 CHAPTER 42 ILLUSTRATIVE, LIKE THE PROCEEDING ONE, OF THE OLD PROVERB THAT ADVERSITY BRINGS A MAN ACQUAINTED WITH STRANGE BEDFELLOWS, LIKEWISE CONTAINING MR. PICKWICK'S EXTRAORDINARY AND STARTLING ANNOUNCEMENT TO MR. SAMUEL WELLER. When Mr. Pickwick opened his eyes next morning, first object upon which they rested was Samuel Weller seated upon a small black portmanteau, intently regarding, apparently in a condition of profound abstraction, the stately figure of the dashing Mr. Smangle, while Mr. Smangle himself, who was already partially dressed, was seated on his bedstead, occupied in the desperately hopeless attempt of staring Mr. Weller out of countenance. We say desperately hopeless, because Sam, with a comprehensive gaze which took in Mr. Smangle's cap, feet, head, face, legs, and whiskers all at the same time, continued to look steadily on with every demonstration of lively satisfaction, but with no more regard to Mr. Smangle's personal sentiments on the subject than he would have displayed had he been inspecting a wooden statue or a straw-emboweled guy fox. Well, will you know me again? said Mr. Smangle, with a frown. I'd spare you any verse, sir, replied Sam cheerfully. Don't be impertinent to a gentleman, sir, said Mr. Smangle. Now, on no account, replied Sam, if you'll tell me when he wakes, I'll be upon the very best extra super-behavior. This observation, having a remote tendency to imply that Mr. Smangle was no gentleman, kindled his ire. Mivans, said Mr. Smangle, with a passionate air, what's the office, replied that gentleman from his couch, who the devil is this fellow? Gad, said Mr. Mivans, looking lazily out from under the bed-clothes, I ought to ask you that. Hasn't he any business here? No, replied Mr. Smangle. Then knock him downstairs and tell him not to presume to get up till I come and kick him, rejoined Mr. Mivans, with this prompt advice that excellent gentleman again betook himself to slumber. The conversation exhibiting these unequivocal symptoms of verging on the personal, Mr. Pickwick deemed it a fit point at which to interpose. Sam, said Mr. Pickwick, sir, rejoined that gentleman. Has anything new occurred since last night? Nothing particular, sir, replied Sam, glancing at Mr. Smangle's whiskers. The late prevailance of a close and confined atmosphere has been rather favorable to the growth of veeds of an alarming and sanguinary nature, but with that air exception, things is quiet enough. I shall get up, said Mr. Pickwick. Give me some clean things. Whatever hostile intentions Mr. Smangle might have entertained, his thoughts were speedily diverted by the unpacking of the Portmanteau, the contents of which appeared to impress him at once with the most favorable opinion, not only of Mr. Pickwick, but of Sam also. Who, he took an early opportunity of declaring, in a tone of voice loud enough for that eccentric personage to overhear, was a regular thoroughbred original, and consequently the very man after his own heart asked you, Mr. Pickwick, the affection he conceived for him knew no limits. Now, is there anything I can do for you, my dear sir, said Smangle? Nothing that I am aware of, I am obliged to you, replied Mr. Pickwick. No linen that you want sent to the washerwoman's. I know a delightful washerwoman outside that comes for my things twice a week. And if I jove how devilish lucky this is the day she calls. Shall I put any of those little things up with mine? Don't say anything about the trouble. Confound and cursive, if one gentleman under a cloud is not to put himself a little out of the way to assist another gentleman in the same condition, what's human nature? Thus spake, Mr. Smangle, edging himself meanwhile as near as possible to the Portmanteau, and beaming forth looks of the most fervent and disinterested friendship. There's nothing you want to give out for the man to brush, my dear creature, is there? resumed Smangle. Nothing would ever, my fine fellow, rejoined Sam, taking the reply into his own mouth. Perhaps if one of us was to brush without troubling the man, it'd be more agreeable for all parties, as the schoolmaster said when the young gentleman objected to being flogged by the butler. And there's nothing I can send in my little box to the washerwoman's, is there? said Smangle, turning from Sam to Mr. Pickwick with an air of some discomforture. Nothing would ever, sir, retorted Sam, I'm afraid the little box must be chock-full of your own as it is. This speech was accompanied with such a very expressive look at that particular portion of Mr. Smangle's attire, by the appearance of which the skill of laundresses in getting up gentleman's linen is generally tested, that he was feigned to turn upon his heel, and for the present at any rate, to give up all design on Mr. Pickwick's purse and wardrobe. He accordingly retired in dudgeon to the racquet ground, where he made a light and wholesome breakfast on a couple of the cigars which had been purchased on the previous night. Mr. Mivens, who was no smoker and whose account for small articles of chandlery had also reached down to the bottom of the slate and been carried over to the other side, remained in bed and, in his own words, took it out in sleep. After breakfasting in a small closet attached to the coffee room, which bore the imposing title of the Snuggery, the temporary inmate of which, in consideration of a small additional charge, had the unspeakable advantage of overhearing all the conversation in the coffee room aforesaid. And after dispatching Mr. Weller on some necessary errands, Mr. Pickwick repaired to the lodge to consult Mr. Roker concerning his future accommodation. Accommodation, eh? said that gentleman, consulting a large book. Plenty of that, Mr. Pickwick. Your chummage ticket will be on 27 and the third. Oh, said Mr. Pickwick. My what did you say? Your chummage ticket, replied Mr. Roker, you're up to that? Not quite, replied Mr. Pickwick with a smile. Why, said Mr. Roker, it's as plain as Salisbury. You'll have a chummage ticket upon 27 and the third. And then, as is in the room, will be your chums. Are there many of them? inquired Mr. Pickwick dubiously. Three, replied Mr. Roker. Mr. Pickwick coughed. One of them's a parson, said Mr. Roker, filling up a little piece of paper as he spoke. Another's a butcher, eh? exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. A butcher, repeated Mr. Roker giving the nib of his pen a tap on the desk, the cure of a disinclination to Mark. What a thorough paced gore he used to be, surely. You remember Tom Martin, Eddie? said Roker, appealing to another man in the lodge, who was paring the mud off his shoes with a five and twenty bladed pocket knife. I should think so, replied the party address, with a strong emphasis on the personal pronoun. Bless my dear eyes, said Mr. Roker, shaking his head slowly from side to side, and gazing abstractedly out of the graded windows before him, as if he were fondly recalling some peaceful scene of his early youth. It seems but yesterday that he wopped the coal-heaver down Fox under the hill by the wharf there. I think I can see him now, a coming up the strand between the two streetkeepers, a little sobered by the bruising with a patch of vinegar and brown paper over his right eyelid, and that our lovely bulldog has pinned the little boy, art of words, a following at his heels. What a rum thing time is, ain't it, Nettie? The gentleman to whom these observations were addressed, who appeared to attest to turn in thoughtful cast, merely echoed the inquiry. Mr. Roker, shaking off the political and gloomy train of thought into which he had been betrayed, descended to the common business of life and resumed his pen. Do you know what the third gentleman is? inquired Mr. Pickwick, not very much gratified by this description of his future associates. What is that, Simpson, Nettie? said Mr. Roker, turning to his companion. What Simpson, said Nettie? Why him in twenty-seven and the third that this gentleman is going to be chum-done? Oh, him, replied Nettie. He's nothing exactly. He was a horse-chanter. He's a leg now. So I thought we joined Mr. Roker, closing the book, and placing the small piece of paper in Mr. Pickwick's hands. That's the ticket, sir. Very much perplexed by the summary disposition of his person, Mr. Pickwick walked back into the prison, revolving in his mind what he had better do. Convinced, however, that before he took any other steps it would be advisable to see and hold personal converse with the three gentlemen with whom it was proposed to quarter him, he made the best of his way to the third flight. Groping about in the gallery for some time, attempting in the dim light to decipher the numbers on the different doors, he at length appealed to a pot boy who happened to be pursuing his morning occupation of gleaning for pewter. Which is twenty-seven, my good fellow, said Mr. Pickwick. Five doors farther on, replied the pot boy, there's the likeness of a man being hung and smoking the while chocked outside the door. Guided by this direction, Mr. Pickwick proceeded slowly along the gallery until he encountered the portrait of a gentleman above described, upon whose countenance he tapped with the knuckle of his forefinger, gently at first and then audibly. After repeating this process several times without effect, he ventured to open the door and peep in. There was only one man in the room, and he was leaning out of window as far as he could without overbalancing himself, endeavoring with great perseverance to spit upon the crown of the hat of a personal friend on the parade below. As neither speaking, coughing, sneezing, knocking, nor any other ordinary mode of attracting attention made this person aware of the presence of a visitor, Mr. Pickwick, after some delay, stepped up to the window and pulled him gently by the coat tail. The individual brought in his head and shoulders with great swiftness, and surveying Mr. Pickwick from head to foot, demanded in a surly tone what the something beginning with a capital H he wanted. I believe, said Mr. Pickwick, consulting his ticket. I believe this is twenty-seven and the third. Well, replied the gentleman, I have come here in consequence of receiving this bit of paper, rejoined Mr. Pickwick. Hand it over, said the gentleman. Mr. Pickwick complied. I think Roker might have chummed you somewhere else, said Mr. Simpson, before it was the leg, after a very discontented sort of a pause. Mr. Pickwick thought so also, but under all the circumstances he considered it a matter of silent policy to be silent. Mr. Simpson mused for a few moments after this, and then thrusting his head out of the window gave a shrill whistle and pronounced some word aloud several times. What the word was, Mr. Pickwick could not distinguish, but he rather inferred that it must be some nickname which distinguished Mr. Martin, from the fact of a great number of gentlemen on the ground below immediately proceeding to cry, Butcher! In imitation of the tone in which that useful class of society are wont, diurnally, to make their presence known at area railings. Subsequent occurrences