 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out how you can volunteer, please go to www.librivox.org. This reading by Patty Brugman. Chapter 19 A Pleasant Day with an Unpleasant Termination The birds, who happily, for their own peace of mind and personal comfort, were in blissful ignorance of the preparations which had been making to astonish them, on the first of September hailed it, no doubt, as one of the pleasantest mornings they had seen that season. Many a young partridge, who stuttered complacently among the stubble, with all the finicky cocks-combery of youth, and many an older one who watched his levity out of his little round eye with the contemptuous air of a bird of wisdom and experience, the unconscious of their approaching doom, basked in the fresh morning air with lively and blightsome feelings, and a few hours afterward were laid low upon the earth. But we grow affecting, let us proceed. In plain commonplace matter-of-fact then, it was a fine morning, so fine that you would scarcely have believed that the few months of an English summer had yet flown by. The villages, fields and trees, hill and moorland, presented to the eye their ever-varying shades of deep-rich green. Scarce a leaf had fallen, scarce a sprinkle of yellow mingled with the hues of summer, warned you that the autumn had begun. The sky was cloudless, the sun shone out bright and warm, the songs of birds and the hum of myriads of summer insects filled the air, and the cottage gardens crowded with flowers of every rich and beautiful tint sparkled in every dew, like the beds of glittering jewels. Everything bore the stamp of summer, and none of its beautiful color had yet faded from the dye. Such was the morning when an open carriage in which three Pickwick yens, Mr. Snodgrass having preferred to remain at home, Mr. Wardle and Mr. Trundle with Sam Weller on the box beside the driver, pulled up by a gate at the roadside, before which stood a tall, raw-boned gamekeeper and a half-booted, leather-legged boy, each bearing a bag of capacious dimensions and accompanied by a brace of pointers. I say, whispered Mr. Winkle to Wardle. As a man let down three steps, they don't suppose we're going to kill game enough to fill those bags, do they? Fill them, exclaimed old Wardle, bless you, yes, you shall fill one and I the other, and when we've done with them, the pockets of our shooting jackets will hold as much more. Mr. Winkle dismounted without saying anything and replied to this observation, but he thought within himself that if the party remained in the open air till they had filled one of the bags, they stood a considerable chance of catching colds in their heads. Hi, Juneau, last hi, old girl, down, daft down, said Wardle, caressing the dogs. Sir Jeffery still in Scotland, of course, Martin. The tall gamekeeper replied in the affirmative and looked with some surprise for Mr. Winkle, who was holding his gun as if he wished his coat pocket to save him the trouble of pulling the trigger, to Mr. Tuppum, who was holding his as if he was afraid of it, as there is no earthly reason to doubt he really was. My friends are not much in the way of this sort of thing yet, Martin, said Wardle, not noticing the look. Live and learn, you know. There'll be good shots one of these days. I beg my friend Winkle's pardon, though. He has had some practice. Mr. Winkle smiled feebly over his blue neckerchief in acknowledgment of the compliment and got himself so mysteriously entangled with his gun in his modest confusion that if the peace had been loaded, he must inevitably have shot himself dead upon the spot. You mustn't handle your peace in that way when you come to have the charge of it, sir, said the tall gamekeeper gruffly, or I'm damned if you won't make cold meat as some of us. Mr. Winkle, thus admonished, abruptly altered his position and in so doing contrived to bring the barrel into pretty smart contact with Mr. Weller's head. Hello, said Sam, picking up his hat which had been knocked off and rubbing his temple. Hello, sir. If you come this way, you'll fill one of them bags and something to spare at one fire. Here the leather-legging boy laughed very heartily and then tried to look as if it was somebody else, where at Mr. Winkle frowned majestically. Where did you tell the boy to meet us with that snack, Martin, inquired Wardle? Side of one tree hill, twelve o'clock, sir. That's not sir Jeffery's land, is it? No, sir, but it's close by it. It's Captain Boldwig's land. But there'll be nobody to interrupt us and there's a fine bit of turf there. Very well, said old Wardle. Now the sooner we're off, the better. Will you join us at twelve then, Pickwick? Mr. Pickwick was particularly desirous to view the sport. The more especially as if he was rather anxious in respect of Mr. Winkle's life and limbs. On so inviting a morning, too, it was very tantalizing to turn back and leave his friends to enjoy themselves. It was, therefore, with very rueful air that he replied, Well, I suppose I must. Ain't the gentleman as shot, sir, inquired the long gamekeeper? No, replied Wardle. And he's lying besides. I should very much like to go, said Mr. Pickwick, very much. There was a short pause of commiseration. There's a bar on the other side of the hedge, said the boy. If the gentleman's servant would wheel along the paths, he could keep naïve, and we could lift it over the styles and that. The wary thing, said Mr. Weller, who is a party interested in as much as he ardently longed to see the sport. The wary thing. Well said, small cheek, and I'll have it out in a minute. But here a difficulty arose. The long gamekeeper resolutely protested against the introduction into a shooting party of a gentleman in a borough as a gross violation of all established rules and precedents. It was a great objection, but not an insurmountable one. The gamekeeper, having been coaxed and fed, and having moreover eased his mind by punching the head of the inventive youth who had first suggested the use of the machine, Mr. Pickwick was placed in it and off the party set. Wardle and the long gamekeeper leading the way, and Mr. Pickwick in the borough propelled by Sam, bringing up the rear. Stop, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick, when they had got half across the first field. What's the matter