're wanted, sir. Who wants me? Loudon looked at Mr. Pickwick and coughed. Who wants me? Can't you speak, Mr. Loudon? Why, sir, replied Loudon, it's Dodson and Fogg is with him. Bless my life, said the little man, looking at his watch. I appointed them to be here at half past eleven to settle that matter of yours, Pickwick. I gave them an undertaking on which they sent down your discharge. It's very awkward, my dear sir. What will you do? Would you like to step into the next room? The next room, being the identical room in which Messers Dodson and Fogg were, Mr. Pickwick replied that he would remain where he was. The more especially, as Messers Dodson and Fogg sought to be ashamed to look him in the face, instead of his being ashamed to see them. Which latter circumstance he begged Mr. Perker to note, with a glowing countenance and many marks of indignation. Very well, my dear sir, very well, replied Perker. I can only say that if you expect either Dodson or Fogg to exhibit any symptom of shame or confusion at having to look you or anybody else in the face, you are the most sanguine man in your expectations that I ever met with. Show them in, Mr. Loudon. Mr. Loudon disappeared with a grin and immediately returned, ushering in the firm, in due form of precedence, Dodson first and Fogg afterwards. You have seen Mr. Pickwick, I believe, said Perker to Dodson, inclining his pen in the direction where that gentleman was seated. How do you do, Mr. Pickwick? said Dodson in a loud voice. Dear me, cried Fogg, how do you do, Mr. Pickwick? I hope you are well, sir. I thought I knew the face, said Fogg, drawing up a chair and looking round him with a smile. Mr. Pickwick bent his head very slightly in answer to these salutations, and seeing Fogg pull a bundle of papers from his coat pocket, rose and walked to the window. There's no occasion for Mr. Pickwick to move, Mr. Perker, said Fogg, untying the red tape which encircled the little bundle, and smiling again more sweetly than before. Mr. Pickwick is pretty well acquainted with these proceedings. There are no secrets between us, I think. Not many, I think, said Dodson. Then both the partners laughed together, pleasantly and cheerfully, as men who are going to receive money often do. We shall make Mr. Pickwick pay for peeping, said Fogg, with considerable native humor as he unfolded his papers. The amount of the tax costs is one hundred and thirty-three, six four, Mr. Perker. There was a great comparing of papers and turning over of leaves by Fogg and Perker after this statement of profit and loss. Meanwhile Dodson said, in an affable manner, to Mr. Pickwick, I don't think you are looking quite so stout as when I had the pleasure of seeing you last, Mr. Pickwick. Possibly not, sir, replied Mr. Pickwick, who had been flashing forth looks of fierce indignation without producing the smallest effect on either of the sharp practitioners. I believe I am not, sir. I have been persecuted and annoyed by scoundrels of late, sir. Perker coughed violently and asked Mr. Pickwick whether he wouldn't like to look at the morning paper, to which inquiry Mr. Pickwick returned the most decided negative. True, said Dodson, I daresay you have been annoyed in the fleet. There are some odd gentry there. Whereabouts were your apartments, Mr. Pickwick? My one room, replied that much injured gentleman, was on the coffee-room flight. Oh, indeed, said Dodson, I believe that is a very pleasant part of the establishment. Very, replied Mr. Pickwick dryly. There was a coolness about all this, which, to a gentleman of an excitable temperament, had, under the circumstances, rather an exasperating tendency. Mr. Pickwick restrained his wrath by gigantic efforts, but when Perker wrote a check for the whole amount, and Fogg deposited it in a small pocket-book with a triumphant smile playing over his pimply features, which communicated itself likewise to the stern countenance of Dodson, he felt the blood in his cheeks tingling with indignation. Now, Mr. Dodson, said Fogg, putting up the pocket-book and drawing on his gloves, I am at your service. Very good, said Dodson, rising, I am quite ready. I am very happy, said Fogg, softened by the check, to have had the pleasure of making Mr. Pickwick's acquaintance. I hope you don't think quite so ill of us, Mr. Pickwick, as when we first had the pleasure of seeing you. I hope not, said Dodson, with the high tone of columniated virtue. Mr. Pickwick now knows us better, I trust. Whatever your opinion of gentlemen of our profession may be, I beg to assure you, sir, that I bear no ill will or vindictive feeling towards you for the sentiments you thought proper to express in our office, in Freeman's Court Cornhill, on the occasion to which my partner has referred. Oh, no, no, nor I, said Fogg, in a most forgiving manner. Our conduct, sir, said Dodson, will speak for itself, and justify itself, I hope, upon every occasion. We have been in the profession some years, Mr. Pickwick, and have been honoured with the confidence of many excellent clients. I wish you good morning, sir. Good morning, Mr. Pickwick, said Fogg, so saying he put his umbrella under his arm, drew off his right glove, and extended the hand of reconciliation to that most indignant gentleman, who thereupon thrust his hands beneath his coattails, and eyed the attorney with looks of scornful amazement. Loudon, cried Perker at this moment, open the door. Wait one instant, said Mr. Pickwick. Perker, I will speak. My dear sir, pray let the matter rest, where it is, said the little attorney who had been in a state of nervous apprehension during the