confirmed the accuracy of Mr. Pickwick's impression. For, in a few seconds, a gentleman prematurely broad for his years, clothed in a professional blue jean frock, and top boots with circular toes, entered the room nearly out of breath, closely followed by another gentleman in very shabby black and a seal skin cap. The latter gentleman, who fastened his coat all the way up to his chin by means of a pin and a button alternately, had a very coarse red face and looked like a drunken chaplain which indeed he was. These two gentlemen having by turns perused Mr. Pickwick's billet, the one expressed his opinion that it was a rig and the other his conviction that it was a go. Having recorded their feelings in these very intelligible terms, they looked at Mr. Pickwick and each other in awkward silence. It's an aggravating thing, just as we got the bed so snug, said the chaplain, looking at three dirty mattresses, each rolled up in a blanket, which occupied one corner of the room during the day, and formed a kind of slab on which were placed an old cracked basin, ewer and soap dish of common yellow earthenware with a blue flower. Very aggravating. Mr. Martin expressed the same opinion in rather stronger terms. Mr. Simpson, after having led a variety of expletive adjectives loose upon society without any substantive to accompany them, tucked up his sleeves and began to wash the greens for dinner. While this was going on Mr. Pickwick had been eyeing the room, which was filthily dirty and smelt intolerably close. There was no vestige of either carpet, curtain or blind. There was not even a closet in it. Unquestionably, there were but few things to put away if there had been one, but however few in number or small in individual amount, still, remnants of loaves and pieces of cheese and damp towels and scraggs of meat and articles of wearing apparel and mutilated crackery and bellows without nozzles and toasting forks without prongs do present somewhat of an uncomfortable appearance when they are scattered about the floor of a small apartment, which is the common sitting and sleeping room of three idle men. I suppose this can be managed somehow, said the butcher, after a pretty long silence. What will you take to go out? I beg your pardon, replied Mr. Pickwick. What did you say? I hardly understand you. What will you take to be paid out? said the butcher. The regular chummage is two and six. Will you take three, Bob? And a bender, suggested the clerical gentleman. Well, I don't mind that. It's only toughens a piece more, said Mr. Martin. What do you say now? We'll pay you out for three and six pence a week. Come and stand a gallon of beer down, chimed in Mr. Simpson. There and drink it on the spot, said the chaplain. Now, I really am so wholly ignorant of the rules of this place, returned Mr. Pickwick, that I do not yet comprehend you. Can I live anywhere else? I thought I could not. At this inquiry Mr. Martin looked with the countenance of excessive surprise at his two friends, and then each gentleman pointed with his right thumb over his left shoulder. This action imperfectly described in words by the very feeble term of over the left, when performed by any number of ladies or gentlemen who are accustomed to acting unison, has a very graceful and airy effect. Its expression is one of light and playful sarcasm. Can you, repeated Mr. Martin, with a smile of pity, while if I knew as little of life as that I'd eat my hat and swallow the buckle whole, said the clerical gentleman, so would I, added the sporting one solemnly. After this introductory preface, the three chums informed Mr. Pickwick in a breath that money was in the fleet just what money was out of it, that it would instantly procure him almost anything he desired. And that, supposing he had it, and had no objection to spend it, if he only signified his wish to have a room to himself, he might take possession of one furnished and fitted to boot in half an hour's time. With this the parties separated, very much to their common satisfaction. Mr. Pickwick once more retracing his steps to the lodge, and the three companions adjourning to the coffee-room, there to spend the five shillings which the clerical gentleman had, with admirable prudence and foresight, borrowed of him for the purpose. I noted, said Mr. Roker with a chuckle when Mr. Pickwick stated the object with which he had returned. Didn't I say so, Netty? The philosophical owner of the universal penknife growled an affirmative. I know you'd want a room for yourself, bless you, said Mr. Roker. Let me see. You'll want some furniture. You'll hire that of me, I suppose. That's the regular thing. With great pleasure, replied Mr. Pickwick. There's a capital room up in the coffee-room flight that belongs to a chancery prisoner, said Mr. Roker. It'll stand you in a pound a week, I suppose you don't mind that. Not at all, said Mr. Pickwick. Just step there with me, said Roker, taking up his hat with great alacrity. The matter settled in five minutes. Lord, why didn't you say at first that you was willing to come down handsome? The matter was soon arranged, as the churn key had foretold. The chancery prisoner had been there long enough to have lost his friends, fortune, home, and happiness, and to have acquired the right of having a room to himself. As he labored, however, under the inconvenience of often wanting a morsel of bread, he eagerly listened to Mr. Pickwick's proposal to rent the apartment and readily covenanted and agreed to yield him up the sole and undisturbed possession thereof, in consideration of the weekly payment of twenty shillings, from which fund he furthermore contracted to pay out any person or persons that might be chummed upon it. As they struck the bargain, Mr. Pickwick surveyed him with a painful interest. He was a tall, gaunt, cadaverous man in an old great coat and slippers, with sunken cheeks and a restless, eager eye. His lips were bloodless, and his bones sharp and thin. God help him! The iron teeth of confinement and privation had been slowly filing him down for twenty years. And where will you live, meanwhile, sir? said Mr. Pickwick, as he laid the amount of the first week's rent in advance on the tottering table. The man gathered up the money with a trembling hand and replied that he didn't know yet. He must go and see where he could move his bed to. I am afraid, sir, said Mr. Pickwick, laying his hand gently and compassionately on his arm. I am afraid you will have to live in some noisy, crowded place. Now pray, consider this room your own when you want quiet, or when any of your friends come to see you. Friends? Interposed the man in a voice which rattled in his throat. If I lay dead at the bottom of the deepest mine in the world, tight screwed down and soldered in my coffin, rotting in the dark and filthy ditch that drags its slime along beneath the foundations of this prison, I could not be more forgotten or unheeded than I am here. I am a dead man, dead to society, without the pity they bestow on those whose souls have passed to judgment. Friends to see me, my God, I have sunk from the prime of life into old age in this place, and there is not one to raise his hand above my bed when I lie dead upon it and say it is a blessing he has gone. The excitement which had cast an unwanted light over the man's face while he spoke, subsided as he concluded, and pressing his withered hands together in a hasty and disordered manner he shuffled from the room. Rides rather rusty, said Mr. Roker with a smile. They're like the elephants, they feel it now and then, and it makes them wild. Having made this deeply sympathizing remark, Mr. Roker entered upon his arrangements with such expedition that in a short time the room was furnished with a carpet, six chairs, a table, a sofa bedstead, a tea kettle, and various small articles on hire at the very reasonable rate of seven and twenty shillings and six pence per week. Now, is there anything more we can do for you, inquired Mr. Roker, looking round with great satisfaction and gaily chinking the first week's hire in his closed fist? Why, yes, said Mr. Pickwick, who had been musing deeply for some time. Are there any people here who run on errands and so forth? Outside, do you mean, inquired Mr. Roker? Yes, I mean who are able to go outside, not prisoners. Yes, there is, said Roker. There's an unfortunate devil who has got a friend on the poor side that's glad to do anything of that sort. He's been running odd jobs and that for the last two months. Shall I send him? If you please, rejoined Mr. Pickwick, stay, no. The poor side, you say? I should like to see it. I'll go to him myself. The poor side of a debtor's prison is, as its name imports, that in which the most miserable and abject class of debtors are confined. A prisoner, having declared upon the poor side, pays neither rent nor chummage. His fees, upon entering and leaving the jail, are reduced in amount, and he becomes entitled to a share of some small quantities of food to provide which a few charitable persons have from time to time left trifling legacies in their wills. Most of our readers will remember that, until within a very few years past, there was a kind of iron cage in the wall of the fleet prison, within which was posted some man of hungry looks, who from time to time rattled a money box and exclaimed in a mournful voice, Pray remember the poor debtors, pray remember the poor debtors. The receipts of this box, when there were any, were divided among the poor prisoners, and the man on the poor side relieved each other in this degrading office. Although this custom has been abolished and the cage is now boarded up, the miserable and destitute condition of these unhappy persons remains the same. We no longer suffer them to appeal at the prison gates to the charity and compassion of the passers-by, but we still leave unblotted the leaves of our statute book for the reverence and admiration of succeeding ages, the just and wholesome law which declares that the sturdy felon shall be fed and clothed and that the penniless debtor shall be left to die of starvation and nakedness. This is no fiction. Not a week passes over our head, but in every one of our prisons for debt, some of these men must inevitably expire in the slow agonies of want, if they were not relieved by their fellow prisoners. Turning these things in his mind as he mounted the narrow staircase at the foot of which Roker had left him, Mr. Pickwick gradually worked himself to the boiling over-point, and so excited was he with his reflections on this subject that he had burst into the room to which he had been directed before he had any distinct recollection either of the place in which he was or of the object of his visit. The general aspect of the room recalled him to himself at once, but he had no sooner cast his eye on the figure of a man who was brooding over the dusty fire than letting his hat fall on the floor he stood perfectly fixed and immovable with astonishment. Yes, in tattered garments and without a coat, his common calico shirt yellow and in rags, his hair hanging over his face, his features