now, said Wardle? I won't suffer this borough to be moved another step, said Mr. Pickwick, resolutely, unless Mr. Winkle carries that gun of his in a different manner. How am I to carry it, said wretched Winkle. Carry it with the muzzle to the ground, replied Mr. Pickwick. It's so unsportsmanlike, reasoned Winkle. I don't care whether it's unsportsmanlike or not, replied Mr. Pickwick. I am not going to be shot in a wheelbarrow for the sake of appearances to please anybody. I know the gentleman will put that air-charge into somebody before he's done, growled the long man. Well, well, I don't mind, said poor Winkle turning his gun stock uppermost. There. Anything for a quiet life, said Mr. Weller, and on they went again. Stop, said Mr. Pickwick, after they had gone a few yards farther. What now, said Wardle? That gun of topman's is not safe. I know it isn't, said Mr. Pickwick. A what-not-safe, said Mr. Tubman, in a tone of great alarm. Not as you were carrying it, said Mr. Pickwick. I am very sorry to make any further objection, but I cannot consent to go on unless you carry it as Winkle does. I think you had better, sir, said the long gamekeeper, or you're quite as likely to lodge the charge in yourself as in anything else. Mr. Tubman, with the most obliging haste, placed his peace in the position required and the party moved on again. The two amateurs marching with reversed arms, like a couple of privates, at a royal funeral. The dog suddenly came to a dead stop, and the party advancing stealthily, a single pace, stopped too. What's the matter with the dog's leg, whispered Mr. Winkle? How queer they're standing! Hush, can't you, replied Wardle softly, don't you see they're making a point? Making a point, said Mr. Winkle, staring about him as if he expected to discover some particular beauty in the landscape, which the sagacious animals were calling special attention to. Making a point, what are they pointing at? Keep your eyes open, said Wardle, not heeding the question in the excitement of the moment. Now then, there was a sharp, roaring noise that made Mr. Winkle start back as if he had been shot himself. Bang, bang! went a couple of guns. The smoke swept quickly over her field and curled into the air. Where are they, said Mr. Winkle, in the state of the highest excitement, turning around and round in all directions? Where are they, tell me, when to fire? Where are they, where are they? Where are they, said Wardle, taking up a brace of birds which the dogs had deposited at his feet? Why, here they are. No, no, I mean the others, said the bewildered Winkle. Far enough off by this time, replied Wardle, coolly reloading his gun. We shall very likely be up with another covey in five minutes, said the gamekeeper. If the gentleman begins to fire now, perhaps he'll just get the shot out of the barrel by the time they rise. Ha ha ha, roared Mr. Weller. Sam, said Mr. Pickwick, compassionating his followers, confusion and embarrassment. Sir, don't laugh. Certainly not sir. So, by way of indemification, Mr. Weller contorted his features from behind the wheelbarrow for the exclusive amusement of the boy with the leggings, who thereupon burst into the most boisterous laugh and was summarily cuffed by the long gamekeeper, who wanted a pretext for turning round to hide his own merriment. Bravo, old fellow, said Wardle to Mr. Tutman, you fired that time at all events. Oh yes, replied Mr. Tutman with conscious pride. I let it off. Well done, you'll hit something next time if you look sharp. Very easy, ain't it? Yes, it's very easy, said Mr. Tutman. How it hurts one's shoulder though, it nearly knocked me backwards. I had no idea these small firearms kicked so. Ah, said the old gentleman, smiling. You'll get used to it in time. Now then, all ready? All right with the barrow there? All right, sir, replied Mr. Weller. Come along then. Hold hard, sir, said Sam, raising the barrow. Aye-aye, replied Mr. Pickwick, and on they went as briskly as need be. Keep that borough back now, cried Wardle, when it had been hoisted over a style into another field, and Mr. Pickwick had been deposited in it once more. All right, sir, replied Mr. Weller, pausing. Now, Winkle, said the old gentleman, follow me softly and don't be too late this time. Never fear, said Mr. Winkle. Are they pointing? No, no, not now. Quietly, now quietly. On they crept in very quietly, they would have advanced. If Mr. Winkle, in the performance of evolutions with his gun, had not accidentally fired at the most critical moment over the boy's head, exactly in the very spot where the tall man's brain would have been, had he been there instead. Why, what on earth did you do that for, said old Wardle, as the birds flew unharmed away? I never saw such a gun in my life, replied poor Mr. Winkle, looking at the lock as if that would do any good. Will do it, echoed Wardle with something of irritation in his manner. I wish it would kill something of its own accord. It'll do that for long, sir, observed the tall man in a low, prophetic voice. What do you mean by that observation, sir? inquired Mr. Winkle angrily. Never mind, sir, never mind, replied the long gamekeeper. I have no family myself, sir, and this year boy's mother will get something handsome from Sir Geoffrey. If he's killed on his own land. Load again, sir, load again. Take away his gun, cried Mr. Pickwick from the barrel, horror-stricken at the long man's dark insinuations. Take away his gun, do you hear? Somebody! Nobody, however, volunteered to obey the command, and Mr. Winkle, after darting a rebellious glance that Mr. Pickwick reloaded his gun and proceeded onward with the rest. We are bound on the authority of Mr. Pickwick to state that Mr. Tutman's mode of proceeding evinced far more of prudence and deliberation than that adopted by Mr. Winkle. Still, this by no means detracts from the great authority of the latter gentleman on all matters connected with the field. Because, as Mr. Pickwick beautifully observes, it had somehow or other happened from time immemorial that many of the best and ableist philosophers who have been perfect lights of science in matters of theory have been wholly unable to reduce them to practice. Mr. Tutman's process, like many of our most sublime discoveries, was extremely simple. With the quickness and penetration of a