whole interview. Mr. Pickwick, I beg. I will not be put down, sir, replied Mr. Pickwick hastily. Mr. Dodson, you have addressed some remarks to me. Dodson turned round, bent his head meekly and smiled. Some remarks to me, repeated Mr. Pickwick, almost breathless, and your partner has tendered me his hand, and you have both assumed a tone of forgiveness and high-mindedness, which is an extent of impudence that I was not prepared for, even in you. What, sir? exclaimed Dodson. What, sir? reiterated Fogg. Do you know that I have been the victim of your plots and conspiracies, continued Mr. Pickwick? Do you know that I am the man whom you have been imprisoning and robbing? Do you know that you were the attorneys for the plaintiff in Bardell and Pickwick? Yes, sir, we do know it, replied Dodson. Course we know it, sir, rejoined Fogg, slapping his pocket, perhaps by accident. I see that you recollect it with satisfaction, said Mr. Pickwick, attempting to call up a sneer for the first time in his life, and failing most signally in so doing. Although I have long been anxious to tell you in plain terms what my opinion of you is, I should have let even this opportunity pass, in deference to my friend Perker's wishes, but for the unwarrantable tone you have assumed, and your insolent familiarity. I say insolent familiarity, sir, said Mr. Pickwick, turning upon Fogg with a fierceness of gesture, which caused that person to retreat towards the door with great expedition. Take care, sir, said Dodson, who, though he was the biggest man of the party, had prudently entrenched himself behind Fogg, and was speaking over his head with a very pale face. Let him assault you, Mr. Fogg, don't return it on any account. No, no, I won't return it, said Fogg, falling back a little more as he spoke to the evident relief of his partner, who by these means was gradually getting into the outer office. You are, continued Mr. Pickwick, resuming the threat of his discourse, you are a well-matched pair of mean, rascally, petty, fogging robbers. Well, and opposed Perker, is that all? It is all summed up in that, rejoined Mr. Pickwick. They are mean, rascally, petty, fogging robbers. There, said Perker, in a most consolidatory tone. My dear sirs, he has said all he has to say. Now pray go, Loudon, is that door open? Mr. Loudon, with a distant giggle, replied in the affirmative. There, there, good morning, good morning. Now pray, my dear sirs, Mr. Loudon, the door? Cried the little man, pushing Dodson and Fogg. Nothing loath, out of the office. This way, my dear sirs, now pray don't prolong this. Dear me, Mr. Loudon, the door, sir, why don't you attend? If there's law in England, sir, said Dodson, looking towards Mr. Pickwick, as he put on his hat, you shall smart for this. You are a couple of mean. Remember, sir, you pay dearly for this, said Fogg. Rascally, petty, fogging robbers, continued Mr. Pickwick, taking not the least notice of the threats that were addressed to him. Robbers, cried Mr. Pickwick, running to the stair-head, as the two attorneys descended. Robbers shouted Mr. Pickwick, breaking from Loudon and Perker, and thrusting his head out of the staircase window. When Mr. Pickwick drew in his head again, his countenance was smiling and placid, and walking quietly back into the office, he declared that he had now removed a great weight from his mind, and that he felt perfectly comfortable and happy. Perker said nothing at all until he had emptied his snuff-box and sent Loudon out to fill it, when he was seized with a fit of laughing which lasted five minutes, at the expiration of which time. He said that he supposed he ought to be very angry, but he couldn't think of the business seriously yet. When he could, he would be. Well now, said Mr. Pickwick, let me have a settlement with you. Of the same kind as the last, inquired Perker with another laugh. Not exactly rejoined Mr. Pickwick, drawing out his pocket-book, and shaking the little man hardly by the hand. I only mean a pecuniary settlement. You have done me many acts of kindness that I can never repay, and have no wish to repay, for I prefer continuing the obligation. With this preface the two friends dived into some very complicated accounts and vouchers, which, having been duly displayed and gone through by Perker, were at once discharged by Mr. Pickwick with many professions of esteem and friendship. They had no sooner arrived at this point than a most violent and startling knocking was heard at the door. It was not an ordinary double-knock, but a constant and uninterrupted succession of the loudest single raps, as if the knocker were endowed with the perpetual motion, or the person outside had forgotten to leave off. Dear me, what's that? exclaimed Perker, starting. I think it is a knock at the door, said Mr. Pickwick, as if there could be the smallest doubt of the fact. The knocker made a more energetic reply than words could have yielded, for it continued to hammer with surprising force and noise without a moment's cessation. Dear me, said Perker, ringing his bell, we shall alarm the inn. Mr. Loudon, don't you hear a knock? I'll answer the door in one moment, sir, replied the clerk. The knocker appeared to hear the response and to assert that it was quite impossible he could wait so long. It made us depend this uproar. It's quite dreadful, said Mr. Pickwick, stopping his ears. Make haste, Mr. Loudon, Perker called out. We shall have the panels beaten in. Mr. Loudon, who was washing his hands in a dark closet, hurried to the door and turning the handle, beheld the appearance which is described in the next chapter.