changed with suffering and pinched with famine. There sat Mr. Alfred Jingle, his head resting on his hands, his eyes fixed upon the fire, and his whole appearance denoting misery and dejection. Near him, leaning listlessly against the wall, stood a strong-built countryman flicking with a worn-out hunting web the top boot that adorned his right foot, his left being thrust into an old slipper. Horses, dogs, and drink had brought him there, palmel. There was a rusty spur on the solitary boot, which he occasionally jerked into the empty air at the same time giving the boot a smart blow and muttering some of the sounds by which a sportsman encourages his horse. He was riding, in imagination, some desperate steeple-chase at that moment, poor wretch. He never rode a match on the swiftest animal in his costly stud with half the speed at which he had torn along the course that ended in the fleet. On the opposite side of the room, an old man was seated on a small wooden box with his eyes riveted on the floor, and his face settled into an expression of the deepest and most hopeless despair. A young girl, his little granddaughter, was hanging about him, endeavoring with a thousand childish devices to engage his attention. But the old man neither saw nor heard her. The voice that had been music to him and the eyes that had been light fell coldly on his senses. His limbs were shaking with disease and the pause he had fastened on his mind. There were two or three other men in the room congregated in a little knot and noiselessly talking among themselves. There was a lean and haggard woman, too, a prisoner's wife, who was watering with great solicitude the wretched stump of a dried-up withered plant, which, it was plain to see, could never send forth a green leaf again. Too true an emblem, perhaps, of the office she had come there to discharge. Such were the objects which presented themselves to Mr. Pickwick's view as he looked round him in amazement. The noise of someone stumbling hastily into the room roused him. Turning his eyes towards the door, they encountered the newcomer and in him through his rags and dirt he recognized the familiar features of Mr. Job Trotter. Mr. Pickwick, exclaimed Job, allowed. A. said Jingle, starting from his seat. Mr. So it is. Queer place, strange things, serves me right, very. Mr. Jingle thrust his hands into the place where his trousers' pockets used to be and dropping his chin upon his breast sank back into his chair. Mr. Pickwick was affected. The two men looked so very miserable. The sharp and voluntary glance Jingle had cast at a small piece of raw loin of mutton which Job had brought in with him said more of their reduced state than two hours' explanation could have done. Mr. Pickwick looked mildly at Jingle and said, I should like to speak to you in private. Will you step out for an instant? Certainly, said Jingle, rising hastily, can't step far, no danger of overwalking yourself here. Spike part, grounds pretty, romantic, but not extensive, open for public inspection, family always in town, housekeeper desperately careful, very. You have forgotten your coats, said Mr. Pickwick, as they walked out to the staircase and closed the door after them. A. said Jingle, spout. Dear relation, Uncle Tom, couldn't help it, must eat, you know, wants of nature and all that. What do you mean? Gone, my dear sir, last coat, can't help it. Lived on a pair of boots whole fortnight, silk umbrella ivory handle, weak, fact, honor, ask Job, knows it. Lived for three weeks upon a pair of boots and a silk umbrella with an ivory handle, exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who had only heard of such things in shipwrecks or read of them in Constable's miscellany. True, said Jingle, nodding his head, pawnbroker shot, duplicates here, small sums, mere nothing, all rascals. O, said Mr. Pickwick, much relieved by this explanation, I understand you, you have pawned your wardrobe. Everything, Job's too, all shirts gone, never mind, saves washing, nothing soon, lie in bed, starve, die, in quest little bone house, poor prisoner, common necessaries hushed up, gentlemen of the jury, wardens, tradesmen, keep it snug, natural death, coroner's order, workhouse funeral, serve him right, all over, drop the curtain. Jingle delivered this singular summary of his prospects in life with his accustomed volubility and with various twitches of the countenance to counterfeit smiles. Mr. Pickwick easily perceived that his recklessness was assumed, and looking him full but not unkindly in the face saw that his eyes were moist with tears. Good fellow, said Jingle, pressing his hand and turning his head away, ungrateful dog, poised to cry, can't help it, bad fever, weak, ill, hungry, deserved it all but suffered much, very holy unable to keep up appearances any longer, and perhaps rendered worse by the effort he had made, the dejected stroller sat down on the stairs and covering his face with his hands, sobbed like a child. Come, come, said Mr. Pickwick, with considerable emotion, we will see what can be done when I know all about the matter. Here, Job, where is that fellow? Here, sir, replied Job, presenting himself on the staircase. We have described him by the by as having deeply sunken eyes, in the best of times, in his present state of want and distress, he looked as if those features had gone out of town altogether. Here, sir, cried Job. Come here, sir, said Mr. Pickwick, trying to look stern with four large tears running down his waistcoat. Take that, sir. Take what? In the ordinary acceptation of such language it should have been a blow. As the world runs it ought to have been a sound hearty cuff, for Mr. Pickwick had been duped, deceived, and wronged by the destitute outcast, who was now wholly in his power. Must we tell the truth? It was something for Mr. Pickwick's waistcoat pocket, which chinked as it was given into Job's hand, and the giving of which, somehow or other, imparted a sparkle to the eye and a swelling to the heart of our excellent old friend as he hurried away. Sam had returned when Mr. Pickwick reached his own room, and was inspecting the arrangements that had been made for his comfort, with a kind of grim satisfaction which was very pleasant to look upon. Having a decided objection to his master's being there at all, Mr. Weller appeared to consider it a high moral duty, not to appear too much pleased with anything that was done, said, suggested, or proposed. Well, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick. Well, sir, replied Mr. Weller. Pretty comfortable now, eh, Sam? Pretty well, sir, responded Sam, looking round him in a disparaging manner. Have you seen Mr. Tupman and our other friends? Yes, I have seen them, sir, and they are coming tomorrow, and was very much surprised to hear they want to come today, replied Sam. You have brought the things I wanted? Mr. Weller, in reply, pointed to various packages, which he had arranged as neatly as he could in a corner of the room. Very well, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick, after a little hesitation. Listen to what I am going to say, Sam. Certainly, sir, rejoined Mr. Weller. Fire away, sir. I have felt from the first, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick, with much solemnity, that this is not the place to bring a young man to. Nor an old one, neither, sir, observed Mr. Weller. You are quite right, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick, but old men may come here through their own healessness and unsuspicion, and young men may be brought here by the selfishness of those they serve. It is better for those young men in every point of view that they should not remain here. Do you understand me, Sam? If I know, sir, I do not, replied Mr. Weller doggedly. Try, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick. Well, sir, rejoined Sam, after a short pause. I think I see your drift, and if I do see your drift, it is my opinion that you are coming at a great deal too strong, as the male coachman said to the snowstorm, then it overtook him. I see you comprehend me, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick. Independently of my wish that you should not be idling about a place like this for years to come, I feel that for a debtor in the fleet to be attended by his man-servant is a monstrous absurdity, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick, for a time you must leave me. Oh, for a time, eh, sir? rejoined Mr. Weller, rather sarcastically. Yes, for the time that I remain here, said Mr. Pickwick. Your wages I shall continue to pay. Any one of my three friends will be happy to take you, were it only out of respect to me, and if I ever do leave this place, Sam, added Mr. Pickwick, with assumed cheerfulness, if I do I pledge in my word that you shall return to me instantly. Now, I'll tell you what it is, sir, said Mr. Weller in a grave and solemn voice. This here sort of thing won't do it all, so don't let's hear no more about it. I am serious and resolved, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick. You err, are you, sir? inquired Mr. Weller firmly. Very good, sir, then so am I. Thus speaking, Mr. Weller fixed his hand on his head with great precision and abruptly left the room. Sam, cried Mr. Pickwick, calling after him. Sam, here! But the long gallery ceased to re-echo the sound of footsteps. Sam Weller was gone. End of Chapter 42. Chapter 43 of the Pickwick Papers This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please go to www.librivox.org. This chapter read by Patty Brugman. Chapter 43. Showing how Mr. Sam Weller got into difficulties. In a lofty room, ill-lighted and worse ventilated, situate in Portugal's street, Lincoln's in fields, there sit nearly the whole year round, one, two, three, or four gentlemen in wigs, as the case may be, with little writing desks before them, constructed after the fashion of those used by the judges of the land, barring the French polish. There is a box of barristers on their right hand, there is an enclosure of insolvent debtors on their left, and there is an inclined plain of the most especially dirty faces in their front. These gentlemen are the commissioners of the insolvent court, and the place in which they sit is the insolvent court itself. It is, and has been, time out of mine, the remarkable fate of this court to be somewhat or other held, and understood by the general consent of all the destitute shabby gentile people in London, as their common resort and place of daily refuge. It is always full. The steams of beer and spirits perpetually ascend to the ceiling, and, being condensed by the heat, roll down the walls like rain. There are more old suits of clothes in it at one time, than will be offered for sale in all hounds ditch in a twelfth month. More unwashed skins and grizzly beards, than all the pumps and shaving shops between Tyburn and Whitechapel could render decent between sunrise and sunset. It must not be supposed that any of these people had the least shadow of business in, or the remotest connection with, the place they so indefatigably attend. If they had, it