man of genius, he had at once observed that the two great points to be obtained were first, to discharge his peace without injury to himself, and secondly to do so without danger to the bystanders. Obviously the best thing to do after surmounting the difficulty of firing at all was to open his eyes firmly and fire into the air. On one occasion after performing this feat, Mr. Tutman, on opening his eyes beheld a plump partridge in the act of falling wounded to the ground. He was on the point of congratulating Mr. Wardle on his invariable success when that gentleman advanced toward him and grasped him warmly by the hand. "'Tutman,' said the old gentleman, "'you singled out that particular bird?' "'No,' said Mr. Tutman. "'You did,' said Wardle. "'I saw you do it. I observed you pick him out. I noticed you as you raised your peace to take aim. And I will say this, that the best shot in existence could not have done it more beautifully. You are an older hand at this than I thought you, Tutman. You have been out before.'" It was in vain for Mr. Tutman to protest with a smile of self-denial that he never had. The very smile was taken as evidence of his victory, and from that time forth his reputation was established. It is not the only reputation that has been acquired as easily, nor are such fortunate circumstances confined to portrait shooting. Meanwhile Mr. Winkle flashed and blazed and smoked away without producing any material results worthy of being noted down, sometimes expending his charge in mid-air and at others sending it skimming along so near the surface of the ground with the lives of the two dogs on a rather uncertain and precarious tenure. As a display of fancy shooting it was extremely varied and curious. As an exhibition of firing with any precise object it was upon the whole perhaps a failure it is an established axiom that every bullet has its billet. If it apply in an equal degree to shot those of Mr. Winkle were unfortunate foundlings deprived of their natural rights cast loose upon the world and billeted nowhere. Well said Wardle walking up to the side of the barrel and wiping the streams of perspiration from his jolly red face smoking day, isn't it? It is indeed, replied Mr. Pickwick, the sun is tremendously hot even to me, I don't know how you must feel it. Why, said the old gentleman, pretty hot. It's past twelve though, you see that green hill there? Certainly. That's the place where we are to lunch and by Joe there's the boy with the basket, punctual as clockwork. So he is, said Mr. Pickwick brightening up. Good boy that, I'll give him a shilling presently. Now then, Sam, wheel away. Hold on, sir, said Mr. Weller, invigorated with the prospect of refreshments, out of my way young leathers. If you wally my precious life don't upset me, as that gentleman said to the driver when they was carrying him to the Tyburn. And quickening his pace to a sharp run, Mr. Weller wheeled his master nimbly to the green hill shot him dexterously out by the very side of the basket and proceeded to unpack it with the utmost dispatch. Wheel-pie, said Weller, soliloquizing as he arranged the eatables on the grass where every good thing is wheel-pie when you know the lady has made it and is quite sure and taint kittens. I'm not at all, where's the odds that they'll worry Pyman themselves don't know the difference? Don't they, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick? Not they, sir, replied Mr. Weller, touching his hat. I lodged in the same house with a Pyman once, sir. And a very nice man he was, regular clever chap, too. Makes pies out of anything he could. What a number of cats you keep, Mr. Brooks, says I, when I'd got intimate with him. I says he. I do a good many, says he. He'd be very fond of cats, says I. Other people is, he says, a winkin' at me. They ain't in season, to the winter, though, says he. Not in season, says I. Knows, says he. Fruits is in, cats is out. Why, what do you mean, says I? Means, says he, that I'll never be a party to the combination of the butchers to keep up the price of meats, says he. Mr. Weller says he has squeezed in my hand, wary hard, and whispering Don't mention this here again, but it's the season as it does it. They're all made of them noble animals, says he, appointing to a very nice little tabby kitten. And I seasons them for beefsteak, wheel or kidney, according to the demand. And more than that, says he. I can make a wheel, a beefsteak, or a beefsteak or kidney, or any one on a mutton at a minute's notice, just as the market changes in the appetites of the tabby. He must have been a very ingenious young man, that Sam, said Mr. Pickwick with a slight shudder. Just was, replied Mr. Weller, continuing his occupation of emptying the basket, and the pies was beautiful. Tongue, well that's the wary thing when it ain't a woman's. Bread, knuckle of ham, regular pector, cold beef and slices, wary good. What's in them stone jars, young touch and go? Beer in this one, replied the boy, taking from his shoulder a couple of large bottles fastened together by a leather and strap-cold punch in the other. And a wary good notion of a lunch it is, take it all together, said Mr. Weller surveying his arrangement of the repast with great satisfaction. Now, gentlemen, fall on, as the English said to the French when they fixed baganettes. It needed no second invitation to induce the party to yield full justice to the meal, and as little pressing did it require to induce Mr. Weller, the long game-keeper and the two boys to station themselves on the grass at a little distance and to do execution of a decent proportion of the viands. An old oak afforded a pleasant shelter to the group and a rich prospect of arable and meadowland intersected with luxuriant, hedges and richly ornamented with wood they spread out before them. This is delightful, thoroughly delightful, said Mr. Pickwick, the skin of whose expressive countenance was rapidly peeling off with exposure to the sun. So it is, so it is, old fellow replied Wardle, come, a glass of punch. With great pleasure, said Mr. Pickwick, the satisfaction of whose countenance after drinking it bore testimony to the sincerity of your reply. Good, said Mr. Pickwick, smacking his lips. Very good. I'll take another. Cool, very cool. Come, gentlemen, continued Mr. Pickwick, still