would be no matter of surprise, and the singularity of the thing would cease. Some of them sleep during the greater part of the sitting, others carry small portable dinners wrapped in pocket handkerchiefs, or sticking out of their worn-out pockets and munch and listen with equal relish. But no one among them was ever known to have the slightest personal interest in any case that was ever brought forward. Whatever they do, there they sit from the first moment to the last. When it is heavy rainy weather, they all come in wet through, and at such times the vapors of the quarter like those of a fungus pit. A casual visitor might suppose this place to be a temple dedicated to the genius of seediness. There is not a messenger or process server attached to it who wears a coat that was made for him, not a tolerably fresh or wholesome looking man in the whole establishment, except a little white-headed apple-faced tip staff, and even he, like an ill-conditioned cherry preserved in brandy, seems to have artificially dried and withered up into a state of preservation to which he can lay no natural claim. The very barrister's wigs are ill-powdered, and their curls lack crispness. But the attorneys who sit at a large, bare table below the commissioners are, after all, the greatest curiosities. The professional establishment of the more opulent of these gentlemen consists of a blue bag and a boy, generally a youth of the Jewish persuasion. They have no fixed offices, their legal business being transacted in the parlors of public houses or the yards of prisons, whether they repair in crowds and canvas for customers after the manner of the omnibus cads. They are of a greasy and mildewed appearance, and if they can be said to have any vices at all, perhaps drinking and cheating are the most conspicuous among them. Their residences are usually on the outskirts of the rules, chiefly lying within the circle of one mile from the obelisk of St. George's fields. Their looks are not presupposing, and their manners are peculiar. Mr. Solomon Pell, one of this learned body, was a fat, flabby, pale man in a sirtute, which looked green one minute and brown the next, with a velvet collar of the same chameleon tints. His forehead was narrow and his face wide, his head large and his nose all on one side, as if nature, indignant with the propensities she observed in him in his birth, had given it an angry tweak, which it had never recovered. Being short-necked and asthmatic, however, he respired principally through this feature. So perhaps what it wanted and ornamented made up in usefulness. I'm sure to bring him through it, said Mr. Pell. Are you, though? replied the person to whom the assurance was pledged. Certainly, sure, replied Pell, but if he'd gone to any irregular practitioner, mind you, I wouldn't have answered for the consequences. Ah, said the other with open mouth. No, that I wouldn't, said Mr. Pell, and he pursed up his lips, frowned and shook his head mysteriously. Now the place where this discourse occurred was the public house just opposite to the insolent court, and the person with whom it was held was no other than the elder Mr. Weller, who had come there to comfort and console a friend whose petition to be discharged under the act was to be that day heard, and whose attorney he was at that moment consulting. And there is George, inquired the old gentleman. Mr. Pell jerked his head in the direction of a back parlor, wither Mr. Weller at once repairing was immediately greeted in the warmest and most fluttering manner by some half-dozen of his professional brethren, in token of their gratification at his arrival. The insolent gentleman, who had contracted a speculative but imprudent passion for horsing long stages, which had led to his present embarrassments, looked extremely well, and was soothing the excitement of his feelings with shrimps and porter. The salutation between Mr. Weller and his friends was strictly confined to the freemasonry of the craft, consisting of a jerking round of the right wrist and a tossing of the little finger into the air at the same time. We once knew two famous coachmen, they are dead now, poor fellows, who were twins and between whom an unaffected and devoted attachment existed. They passed each other on the Dover Road every day for 24 years, never exchanging any other greeting than this. And yet, when one died, the other pined away and soon afterwards followed him. Fell George, said Mr. Weller's senior, taking off his upper coat and seating himself with his accustomed gravity. How is it? All right behind and full inside? All right, old fellow, replied the embarrassed gentleman. Is the gray mare made over to anybody? inquired Mr. Weller anxiously. George nodded in the affirmative. Well, that's all right, said Mr. Weller, coach taken care on also. Consigned, in a safe quarter, replied George, ringing the heads off half a dozen shrimps and swallowing them without any more ado. Very good, very good, said Mr. Weller. Always see to the drag-vend you go downhill. Is that the evil all clear and straight-out? The schedule, sir, said Mr. Pell, guessing at Mr. Weller's meaning, the schedule is as plain and satisfactory as pen and ink can make it. Mr. Weller nodded in a manner which bespoke his inward approval of these arrangements, and then, turning to Mr. Pell, said, pointing to his friend George, then do you take his cross-off? Why, replied Mr. Pell, he stands third on the oppose list, and I should think it would be his turn in about half an hour. I told my clerk to come over and tell us when there was a chance. Mr. Weller surveyed the attorney from head to foot with great admiration, then said emphatically. And what'll you take, sir? Why, really, replied Mr. Pell, you're very, upon my word in honour, I'm not in the habit of, it's all very early in the morning, that actually I'm almost, well, you may bring me three penny-fourth of wrong, my dear. The officiating damsel, who had anticipated the order before it was given, set a glass of spirits before Pell and retired. Gentlemen, said Mr. Pell, looking round upon the company, success to a friend. I don't like to boast, gentlemen, it's not my way, but I can't help saying, that if a friend hadn't been fortunate enough to fall into hands that, but I won't say what I was going to say, gentlemen, my service to you. Having emptied the glass in a twinkling, Mr. Pell smacked his lips, and looked complacently round on the estate. And looked complacently round on the assembled coachman, who evidently regarded him as a species of divinity. Let me see, said the legal authority, what was I to say, gentlemen? I think you was remarking as you wouldn't have no objection to another all the same, said Mr. Weller, with grave facetiousness. Ha, ha! laughed Mr. Pell. Not bad, not bad, our professional man too. At this time of the morning I would be rather too good a… Well, I don't know, my dear. You may do that again, if you please, hum. This last sand was a solemn and dignified cough, in which Mr. Pell, observing an indecent tendency to mirth in some of his auditors, considered it due to himself to indulge. The late Lord Chancellor, gentlemen, was very fond of me, said Mr. Pell. And very creditable in him too, interposed Mr. Weller. Here, here, assented Mr. Pell's client. Why shouldn't he be? Ah, well indeed, said a very red-faced man, who had said nothing yet, and who looked extremely unlikely to say anything more. Why shouldn't he? A murmur of assent ran through the company. I remember, gentlemen, said Mr. Pell, dining with him on one occasion. There was only two of us, but everything as splendid as a twenty people had been expected. The great seal on a dumb waiter at his right hand, and a man in a bag wig and suit of armour, guarding the mace with a drawn sword and silk stockings, which is perpetually done, gentlemen, night and day. When he said, Pell, he said, No fault's delicacy, Pell, you're a man of talent. You can get anybody through the insolvent court, Pell, and your country should be a part of you. Those were his very words. My Lord, I said, you flatter me. Pell, he said, if I do, I'm damned. What did he say to that, inquired Mr. Weller? He did, replied Pell. Well then, said Mr. Weller, I say Parliament ought to take him up, and if he'd have been a poor man, they would have done it. Oh, but my dear friend, argued Mr. Pell, it was in confidence. It what, said Mr. Weller, in confidence. A very good reply, Mr. Weller, after a little reflection. If he danned his self in confidence, of course that was the nether thing. Of course it was, said Mr. Pell. The distinction's obvious, you will perceive. Alters the case entirely, said Mr. Weller. Go on, sir. No, I will not go on, sir, said Mr. Pell in a low and serious tone. You have reminded me, sir, that this conversation was private, private and confidential, gentlemen. Gentlemen, I am a professional man. It may be that I am a good deal looked up to in my profession. It may be that I am not. Most people know, I say nothing. Observations have already been made to this room, injurious to the reputation of my noble friend. You will excuse me, gentlemen. I was impudent. I feel that I have no right to mention this matter without his concurrence. Thank you, sir, thank you. That's delivering himself. Mr. Pell thrust his hands into his pocket, and frowning grimly round, rattled three half-pence with terrible determination. This virtuous resolution had scarcely been formed when the boy and the blue bag, who were inseparable companions, rushed violently into the room and said, at least the boy did, for the blue bag took no part in the announcement that the case was coming on directly. The intelligence was no sooner received than the whole party hurried across the street and began to fight their way into the court. A preparatory ceremony which has been calculated to occupy in ordinary cases from twenty-five to thirty minutes. Mr. Weller, being stout, cast himself at once into the crowd with the desperate hope of ultimately turning up in some place which would suit him. His success was not quite equal to his expectations, for having neglected to take his hat off, he was knocked over, his eyes by some unseen person, whose toes he had alighted with considerable force. Apparently this individual regretted his impetuosity immediately afterwards. For muttering an indistinct exclamation of surprise, he dragged the old man out into the hall and, after a violent struggle, released his head and face. Sam alone, replied Mr. Weller, when he was thus unable to behold his rescuer. Sam nodded. You are a dutiful and affectionate little boy you are, aren't you? said Mr. Weller, to come abon it in your father in his old age. How was I to know it as you? responded to the son. Do I suppose I was to tell you about the weight of your foot? Well, that's very true, Sammy, replied Mr. Weller, modified it once. But what are you doing on here? Your governor can't do no good here, Sammy. They won't pass that verdict. They won't pass it, Sammy. And Mr. Weller shook his head with legal solemnity. What I, perverse old file it is, exclaimed Sammy, all of these are going about weirdics and alibis, and that who said anything about the weirdic? Mr. Weller made no reply, but once more shook his head most learnedly. Leave off rattling that hair nab a yearn, if you don't want it to come off of the springs altogether, said Sam, impatiently, and behave reasonable. I went all the way down to the Marquisa Grand Barrier at her ye last night. Did you see the march? And yes, so good I'm very, Sammy, inquired Mr. Weller with a sigh. Yes, I did, replied Sammy. How was the dear creature looking? Very queer, said Sammy. I think she's injuring herself gradually with too much of that their pineapple rum and other strong medicines, all the same nature. You don't mean that, Sammy, said the senior earnestly. I do, replied the junior. Mr. Weller seized his son's hand, clasped it, and let it fall. There was an expression on his countenance in doing so, not of dismay or apprehension, but partaking more of the sweet and gentle character of hope. A gleam of resignation and even of cheerfulness passed over his face too, as he slowly said, I ain't quite certain, Sammy. I wouldn't like to say I was altogether positive in case any subsequent disappointment. But I rather think, my boy, I rather think that the shepherds got the liver complaint. Does he look bad, inquired Sam? He's in common pale, replied his father, except about the nose, which is redder than ever. His appetite is weary so-so, but he imbibes wonderful. Some thoughts of the rum appeared to obtrude themselves on Mr. Weller's mind, as he said this, for he looked gloomy and thoughtful. But he was very shortly recovered, as was testified by a perfect alphabet of winks, in which he was only wont to indulge when particularly pleased. Well now, said Sam, about my affair. Just open them ears a yorn, and don't say nothing till I've done. With this brief preface, Sam related as succinctly as he could the last memorable conversation he had with Mr. Pigwick. Stop there by himself, poor creature, exclaimed the elder Mr. Weller, without nobody to take his part. It can't be done, Sam of all, it can't be done. Of course it can't, asserted Sam. I knowed that afore I came. Well, they'll eat him up alive, Sammy, exclaimed Mr. Weller. Sam nodded his concurrence in the opinion. He goes on rather raw, Sammy, said Mr. Weller, metaphorically, until come out or done so exceedingly brown that his most familiar friends won't know him. Wost pigeons nothing towards Sammy. Again Mr. Weller nodded. It often to be, some of all, said Mr. Weller gravely. It mustn't be, said Sam. Certainly not, said Mr. Weller. Well now, said Sam. You've been a prophesying away very fine, like a red-faced nixon on the six penny books gives pictures on. Who was he, Sammy, inquired Mr. Weller. Never mind who he was, retorted Sam. He warned the coachman, and that's enough for you. I know, Slaura, that name, said Mr. Weller musing. It warned him, said Sammy. This here gentleman was a prophet. Was a prophet, inquired Mr. Weller, looking sternly on his son. Why a man, as it tells, what's going to happen, replied Sam. I wish I had known him, Sammy, said Mr. Weller. Perhaps he might have throwed a small light on that there liver complaint as we was speaking on just now. Howsoever, if he's dead, and ain't left the business to nobody, and there's an end to it. Go on, Sammy, said Mr. Weller with a sigh. Well, said Sam. You've been a prophesying away about what'll happen to Governor, if he's left alone. Don't you see any way of taking care on him? No, I don't, Sammy, said Mr. Weller with a reflective visage. No way at all, inquired Sam. No way, said Mr. Weller, unless, and a gleam of intelligence lighted up his countenance, as he sunk his voice to a whisper and applied his mouth to the ear of his offspring. Unless it is getting him out in a turnip bed, unbeknown to the turn keys. Sammy are dressing him up like an old woman with a green whale. Sam Weller received both of these suggestions with unexpected contempt, and again propounded his question. No, said the old gentleman. If he won't let you stop there, I see no way at all. It's no thoroughfare, Sammy. No thoroughfare. Well, then, I'll tell you what it is, said Sam. I'll trouble you for the loan of five and twenty pound. What good will that do, inquired Mr. Weller? Never mind, replied Sam. Perhaps you may ask for it in five minutes afterward. Perhaps I may say I won't pay and cut up rough. You won't think arrest in your own son for the money and send him off to fleet, will you, young natural rogobond? At this reply of Sam's, the father and son exchanged a complete code of telegraphic nods and gestures, after which the elder Mr. Weller set himself down on a stone step and laughed till he was purple. What an old image it is, exclaimed Sam, indignant at this loss of time. What are you sitting down there for, converting your face into a street door knocker, when there's so much to be done? Where's the money? In the boot, Sammy. In the boot, replied Mr. Weller, composing his features. Hold my hat, Sammy. Having divested himself of this encumbrance, Mr. Weller gave his body a sudden drench to one side, and by a dexterous twist. Contrived to get his right hand into a most capacious pocket, from once after a great deal of panting and exertion, he extricated a pocketbook of a large octave size, fastened by a huge leather and strap. From this ledger he drew forth a couple of whiplashes, three or four buckles, a little sample bag of corn, and finally a small roll of very dirty bank notes. From which he selected the required amount, which he handed over to Sam. And now, Sammy, said the old gentleman, when the whiplashes and the buckles and the samples had all been put back, and the book once more deposited at the bottom of the same pocket. Now, Sammy, I know a gentleman here, as he'll do the rest of the business for us in no time. A little law. Sammy has got her brains like frogs, dispersed all over the body, and reaching in the weary tips of his fingers. A friend of the Lord chancellorship, Sammy, who'd only have to tell him what he wanted, and he'd lock you up for life, if that was all. I say, said Sammy, none of that. None of what, inquired Mr. Weller. Why, none of them all unconstitutional whether doing it retorted, Sam. The hat is carcass. Next to a perpetual motion is one of the blessedest things as was ever made. I've read that air in the newspaper very often. Well, what's that got to do with it, inquired Mr. Weller. Just this here, said Sammy, that I'll patronize the invention and go in that way. No visper rings to the chancellorship. I don't like the notion. It may need to be altogether safe with reference to get now digging. Deferring to his son's feeling upon this point, Mr. Weller at once sought the erudite Solomon Pell, and acquainted him with his desire to issue a writ instantly for the sum of 25 pounds and costs of process to be executed without delay upon the body of one Samuel Weller. The charges thereby incurred to be paid in advance to Solomon Pell. The attorney was in high glee, for the embarrassed coachhorser was ordered to be discharged forthwith. He highly approved of Sam's attachment to his master, declared that it strongly reminded him of his own feelings of devotion to his friend the Chancellor, and at once led the elder Mr. Weller down to the temple to swear the affidavit of debt, which the boy, with the assistance of the blue bag, had drawn up on the spot. Meanwhile, Sam, having been formally introduced to the whitewashed gentleman and his friends as the offspring of Mr. Weller, of the Belle Savage, was treated with marked distinction and invited to regale himself with them in honour of the occasion, an invitation which he was by no means backward in accepting. The mirth of gentlemen in this class is of a grave and quiet character usually, but the present instance was one of peculiar festivity, and they relaxed in proportion. After some rather tumultuous toasting of the chief commissioner and Mr. Solomon Pell, who had that day displayed such transcendent abilities, a mottled-faced gentleman in a blue shawl proposed that somebody should sing a song. The obvious suggestion was that the mottled-faced gentleman being anxious for a song should sing it himself. But this the mottled-faced gentleman sturdily and somewhat offensively declined to do, upon which, as it is not unusual in such cases, a rather angry colloquian sued. Gentlemen, said the coach horser, rather than disturb the harmony of this delightful occasion perhaps Mr. Samuel Weller will oblige the company. Rally, gentlemen, said Sam, and not to be much in the habit of singing without the instrument. But anything for a quiet life, as the man said, then he took a situation at the lighthouse. With this prelude, Mr. Samuel Weller bursted once into the following wild and beautiful legend, which under the impression that it is not generally known, we take the liberty of quoting. We would beg to call particular attention to the monosyllable at the end of the second and fourth lines, which not only enables the singer to take a breath at those points, but greatly assists the meter. Romance. First one. Bolterpen wants on Hounslow Heath, his bold mare blessed be strode heir. Then there he see'd the bishop's coach a coming along the road heir. So he galloped closed the horse's legs, and he clasps his head within. And the bishop says, sure as eggs is eggs, this here's the bold turpin. Course. And the bishop says, sure as eggs is eggs, this here's the bold turpin. Second verse. Says turpin, you shall eat your words with a sauce of leaden bullet. So he put the pistol to his mouth. And he fires it down his gullet. The coachman he not likened the job set off at a full gallop. But Dick put a couple of balls in his knob and prevailed on him to stop. Course, sarcastically. But Dick put a couple of balls in his knob and prevailed on him to stop. I maintain that there are songs personal to the cloth. Said the old model-faced gentleman interrupting it as this point. I demand the name of that old coachman. Nobody know'd replied Sam. He hadn't got his card in his pocket. I object to the introduction of politics. Said the model-faced gentleman. I submit that in the present company there are song political. And what's meant the same that it ain't true. I say that that coachman did not run away that he died game. Game is pheasance. And I won't hear nothing. Said the contrary. As the model-faced gentleman spoke with great energy and determination and as the opinions of the company seemed divided on the subject it threatened to give rise to fresh altercation when Mr. Weller and Mr. Pell most opportunally arrived. All right Sammy said Mr. Weller. The officer will be here at four o'clock said Mr. Pell. I suppose you won't run away meanwhile eh? Ah ha! Perhaps my cool pal told Relentiful then replied Sam with a broad grin. Not I said the elder Mr. Weller. Do said Sam. Not on new account replied the inexorable creditor. I'll give bills for the amount at six pence a month. Pence a month said Sam. I won't take them said Mr. Weller. Ha ha ha! Very good, very good. Said