retaining his hold upon the jar. A toast. Our friends at Dingley Dell. The toast was drunk with loud acclamations. I'll tell you what I shall do to get up my shooting again, said Mr. Winkle, who was eating bread and ham with a pocket knife. He never posed and practiced at it, beginning at a short distance and lengthening it by degrees. I understand its capital practice. I know a gentleman, sir, said Mr. Weller, as did that, and begun at two yards. But he never tried it on again, for he blowed the bird clean away at the first fire, and nobody ever seed a feather on him afterwards. Sam, said Mr. Pickwick, sir, replied Mr. Weller, had the goodness to reserve the goods till they are called for. Certainly, sir, here Mr. Weller winked the eye which was not concealed by the beer can he was raising to his lips, with such exquisite facetiousness that the two boys went into spontaneous convulsions, and even the long man kind descended to smile. Well, that certainly is most capital-cold punch, said Mr. Pickwick, bokeen earnestly at the stone bottle. At the day is extremely tough, and my dear friend a glass of punch. With the greatest delight replied Tuttman, and having drank that glass, Mr. Pickwick took another just to see whether there was any orange peel in the punch, because orange peel always disagreed with him, and finding that there was not Mr. Pickwick took another glass to the health of their absent friend, and then felt himself imperatively called upon to propose another in honour of the punch compounder, unknown. This constant succession of glasses produced considerable effect upon Mr. Pickwick, his countenance beamed with the most sunny smiles, laughter played around his lips, and good-humoured merriment twinkled in his eye, yielding by degrees to the influence of the exciting liquid, rendered more so by the heat. Mr. Pickwick expressed a strong desire to recollect a song which he had heard in his infancy, and the attempt proving abortive sought to stimulate his memory with more glasses of punch, which appeared to have quite a contrary effect, for from forgetting the words of the song, he began to forget how to articulate any words at all, and finally, after rising to his legs to address the company in an eloquent speech, he fell into the barrow, and fast asleep simultaneously. The basket having been repacked and it being found perfectly impossible to awaken Mr. Pickwick from his torpor, some discussion took place whether it would be better for Mr. Weller to wheel his master back again, or to leave him where he was until they should all be ready to return. The latter course was at length decided on, and as the further expedition was not to exceed an hour's duration, and as Mr. Weller begged very hard to be one of the party, it was determined to leave Mr. Pickwick asleep in the barrow, and to call so away they went, leaving Mr. Pickwick snoring most comfortably in the shade. That Mr. Pickwick would have continued to snore in the shade until his friends came back, or in default thereof, until the shades of evening had fallen on the landscapes, there appears no reasonable cause to doubt, always supposing that he had been suffered to remain there in peace, but he was not suffered to remain there in peace, and this was what prevented him. Captain Boldwig was a fierce little man in a stiff black neckerchief in blue shirt-out who, when he did condescend to walk about his property, did it in company with a thick Britann stick and a brass ferrule. With a gardener and a sub-gardener with meek faces to whom the gardener is not the stick, Captain Boldwig gave his orders, and with all due grandeur and ferocity for Captain Boldwig's wife's sister had married a Marquis, and the captain's house was a villa and his land grounds, and it was all very high and mighty and great. Mr. Pickwick had not been asleep half an hour when little Captain Boldwig followed by the two gardeners came striding along as fast as his size and importance would let him. When he came near the oak tree, Captain Boldwig paused and drew a long breath and looked at the prospect as if he thought the prospect ought to be satisfied at having him to take notice of it. And then he struck the ground emphatically with a stick and summoned the head gardener. Hunt! said Captain Boldwig. Yes, sir! said the gardener. Roll this place tomorrow morning. Do you hear, Hunt? Yes, sir. And take care that you keep this place in good order. Do you hear, Hunt? Yes, sir. And remind me to have a board done about trespassers and spring guns and all that sort of thing to keep the common people out. Do you hear? I'll not forget it, sir. I beg your pardon, sir, said the other man, advancing with his hand to his hat. Well, Wilkins, what's the matter with you? said Captain Boldwig. I beg your pardon, sir, but I think there have been trespassers here today. Huh? said Captain Scowling at him. Yes, sir. They've been dining here, I think, sir. Why, damn their audacity! So they have, said Captain Boldwig, as the crumbs of the fragments that were strewn upon the grass met his eye. They have actually been devouring their food here. I wish I had the vagabonds here, said the Captain, clenching the thick stick. I wish I had the vagabonds here, said the Captain wrathfully. Beg your pardon, sir, said Wilkins, but... but what? A. roared the Captain, and following the timid glance of Wilkins, his eyes encountered the wheelbarrow. And Mr. Pickwick. Who are you? Pascal, said the Captain, administering several pokes to Mr. Pickwick's body with the thick stick. What's your name? Cold Punch, murmured Mr. Pickwick as he sank to sleep again. What demanded Captain Boldwick? No reply. What did he say his name was, as the Captain? Punch, I think, sir, replied Wilkins. That's his impudence. That's his confounded impudence, said Captain Boldwick. He is only fending to be lost, said the Captain, in a high passion. He's drunk. He's a drunken plebeian. Wheel him away, Wilkins. Wheel him away directly. Where shall I wheel him to, sir? inquired Wilkins, with great timidity. Wheel him to the devil, replied Captain Boldwick. Very well, sir, said Wilkins. Stay, said the Captain. Wilkins stopped accordingly. Wheel him, said the Captain. Wheel him to the pound, and let us see whether he calls himself Punch when he comes to himself. He shall not bully