Mr. Solomon Pell who was making out his little bill of costs. A very amusing incident indeed. Benjamin copied that. And Mr. Pell smiled again as he called Mr. Weller's attention to the amount. Thank you, thank you. Said the professional gentleman. Taking up another of the greasy notes as Mr. Weller took it from the pocketbook. Three, ten and one, ten is five. Much obliged to you Mr. Weller. Your son is a most deserving young man. Very much so indeed sir. It's a very pleasant trait in young man's character very much so. Added Mr. Pell smiling smoothly round as he buttoned up the money. What a game it is. Said the elder Mr. Weller with a chuckle. A regular prodigy son. A prodigal, prodigal fan sir. Suggested Mr. Pell mildly. Never mind so said Mr. Weller with dignity. I know what's a clock. When I don't, I'll ask you sir. By the time the officer arrived Sam had made himself so extremely popular that the congregated gentleman determined to see him to prison in a body. So off they set. The plaintiff, a defendant walking arm in arm the officer in front and eight stout coachmen bringing up the rear. At Surgeon's Inn Coffee House the whole party halted to refresh and the legal arrangements being completed the procession moved on again. Some little commotion was occasioned in Fleet Street by the pleasantry of the eight gentlemen in the flank who persevered in walking for a breast. It was also found necessary to leave the model-faced gentleman behind to fight a ticket porter. It's being arranged that his friend should call for him as they came back. Nothing but these little incidents occurred on the way. When they reached the gate of the fleet the cavalcade taking the time from the plaintiff gave three tremendous cheers for the defendant and after having shaken hands all around left him. Sam, having been formally delivered into the warden's custody to the intense astonishment of rocker and to the evident emotion of even the phlegmatic neddy passed it once into the prison walked straight to his master's room and knocked at the door. Come in, said Mr. Pickwick. Sam appeared pulled off his hat and smiled. Oh Sam, my good lad, said Mr. Pickwick evidently delighted to see his humble friend again. I had no intention of hurting your feelings yesterday. My faithful fellow by what I said put down your hat, Sam, and let me explain my meaning a little more at length. Won't presently do, sir, inquired Sam. Certainly said Mr. Pickwick, but why not now? I'd rather not now, sir, rejoined Sam. Why? inquired Mr. Pickwick. Cause? said Sam, hesitating. Because of what? inquired Mr. Pickwick, alarmed at his follower's manner. Speak out, Sam. Cause? rejoined Sam. Cause I've got a little business as I want to do. What business inquired Mr. Pickwick, surprised at Sam's confused manner? Nothing particular, sir, replied Sam. Oh, if it's nothing particular, said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile, you can speak with me first. I think I'd rather better see out her as once, said Sam, still hesitating. Mr. Pickwick looked amazed, but said nothing. The fact is, said Sam, stopping short. Well, said Mr. Pickwick, speak out, Sam. Why the fact is, said Sam, with a desperate effort. Props I'd better see out her my bed, before I do anything else. Your bed, exclaimed Mr. Pickwick in astonishment. Yes, my bed, replied Sam. I'm a prisoner. I was arrested this year, wary afternoon for debt. You arrested for debt, exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, sinking into a chair? Yes, for debt, sir, replied Sam. And the man as puts me in, I'll never let me out, till you go yourself. Bless my heart and soul, ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. What do you mean? What I say, sir, rejoined Sam. If it's forty years to come, I shall be prisoner. I'm very glad on it. And if it had been Newgate, I would have been just the same. Now the murderer's out, and damn, there's an end on it. With these words, which he repeated with great emphasis in violence, Sam Wellard dashed his hat upon the ground in a most unusual state of excitement, and then folding his arms looked firmly and fixably at his master's face. End of Chapter 43. Read by Patty Brugman. Chapter 44 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 44. Treats of diverse little matters which occurred in the fleet, and of Mr. Winkle's mysterious behavior, and shows how the poor chancellery prisoner obtained his release at last. Mr. Pickwick felt a great deal too much touched by the warmth of Sam's attachment to be able to exhibit any manifestation of anger or displeasure at the precipitate course he had adopted, involuntarily consigning himself to a debtor's prison for an indefinite period. The only point on which he persevered in demanding an explanation was the name of Sam's detaining creditor. But this, Mr. Wellard, as perseveringly withheld. It ain't a no use, sir, said Sam, again and again. He's a malicious, bad-disposed, worldly-minded, spiteful, vindictive creditor, with a hard heart as there ain't no softening, as the virtuous clergyman remarked of the old gentleman with the dropsy when he said that upon the whole he thought he'd rather leave his property to his wife than build a chapel with it. But consider, Sam, Mr. Pickwick remonstrated, the sum is so small that it can very easily be paid, and having made up my mind that you shall stop with me, you should recollect how much more useful you would be if you could go outside the walls. Very much obliged to you, sir, replied Mr. Wellard Gravely, but I'd rather not. Rather not do what, Sam? Why, I'd rather not let myself down to ask a favor of this here unremorseful enemy. But it is no favor asking him to take his money, Sam, reasoned Mr. Pickwick. Beg your pardon, sir, rejoined Sam, but it'd be a very great favor to pay it, and he don't deserve none. That's where it is, sir. Here, Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his nose with an air of some vexation, Mr. Wellard thought it prudent to change the theme of the discourse. I take my determination on principle, sir, remarked Sam, and you take yours on the same ground. Vitch puts me in mind that the man has killed himself on principle, which, of course, you've heard on, sir. Mr. Wellard paused when he arrived at this point and cast a comical look at his master out of the corners of his eyes. There is no, of course, in the case, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick, gradually breaking into a smile, in spite of the uneasiness which Sam's obstinacy had given him. The fame of the gentleman in question never reached my ears. No, sir, exclaimed Mr. Wellard, you astonished me, sir. He was a clerk in a government office, sir. Was he, said Mr. Pickwick. Yes, he was, sir, rejoined Mr. Wellard, and a very pleasant gentleman, too. One of the precise and tidy sort, as puts their feet in little India rubber fire buckets, when it's wet weather, and never has no other bosom friends but hair skins. He saved up his money on principle, wore a clean shirt every day on principle, never spoke to none of his relations on principle, fear they should want to borrow money of him, and was altogether, in fact, an uncommon agreeable character. He had his hair cut on principle once a fortnight, and contracted for his clothes on the economic principle three suits a year and send back the oldens. Being a wary regular gentleman, he dined every day at the same place, where it was one in nine to cut off the joint, and a wary good one in nine's worth he used to cut, as the landlord often said, with the tears of trickling down his face, let alone the way he used to poke the fire in the wintertime, which was a dead loss of four pence hay-penny a day, to say nothing at all of the aggravation of seeing him do it. So uncommon grand with it, too. Post, out of the next, gentlemen, he sings out every day when he comes in. See out of the times, Thomas. Let me look at the morning herald when it's out of hand. Don't forget to bespeak the chronicle, and just bring the tizer, will you? And then he'd set, with his eyes fixed on the clock, and rush out, just a quarter of a minute for the time to wailay the boy, as was it coming in with the evening paper, which he'd read with such intense interest and perseverance, as worked the other customers up to the weary confines of desperation and insanity, especially when irascible, old gentleman, as the Vader was always obliged to keep a sharp eye on it such times, fear he should be tempted to commit some rash act with the carving knife. Well, sir, here he'd stop, occupying the best place for three hours, and never taken nothing out of his dinner but sleep, and then he'd go away to a coffee house a few streets off, and have a small pot of coffee and four crumpets, out of which he'd walk home to Kensington and go to bed. One night he was took very ill, since for a doctor. Doctor comes in a green fly with the kind of Robinson Crusoe set of steps as he could let down when he got out, and pull up ardor him when he got in, to prevent the necessity of the coachmen's getting down, and thereby, undiseiving the public by letting them see that it was only a livery coat as he'd got on, and not the trousers to match. What's the matter, says the doctor. Very ill, says the patient. What have you been eating on, says the doctor. Roast wheel, says the patient. What's the last thing you do, Howard, says the doctor. Crumpets, says the patient. That's it, says the doctor. I'll send you a box of pills directly, and don't you never take no more of them, he says. No more of what, says the patient. Pills? No, crumpets, says the doctor. Why, says the patient, starting up in bed. I've eaten four crumpets every night for fifteen year on principle. Well, then you'd better leave them off on principle, says the doctor. Crumpets is not wholesome, sir, says the doctor, where he fears. But they're so cheap, says the patient, coming down a little, and so where he's filling at the price. They'd be dear to you at any price. Dear, if you was paid to eat them, says the doctor. Four crumpets a night, he says, will do your business in six months. The patient looks him full in the face and turns it over in his mind for a long time, and at last he says, are you sure of that air, sir? I'll stake my professional reputation on it, says the doctor. How many crumpets are there sitting? Do you think it'd kill me off at once, says the patient? I don't know, says the doctor. Do you think half a crown's worth of do it, says the patient? I think it might, says the doctor. Three shillings worth would be sure to do it, I suppose, says the patient. Certainly, says the doctor. Very good, says the patient. Good night. Next morning he gets up, has a fire lit, orders in three shillings worth of crumpets, toasts him all, eats him all, and blows his brains out. What did he do that for, inquired Mr. Pickwick abruptly, for he was considerably startled by this tragical termination of the narrative. What did he do it for, sir? reiterated Sam. Why, in support of his great principle that crumpets was wholesome, and to show that he wouldn't be put out of his way for nobody. With such like shiftings and changings of the discourse, did Mr. Weller meet his master's questioning on the night of his taking up his residence in the fleet? Finding all gentle remonstrance useless, Mr. Pickwick at length yielded a reluctant consent to his taking lodgings by the week of a bald-headed cobbler who rented a small slip room in one of the upper galleries. To this humble apartment Mr. Weller moved a mattress and bedding, which he hired of Mr. Roker, and by the time he lay down upon it at night, was as much at home as if he had been bred in the prison, and his whole family had vegetated therein for three generations. Do you always smoke, or do you go to bed, old cock? inquired Mr. Weller of his landlord when they had both retired for the night? Yes, I does, young bantam, replied the cobbler. Will you allow me to inquire why you make up your bed under that ideal table, said Sam? Because I was always used to a fore-poster before I came here, and to find the legs of the table answered just as well, replied the cobbler. You're a character, sir, said Sam. I haven't got anything of the kind belonging to me, rejoined the cobbler shaking his head, and if you want to meet with a good one, I'm afraid you'll find some difficulty in suiting yourself at this register office. The above short dialogue took place as Mr. Weller lay extended on his mattress at one end of the room, and the cobbler on his at the other, the apartment being illumined by the light of a rush candle, and the cobbler's pipe which was glowing below the table like a red-hot coal. The conversation, brief as it was, predisposed Mr. Weller strongly in his landlord's favor, and raising himself on his elbow, he took a more lengthened survey of his appearance than he had yet had either time or inclination to make. He was a sallow man, all cobblers are, and had a strong bristly beard, all cobblers have. His face was a queer, good-tempered, crooked-featured piece of workmanship, ornamented with a couple of eyes that must have worn a very joyous expression at one time, for they sparkled yet. The man was sixty by years, and heaven knows how old by imprisonment, so that his having any look approaching to mirth or contentment was singular enough. He was a little man, and being half doubled up as he lay in bed, looked about as long as he ought to have been without his legs. He had a great red pipe in his mouth, and was smoking and staring at the rush-light in a state of enviable placidity. Have you been here long, inquired Sam, raking the silence which had lasted for some time? Twelve years, replied the cobbler, biting the end of his pipe as he spoke. Contempt, inquired Sam, the cobbler nodded. Well then, said Sam, with some sternness, what do you persevere in being obstinate for, based in your precious life away in this here magnified pound? Why don't you give in and tell the chancellors' ship that you're very sorry for making his court contemptible, and you won't do so no more? The cobbler put his pipe in the corner of his mouth while he smiled, and then brought it back to its old place again, but said nothing. Why don't you, said Sam, urging his questions strenuously. Ah, said the cobbler, you don't quite understand these matters. What do you suppose ruined me now? Why, said Sam, trimming the rush-light, I suppose the beginning was that you got into debt, eh? Never owed a pardon, said the cobbler, try again. Well, perhaps, said Sam, you bought houses, which is delicate English for going mad, or took to building, which is a medical term for being incurable. The cobbler shook his head and said, try again. You didn't go to lie, hope, said Sam suspiciously. Never in my life, replied the cobbler. The fact is I was ruined by having money left me. Come, come, said Sam, that won't do. I wish some rich enemy had tried to verge my destruction in that air bay. I'd let him. Oh, I daresay you don't believe it, said the cobbler, quietly smoking his pipe. I wouldn't if I was you, but it's true for all that. How was it, inquired Sam, half-induced to believe the fact already by the look the cobbler gave him. Just this, replied the cobbler, an old gentleman that I worked for, down in the country, and a humble relation of whose I married, she's dead, God bless her, and thank him for it, was seized with a fit and went off. Where, inquired Sam, who was growing sleepy after the numerous events of the day. How should I know where he went, said the cobbler, speaking through his nose in an intense enjoyment of his pipe? He went off dead. Oh, that indeed, said Sam, well. Well, said the cobbler, he left five thousand pound behind him. And where he gentile in him so to do, said Sam. One of which continued the cobbler, he left to me, because I married his relation, you see. Very good, remembered Sam. And being surrounded by a great number of nieces and nevies as was always quarreling and fighting among themselves for the property, he makes me his executor, and leaves the rest to me and trust to divide it among them as the will provided. What do you mean by leaving it on trust, inquired Sam, waking up a little, if it ain't ready money, where's the use on it? It's a law term, that's all, said the cobbler. I don't think that, said Sam, shaking his head, there's very little trust at that shop. How's sever go on? Well, said the cobbler, when I was going to take out a probate of the will, the nieces and nevies, who was desperately disappointed at not getting all the money, enters a caveat against it. What's that, inquired Sam? A legal instrument, which is as much as to say it's no go, replied the cobbler. I see, said Sam, a sort of brother-in-law of the Havis carcass. Well, but, continued the cobbler, finding that they couldn't agree among themselves, and consequently couldn't get up a case against the will, they withdrew the caveat, and I paid all the legacies. I'd hardly done it when one nevy brings an action to set the will aside. The case comes on some months afterwards, a four-a-deaf old gentleman in a back room, somewhere down by Paul's churchyard, and our four councils had taken a day apiece to bother him regularly. He takes a week or two to consider and read the evidence in six volumes, and then gives his judgment that how the test-dater was not quite right in his head, and I must pay all the money back again and all the costs. I appealed. The case came on before three or four very sleepy gentlemen who had heard it all before in the other court, where they're lawyers without work, the only difference being that there they're called doctors and in the other place delegates, if you understand that. And they very dutifully confirmed the decision of the old gentleman below. After that, we went into Chancery, where we are still, and where I shall always be. My lawyers have had all my thousand pound long ago, and what between the estate, as they call it, and the costs. I'm here for ten thousand, and shall stop here till I die, mending shoes. Some gentlemen have talked of bringing it before Parliament, and I dare say would have done it. Only they hadn't time to come to me, and I hadn't power to go to them, and they got tired of my long letters and dropped the business. And this is God's truth without one word of suppression or exaggeration, as fifty people, both in this place and out of it, very well know. The cobbler paused to ascertain what effect his story had produced on Sam, but finding that he had dropped asleep, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, sighed, put it down, drew the bed clothes over his head, and went to sleep too. Mr. Pickwick was sitting at breakfast alone next morning, Sam being busily engaged in the cobbler's room, polishing his master's shoes and brushing the black gators. When there came a knock at the door, which before Mr. Pickwick could cry come in, was followed by the appearance of a head of hair and a cotton velvet cap, both of which articles of dress he had no difficulty in recognizing as the personal property of Mr. Smangle. How are you? said that worthy, accompanying the inquiry with a score or two of nods. I say, do you expect anybody this morning? Three men, devilish gentlemanly fellows, have been asking after you downstairs, and knocking at every door on the hall flight, for which they've been most infernally blown up by the collegians that had the trouble of opening them. Dear me, how very foolish of them, said Mr. Pickwick rising. Yes, I have no doubt there are some friends whom I rather expected to see yesterday. Friends of yours, exclaimed Smangle, seizing Mr. Pickwick by the hand, say no more, curse me there, friends of mine from this minute, and friends of Mivens's too, infernal pleasant, gentlemanly dog. Mivens, isn't he? said Smangle with great feeling. I know so little of the gentlemen, said Mr. Pickwick, hesitating, that I know you do, interrupted Smangle, clasping Mr. Pickwick by the shoulder. You shall know him better. You'll be delighted with him. That man, sir, said Smangle, with the solemn countenance, has comic powers that would do honor to Drury Lane Theatre. Has he indeed? said Mr. Pickwick. Ah, by Jove he has, replied Smangle. Hear him come the four cats in the wheelbarrow. Four distinct cats, sir, I pledge you my honor. Now you know that's infernal clever. Dammit, you can't help liking a man when you see these traits about him. He's only one fault, that little failing I mentioned to you, you know. As Mr. Smangle shook his head in a confidential and sympathizing manner at this juncture, Mr. Pickwick felt that he was expected to say something. So he said, ah, and looked restlessly at the door. Ah, echoed Mr. Smangle with a long drawn sigh. He's delightful company that man is, sir. I don't know better company anywhere, but he has that one drawback. If the ghost of his grandfather, sir, was to rise before him this minute, he'd ask him for the loan of his acceptance on an eight-tenny stamp. Dear me, exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. Yes, added Mr. Smangle, and if he'd the power of raising him again, he would, in two months and three days from this time, to renew the bill. Those are very remarkable traits, said Mr. Pickwick, but I'm afraid that while we are talking here, my friends may be in a state of great perplexity at not finding me. I'll show them the way, said Smangle, making for the door. Good day, I won't disturb you while they're here, you know. By the by, as Smangle pronounced the last three words, he stopped suddenly, reclosed the door which he had opened, and walking softly back to Mr. Pickwick, stepped close up to him on tiptoe, and said in a very soft whisper, You couldn't make it convenient to lend me half a crown till the latter end of next week, could you? Mr. Pickwick could scarcely forbear smiling, but managing to preserve his gravity, he drew forth the coin and placed it in Mr. Smangle's palm, upon which that gentleman, with many nods and winks, implying profound mystery, disappeared in quest of the three strangers with whom he presently returned. And having coughed thrice and nodded as many times as an assurance to Mr. Pickwick that he would not forget to