me. He shall not bully me. Wheel him away. Away, Mr. Pickwick was wheeled in compliance with this imperious mandate, and the great Captain Boldwick, swelling with indignation, proceeded on his walk. Inexpressible was the astonishment of the little party when they returned to find that Mr. Pickwick had disappeared, and taken the wheel-barrel with him. It was the most mysterious and unaccountable thing that ever was. For a lame man to have gotten upon his legs without any previous notice and walked off would have been most extraordinary. But when it came to his wheeling a heavy barrel before him by way of amusement, it grew positively miraculous. They searched every nook and corner around, together and separately. They shouted, whistled, laughed, called, and all in the same result. Mr. Pickwick was not to be found. After some fruitless search they arrived at the unwelcome conclusion that they must go home without him. Meanwhile Mr. Pickwick had been wheeled to the pound, and deposited safely therein, fast asleep on the wheel-barrel, to the immeasurable delight and satisfaction not only of all the boys in the village, but three-fourths of the whole population who had gathered round in expectation of his waking. If their most intense gratification had been awakened by seeing him wheeled in, how many hundredfold was their joy increased when, after a few indistinct cries of, Sam, he sat up in the wheel-barrel, and gazed with indescribable astonishment at the faces before him. A general shout was, of course, the signal of his having woke up, and his involuntary inquire of what's the matter occasioned another, louder than the first, if possible. Here's a game, roared the populace, where am I exclaimed, Mr. Pickwick? In the pound, replied the mob. How came I here? What was I doing? Where was I brought from? Boldwick, Captain Boldwick, was the only reply. Let me out, cried Mr. Pickwick. Where's my servant? Where's my friends? You ain't got no friends, Hurrah. Then there came a turnip, then a potato, and then an egg, with a few other little tokens of playful disposition of the many-headed. How long this scene might have lasted, or how much more Pickwick might have suffered, no one can tell, had not a carriage which was driven swiftly by, suddenly pulled up from whence their descendant Old Wardle and Sam Weller, the former of whom, in far less time than it takes to write it, if not read it, had made his way to Mr. Pickwick's side and placed him in the vehicle, just as the latter had concluded the third and last round of a single combat with the town beetle. Run to the justices, cried a dozen voices. I'll run away, said Mr. Weller, jumping up on the box. Give my compliments, Mr. Weller's compliments to the justice, and tell him I've spilled his beetle and that if he'll swear in a new one, I'll come back again tomorrow and spail him. Drive on, old fella. I'll give directions for the commencement of an action for resentment against this Captain Bouldwood directly. I get to London, said Mr. Pickwick, as soon as the carriage turned out of the town. We were trespassed, and it seemed, says Wardle. I don't care, said Mr. Pickwick. I'll bring the action. No, you won't, said Wardle. I will buy, but as there was a humorous expression in Wardle's face Mr. Pickwick checked himself and might turn on some of us and say we had taken too much cold punch. Do what he would. A smile would come into Mr. Pickwick's face. The smile extended into a laugh, the laugh into a roar, and the roar became general. So to keep up their good humor, they stopped at the first roadside tavern they came to, and ordered a glass of brandy and water all around with the magnum Chapter 19 Read by Patty Brugman This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please go to LibriVox.org This recording by Patty Brugman. The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens Chapter 20 Showing how Dodson and Fogg were men of business, and their clerks men of pleasure, and how an affecting interview took place between Mr. Weller and his long-lost parent. Showing also what choice spirits assembled at the Magpie and Stump, and what a capital chapter the next one will be. In the ground floor, front of a dingy house at the very farthest end of Freeman's Court Cornhill, sat the four clerks of Mrs. Dodson and Fogg, two of His Majesty's attorneys of the Courts of King's Bench and Common Pleas at Westminster, and solicitors of the High Court of Chancery. The aforesaid clerks catching his favorable glimpses of Heaven's Light and Heaven's Sun in the course of their daily labors as a man might hope to do, were he placed at the bottom of a reasonably deep well, and without the opportunity perceiving the stars in the daytime, which the latter's secluded situation affords. The clerk's office of Messers Dodson and Fogg was a dark moldy earth-smelling room with a high wainscotted partition to screen the clerks from the vulgar gaze. A couple of old wooden chairs, a very loud ticking clock, an almanac, an umbrella stand, a row of hat pegs, and a few shelves on which were deposited several ticketed bundles of dirty papers, some old deal boxes with paper labels and sundry decayed stone ink bottles of various shapes and sizes. There was a glass door leading into the passage which formed the entrance to the court, and on the other side of this glass door, Mr. Pickwick closely followed by Sam Weller presented himself on this Friday morning succeeding the occurrence of which a faithful narration is given in the last chapter. Come in, can't you? Quite a voice from behind the partition and reply to Mr. Pickwick's gentle tap at the door, and Mr. Pickwick and Sam entered accordingly. Mr. Dodson, or Mr. Fogg at home, sir, inquired Mr. Pickwick gently advancing hat in hand toward the partition. Mr. Dodson ain't at home, and Mr. Fogg's particularly engaged, replied the voice, and at the same time the head to which the voice belonged with a pen behind its ear looked over the partition and at Mr. Pickwick. It was a ragged head, the sandy hair of which previously parted on one side and flattened down with palmitin was twisted into little semicircular tails round a flat face ornamented with a pair of small eyes and garnished with a very dirty skirt color and a rusty black stock. Mr. Dodson ain't at home, and Mr. Fogg's particularly engaged, said the man to whom the head belonged. When will Mr. Dodson be back, sir, inquired Mr. Pickwick? He said, will it be long before Mr. Fogg is disengaged, sir? Don't know. Here the man proceeded to mend his pen with great deliberation, while another clerk, who was mixing a saidly's powder under the cover of the lid of his desk laughed approvingly. I think, oh wait, said Mr. Pickwick. There was no reply, so Mr. Pickwick sat down, unbidden, and listened to the loud dicking of the clock and the murmured conversation with the clerks. That was a game, wasn't it? said one of the gentlemen in a brown coat and brass buttons, inky drabs and blutters, at a conclusion of some inaudible relation of his previous evening's adventures. Devilish good, devilish good said the saidly's powdered man. Tom Cummins was in the chair, said the man with the brown coat. It was half past four when I got to Somers Town, and then I was so calm and lushy that I couldn't find the place where the latchkey went in and was obliged to knock up the old woman. I say I wonder what old Fogg would say if he knew it. I should get the sack, I suppose, eh? At this humorous notion, all the clerks laughed in concert. There was such a game with Fogg here this morning, said the man in the brown coat, while Jack was upstairs sorting the papers and you two were gone at the stamp office. Fogg was down here opening the letters when that chap as we issued the writ against the camber wall, you know, came in. What's his name again? Ramsey, said the clerk who had spoken to Mr. Pickwick. Ah, Ramsey, a precious seedy looking customer. Well, sirs, there's old Fogg looking at him very fiercely, you know, his way. Well, sir, have you come to settle? Yes, I have, sirs, said Ramsey, putting his hand in his pocket and bringing out the money. The debt's two pound ten, the cost three pound five, he read his sir, and he sighed like bricks as he lugged out the money done up in a bit of blotting paper. Old Fogg looked first at the money and then at him and then he coughed in his rum way so that I knew something was coming. You don't know there's a declaration filed which increases the costs materially, I suppose, said Fogg. You don't say that, sirs, said Ramsey, starting back. The time was only out last night, sir. I do say it, though, said Fogg. My clerk's just gone to file it. Hasn't Mr. Jackson gone to file that declaration in the bullman and Ramsey, Mr. Wicks? Of course, I said yes. And then Fogg coughed again and looked at Ramsey. My God, said Ramsey, and here have I nearly driven myself mad scraping this money together and all to no purpose. None at all, said Fogg Cooley, so you had better go back and scrape some more together and bring it here in time. Did you get it by God, said Ramsey, striking the desk with his fist? Don't believe me, sir, said Fogg, getting into a passion on purpose. I'm not bullying you, sir, said Ramsey. You are, said Fogg. Get out of here, sir. Get out of my office, sir, and come back, sir, when you know how to behave yourself. Well, Ramsey tried to speak but Fogg wouldn't let him. So he put the money in his pocket and sneaked out. The door was scarcely shut when old Fogg came in with a sweet smile on his face and drew the declaration out of his coat pocket. Here, Wicks, says Fogg, take a cab and go down to the temple as quick as you can and file that. The costs are quite safe for he's a steady man with a large family at a salary of five and twenty shillings a week, and if he gives us a warrant of attorney, as he must in the end, I know his employers will see it paid. So we may as well get all we can out of him, Mr. Wicks. It's a Christian act to do, Mr. Wicks. For, with his large family and small income, he'll be all the better for a good lesson against getting into debt. Won't he, Mr. Wicks? Won't he? And he smiled so good-naturedly as he went away that it was delightful to see him. He is a capital man of business, said Wicks, in a tone of the deepest admiration. Capital, isn't he? The other three cordially subscribed this opinion, and the anecdote afforded the most unlimited satisfaction. Nice men these here, sir, whispered Mr. Welle to his master, very nice notion of fun they had, sir. Mr. Pickwick not a descent and coughed to attract the attention of the young gentleman behind the partition, who, having now relaxed their minds by a little conversation among themselves, condescended to take some notice of the stranger. I wonder whether fogs disengage now, said Jackson. All seas, said Wicks, counting leisurely from his stool. What name shall I tell Mr. Fogg? Pickwick, replied the illustrious subject of these memoirs. Mr. Jackson departed upstairs on his errand and immediately returned with a message that Mr. Fogg would see Mr. Pickwick in five minutes, and, having delivered it, returned again to his desk. What did he say his name was? Whispered Wicks. Pickwick, replied Jackson. It's the defendant in Bartolin Pickwick. A sudden scraping of feet at the sound of suppressed laughter was heard from behind the partition. There were twiggin' of you, sir, whispered Weller. Twiggin' of me, Sam, replied Mr. Pickwick. What do you mean by twiggin' me? Mr. Weller, replied by pointing with his thumb over the shoulder, and Mr. Pickwick, on looking up, became sensible of the pleasing fact that all the foreclocks with the countenances expressive of the utmost amusement and with their heads thrust over the wooden screen were minutely inspecting the figure of the general appearance of the supposed trifle-worth female hearts and the disturber of female happiness. On his looking up the rose of head suddenly disappeared and the sound of pens traveling at a furious rate over paper immediately succeeded. A sudden ring at the bell which hung in the office summoned Mr. Jackson to the apartment of Fogg from whence he came back to say that he, Fogg, was ready to see Pickwick if he would step upstairs. Mr. Pickwick did step accordingly, leaving Sam Weller below. The room door of the one pair back bore inscribed in legible characters the imposing words Mr. Fogg, and having tapped there at and been desired to come in, Jackson ushered Pickwick into the presence. Is Mr. Dodson in? inquired Mr. Fogg. Just come in, sir, replied Jackson. Ask him to step here. Yes, sir. Take a seat, sir, said Fogg. There