pay, he shook hands all round in an engaging manner, and at length took himself off. My dear friends, said Mr. Pickwick, shaking hands alternately with Mr. Tubman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass, who were the three visitors in question. I am delighted to see you. The triumvirate were much affected. Mr. Tubman shook his head deploringly. Mr. Snodgrass drew forth his handkerchief, with undisguised emotion, and Mr. Winkle retired to the window and sniffed aloud. Morning, gentlemen, said Sam, entering at the moment with the shoes and gaiters. Avavith Melanchali, as the little boy said when his school missus died, welcomed to the college, gentlemen. This foolish fellow, said Mr. Pickwick, tapping Sam on the head as he knelt down to button up his master's gaiters. This foolish fellow has got himself arrested in order to be near me. What, exclaimed the three friends. Yes, gentlemen, said Sam. I am a standsteady, sir, if you please. I am a prisoner, gentlemen, confined, as the lady said. A prisoner, exclaimed Mr. Winkle, with unaccountable vehemence. Hello, sir, responded Sam, looking up. What's the matter, sir? I had hoped, Sam, that— Nothing, nothing, said Mr. Winkle precipitately. There was something so very abrupt and unsettled in Mr. Winkle's manner that Mr. Pickwick involuntarily looked at his two friends for an explanation. We don't know, said Mr. Tubman, answering this mute appeal aloud. He has been much excited for two days past, and his whole demeanor very unlike what it usually is. We feared there must be something the matter, but he resolutely denies it. No, no, said Mr. Winkle, coloring beneath Mr. Pickwick's gaze. There is really nothing. I assure you there is nothing, my dear sir. It will be necessary for me to leave town for a short time on private business, and I had hoped to have prevailed upon you to allow Sam to accompany me. Mr. Pickwick looked more astonished than before. I think, faltered Mr. Winkle, that Sam would have had no objection to do so, but, of course, his being a prisoner here renders it impossible, so I must go alone. As Mr. Winkle said these words, Mr. Pickwick felt, with some astonishment, that Sam's fingers were trembling at the gators, as if he were rather surprised or startled. Sam looked up at Mr. Winkle, too, when he had finished speaking, and though the glance they exchanged was instantaneous, they seemed to understand each other. Do you know anything of this, Sam? said Mr. Pickwick sharply. No, I don't, sir, replied Mr. Weller, beginning to button with extraordinary assiduity. Are you sure, Sam? said Mr. Pickwick. Why, sir? responded Mr. Weller. I'm sure so far that I've never heard anything on the subject before this moment. If I make any guess about it, added Sam, looking at Mr. Winkle, I haven't got any right to say what it is, fear it should be a wronging. I have no right to make any further inquiry into the private affairs of a friend, however intimate a friend, said Mr. Pickwick, after a short silence. At present let me merely say that I do not understand this at all. There, we have had quite enough of the subject. Thus expressing himself, Mr. Pickwick led the conversation to different topics, and Mr. Winkle gradually appeared more at ease, though still very far from being completely so. They had all so much to converse about that the morning very quickly passed away, and when at three o'clock Mr. Weller produced upon the little dining table a roast leg of mutton and an enormous meat pie with sundry dishes of vegetables and pots of porter which stood upon the chairs of the sofa bedstead or where they could, everybody felt disposed to do justice to the meal, notwithstanding that the meat had been purchased and dressed and the pie made and baked at the prison cookery hard by. To these succeeded a bottle or two of very good wine for which a messenger was dispatched by Mr. Pickwick to the horned coffee house in Doctor's Commons. The bottle or two indeed might be more properly described as a bottle or six, for by the time it was drunk and tea over the bell began to ring for the strangers to withdraw. But if Mr. Winkle's behavior had been unaccountable in the morning, it became perfectly unearthly and solemn when, under the influence of his feelings and his share of the bottle or six, he prepared to take leave of his friend. He lingered behind until Mr. Tubman and Mr. Snodgrass had disappeared, and then fervently clenched Mr. Pickwick's hand with an expression of face in which deep and mighty resolve was fearfully blended with the very concentrated essence of gloom. Good night, my dear sir, said Mr. Winkle between his set teeth. Bless you, my dear fellow, replied the warm hearted Mr. Pickwick as he returned to the pressure of his young friend's hand. Now then cried Mr. Tubman from the gallery. Yes, yes, directly replied Mr. Winkle. Good night, good night, said Mr. Pickwick. There was another good night and another, and half a dozen more after that, and still Mr. Winkle had fast hold of his friend's hand, and was looking into his face with the same strange expression. Is anything the matter, said Mr. Pickwick at last, when his arm was quite sore with shaking? Nothing, said Mr. Winkle. Well then, good night, said Mr. Pickwick, attempting to disengage his hand. My friend, my benefactor, my honored companion murmured Mr. Winkle, catching at his wrist, to not judge me harshly, do not, when you hear that driven to extremity by hopeless obstacles I— Now then, said Mr. Tubman, reappearing at the door, are you coming, or are we to be locked in? Yes, yes, I am ready, replied Mr. Winkle, and with a violent effort he tore himself away. As Mr. Pickwick was gazing down the passage after them in silent astonishment, Sam Weller appeared at the stair-head and whispered for one moment in Mr. Winkle's ear. Oh, certainly, depend upon me, said that gentleman aloud. Thank you, sir. You won't forget, sir, said Sam. Of course not, replied Mr. Winkle. Wish you luck, sir, said Sam, touching his hat. I should very much like to hajoin you, sir, but the governor, of course, is paramount. This is very much to your credit that you remain here, said Mr. Winkle. With these words they disappeared down the stairs. Very extraordinary, said Mr. Pickwick, going back into his room, and seating himself at the table in amusing attitude. What can that young man be going to do? He had sat ruminating about the matter for some time, when the voice of broker the turnkey demanded whether he might come in. By all means, said Mr. Pickwick. I've brought you a softer pillow, sir, said Mr. Roker, instead of the temporary one you had last night. Thank you, said Mr. Pickwick. Will you take a glass of wine? Your very good, sir, replied Mr. Roker, accepting the proffered glass. Yours, sir. Thank you, said Mr. Pickwick. I'm sorry to say that your landlords were very bad tonight, sir, said Roker, setting down the glass and inspecting the lining of his hat preparatory to putting it on again. What? The chancery prisoner? exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. He won't be a chancery prisoner very long, sir, replied Roker, turning his hat round, so as to get the maker's name right side upwards as he looked into it. You make my blood run cold, said Mr. Pickwick. What do you mean? He's been consumptive for a long time past, said Mr. Roker, and he's taken very bad in the breath tonight. The doctor said six months ago that nothing but a change of air could save him. Great heaven, exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. Has this man been slowly murdered by the law for six months? I don't know about that, replied Roker, weighing the hat by the brim in both hands. I suppose he'd have been took the same wherever he was. He went into the infirmary this morning. The doctor says his strength is to be kept up as much as possible, and the warden sent him wine and broth in that from his own house. It's not the warden's fault, you know, sir. Of course not, replied Mr. Pickwick hastily. I'm afraid, however, said Roker, shaking his head, that it's all up with him. I offered Netty two six pennants to warn upon it just now, but he wouldn't take it, and quite right. Thank you, sir. Good night, sir. Stay, said Mr. Pickwick earnestly. Where is this infirmary? Just over where you slept, sir, replied Roker. I'll show you if you like to come. Mr. Pickwick snatched up his hat without speaking and followed it once. The turnkey led the way in silence and gently raising the latch of the room door motioned Mr. Pickwick to enter. It was a large, bare, desolate room with a number of stump bedsteads made of iron on one of which lay stretched the shadow of a man, one pale and ghastly. His breathing was hard and thick, and he moaned painfully as it came and went. At the bedside sat a short old man in a cobbler's apron, who, by the aid of a pair of horned spectacles, was reading from the Bible aloud. It was the fortunate legatee. The sick man laid his hand upon his attendant's arm and motioned him to stop. He closed the book and laid it on the bed. Open the window, said the sick man. He did so. The noise of carriages and carts, the rattle of wheels, the cries of men and boys, all the busy sounds of a mighty multitude, instinct with life and occupation, blended into one deep murmur, floated into the room. Above the horse, loud hum arose from time to time a boisterous laugh, or a scrap of some jingling song shouted forth by one of the giddy crowd, would strike upon the ear for an instant, and then be lost amidst the roar of voices and the tramp of footsteps. The breaking of the billows of the restless sea of life that rolled heavily on without. These are melancholy sounds to a quiet listener at any time, but how melancholy to the watcher by the bed of death. There is no air here, said the man faintly, the place pollutes it. It was fresh round about when I walked there years ago, but it grows hot and heavy in passing these walls. I cannot breathe it. We have breathed it together for a long time, said the old man. Come, come. There was a short silence during which the two spectators approached the bed. The sick man drew a hand of his old fellow prisoner towards him and pressing it affectionately between both his own, retained it in his grasp. I hope, he gasped after a while, so faintly that they bent their ears close over the bed to catch the half-formed sounds his pale lips gave vent to. I hope my merciful judge will bear in mind my heavy punishment on earth. Twenty years, my friend, twenty years in this hideous grave. My heart broke when my child died and I could not even kiss him in his little coffin. My loneliness since then and all this noise and riot has been very dreadful. May God forgive me. He has seen my solitary lingering death. He folded his hands and murmuring something more they could not hear, fell into asleep. Only asleep at first, for they saw him smile. They whispered together for a little time, and the turnkey, stooping over the pillow, drew hastily back. He has got his discharge by G., said the man. He had, but he had grown so like death in life that they knew not when he died.