is the paper, sir. My partner will be here directly and we can converse about this matter, sir. Mr. Pickwick took a seat and the paper, but instead of reading the letter peeped over the top of it and took a survey of the man of business who was an elderly, pimply faced vegetable diet sort of man in a black coat, dark mixture trousers and small black gaiters a kind of being an essential part of the desk at which he was writing and to have as much thought or feeling. After a few minutes silence Mr. Dodson a plump, portly stern looking man with a loud voice appeared and the conversation commenced. This is Mr. Pickwick, said Fogg. Ah, you are the defendant, sir, in Bartle and Pickwick, said Dodson. I am, sir, replied Mr. Pickwick. Well, sir, said Dodson. And what do you propose? Ah, said Fogg, thrusting his hands into his trousers pockets and throwing himself back in his chair. What do you propose? Ah, Mr. Pickwick. Hush, Fogg, said Dodson. Let me hear what Mr. Pickwick has to say. I came, gentlemen, said Mr. Pickwick, gazing placidly on the two partners. I came here, gentlemen, to express the surprise with which I received your letter of the other day and to inquire what grounds of action you can have against me. Grounds of... Fogg had ejaculated this much when he was stopped by Dodson. Mr. Fogg, said Dodson. I am going to speak. I beg your pardon, Mr. Dodson, said Fogg. For the grounds of action, sir, continued Dodson with moral elevation in his air, you will consult your own conscience and your own feelings. We, sir, we are guided entirely by the statement of our client. That statement, sir, may be true or it may be false. It may be credible or it may be incredible. But if it be true and if it be credible, I do not hesitate to say, sir, that our grounds of action, sir, are strong and not to be shaken. You may be an unfortunate man, sir, or you may be a designing one. But if I were called upon as jurymen upon my oath, sir, to express an opinion of your conduct, sir, I do not hesitate that I should have one opinion about it. Here Dodson drew himself up with an air of offended virtue and looked at Fogg, who thrust his hands farther in his pockets and nodding his head eagerly said in a tone of the fullest concurrence most certainly. Well, sir, said Mr. Pickwick with considerable pain depicted in his countenance, you will permit me to assure you that I am a most unfortunate man so far as this case is concerned. I hope you are, sir, replied Dodson. I trust you may be, sir. If you are really innocent of what is laid to your charge, you are more unfortunate than I had believed any man could possibly be. What do you say, Mr. Fogg? I say precisely what you say, replied Fogg, with a smile of incredulity. The writ, sir, which commences the action, continued Dodson, was issued regularly. Mr. Fogg, where is the Peace Book? Here it is, said Fogg, handing over a square book with a parchment cover. Here is the entry, resumed Dodson. Middlesex, capious, Martha Bardell, widow versus Samuel Pickwick damages fifteen hundred pounds. Dodson and Fogg for the plaintive, August 28th, 1827. All regular, sir, perfectly. Dodson coughed and looked at Fogg, who said quickly, also. And they both looked at Mr. Pickwick. Now I am to understand, then, said Pickwick, that it is really your intention to proceed with this action. Understand, sir, that you certainly may, replied Dodson with something as near a smile as his importance would allow. And that the damages are actually laid at fifteen hundred pounds, said Mr. Pickwick. To which understanding you may add my assurances that if we could have prevailed the client, they would have been laid at trouble the amount, sir, replied Mr. Dodson. I believe Mrs. Bardell, especially said, however, observed Fogg glancing at Dodson that she would not compromise for a farthing less. Unquestionably, replied Dodson sternly, for the action was only just begun and it wouldn't have done to let Mr. Pickwick compromise it then even if he had been so disposed. As you offer no terms, sir, said Mr. Dodson, displaying a slip of parchment in his right hand and affectionately pressing a paper copy of it on Mr. Pickwick with his left, I had better serve you with a copy of this writ, sir. Here is the original, sir. Very well, gentlemen, very well, said Mr. Pickwick, rising in person and wrath at the same time. You shall hear from my solicitor, gentlemen. We shall be very happy to do so, said Fogg, rubbing his hands. Very, said Dodson, opening the door. And before I go, gentlemen, said the excited Mr. Pickwick, turning round on the landing, permit me to say that of all the disgraceful and rascally proceedings stay, sir, stay, interposed Dodson with great politeness. Mr. Jackson, Mr. Wicks, sir, said the two clerks appearing at the bottom of the stairs. I merely want you to hear what this gentleman says, replied Dodson. Pray go on, sir, disgraceful and rascally proceedings, I think you said. I did, said Mr. Pickwick, thoroughly roused. I said, sir, that of all the disgraceful and rascally proceedings that ever were attempted, this is the most so. I repeat it, sir. You hear that, Mr. Wicks, said Dodson? You won't forget these expressions, Mr. Jackson, said Fogg. Perhaps you would like to call us swindlers, sir, said Dodson. Pray do, sir, if you feel disposed. Now pray do, sir. I do, said Mr. Pickwick. You are swindlers. Very good, said Dodson. You can hear down there, I hope, Mr. Wicks. Oh yes, sir, said Mr. Wicks. You had better come up a step or two higher if you can't, added Mr. Fogg. Go on, sir. Do go on. You had better call us thieves, sir, or perhaps you would like to assault one of us. Pray do it, sir, if you would. We will not make the smallest resistance. Do it, sir. As Fogg put himself very temptingly within the reach of Mr. Pickwick's clenched fist, there is little doubt that the gentleman would have complied with his earnest entreaty, but for the interposition of Sam, who, hearing the dispute, emerged from the office, mounted the stairs, and seized his master by the arm. You just come away, said Mr. Weller. Battledore and shuttlecocks have every good game. Then you ain't the shuttlecock and two lawyers the battledores, but it's too exciting to be pleasant. Come away, sir. If you want to ease your mind by blowing up somebody, come out into the court and blow up me, but it's rather too expensive work to be carried on in here. And without the slightest ceremony, Mr. Weller hauled his master down the stairs and down the court, and having safely deposited him in Cormhill, fell behind, prepared to follow with or so ever he should lead. Mr. Pickwick walked on abstractly, crossed opposite the mansion house and bent his step up, cheapside. Sam began to wonder where they were going when his master turned around and said, Sam, I will go immediately to Mr. Perkers. That's just exactly the very place that you ought to have gone last night, replied Mr. Weller. I think it is Sam, said Mr. Pickwick. I know it is, said Mr. Weller. Well, well, Sam, replied Mr. Pickwick. We will go there at once. Mr. Weller rather ruffled, I should like a glass of brandy and water, warm, Sam. Where can I have it, Sam? Mr. Weller's knowledge of London was extensive and peculiar. He replied without the slightest consideration. Second court on the right-hand side, last house, but one on the same side, the bay. Take the boxes, stands in the first fireplace, because there ain't no leg in the middle of the table, which all the others has, and it's very inconvenient. Mr. Pickwick observed his valet's directions implicitly, and bidding Sam follow him into the tavern he had pointed out, where the hot brandy and water was speedily placed before him, while Mr. Weller's seated at a respectful distance, though at the same table with his master, was accommodated with a pint of border. The broom was one of a very homely description and was apparently under the special patronage of stage coachmen for several gentlemen who had all the appearance of belonging to that learned profession, were drinking and smoking in the different boxes. Among the number was one stout red-faced elderly man in particular seated in an opposite box who attracted Mr. Pickwick's attention. The stout man was smoking with great vehemence, but between every half-dozen puffs he took his pipe from his mouth and looked first at Mr. Weller and then at Mr. Pickwick. Then he would bury in a quart pot as much of his countenance as the dimensions of the quart pot admitted of receiving and take another look at Sam and Mr. Pickwick. Then he would take another half-dozen puffs with an air of profound meditation and look at them again. At last the stout man putting up his legs on the seat and leaning back against the wall began to puff at his pipe without leaving off at all and to stare through the smoke at the newcomers as if he had made up his mind to see the most he could of them. First the evolutions of the stout man had escaped Mr. Weller's observation but by degrees as he saw Mr. Pickwick's eyes every now and then turning toward him he began to gaze in the same direction at the same time shading his eyes with his hands as if he partially recognized the object before him and wished to make quite sure of its identity. His doubts were speedily dispelled however for the stout man having blown a thick cloud from his pipe a hoarse voice like some strange effort of ventriloquism emerged from beneath the capacious shawls which muffled his throat and chest and slowly uttered these sounds. Why Sammy? Who's that Sam? inquired Mr. Pickwick. Well I wouldn't have believed it sir replied Mr. Weller with astonished eyes. It's the olden. Old ones? said Mr. Pickwick. What old one? Mr. Weller sir replied Mr. Weller. How are you my ancient? And with his beautiful evolution of filial affection Mr. Weller made room on the seat beside him for the stout man who advanced pipe and mouth and pot and hand to greet him. Why Sammy? said the father. I hadn't seen you for two years and better. No more you have old codger replied the son. How's mother-in-law? Why I'll tell you what Sammy is manner. There never was a nicer woman as a witter. That there, that second venture of mine, a sweet creature she was Sammy. All I can say on her now is that as she was such an uncommon pleasant witter it's a great pity she ever changed her condition. She don't act as a wife Sammy. Don't she though inquired Mr. Weller junior? The elder Mr. Weller shook his head as he replied with a sigh I've done it once too often Sammy. I've done it once too often. Take example by your father my boy and be very careful of those witters all your life especially if they have kept a public house Sammy. Haven't delivered this parental advice with great pathos Mr. Weller senior refilled his pipe from a tin box he carried in his pocket and lighting his fresh pipe from the ashes of the old one commenced smoking at a great rate. I beg your pardon sir he said renewing the subject and addressing Mr. Pickwick after a considerable pause nothing personal I hope sir I hope he hadn't got a witter sir. Not I replied Mr. Pickwick laughing and while Mr. Pickwick laughed Sam Weller informed his parent in a whisper of the relation in which he stood towards that gentleman I beg your pardon said Mr. Weller senior taken off his hat I hope you've no fault to find with Sammy sir none whatever said Mr. Pickwick where be glad to hear it sir replied the old man I took a good deal of pains with his education sir let him run the streets when he was very young and shift for himself it's the only way to make a boy sharp sir rather a dangerous process I should imagine said Mr. Pickwick with a smile and not to worry sure one neither added Mr. Weller I got regularly done the other day no said his father I did said the son late in as few words as possible how he had fallen already duped to the stratogens of Job Trotter Mr. Weller senior listened to the tale with the most profound attention and at its termination said weren't one of those chaps slim and tall with long hair and the gift of gab where he gallivant Mr. Pickwick did not quite understand the last item of description but comprehending the first said yes at a venture the other's black haired chap in mulberry livery with a weary large head yes yes he is said Mr. Pickwick and Sam with great earnestness then I know where they are and that's all about it said Mr. Weller there at Ipswich safe enough them to know said Mr. Pickwick fact said Mr. Weller and I'll tell you how I know it I work in Ipswich coach now and then for a friend of mine the very day out of the night you caught the rheumatic and at the black boy at Chelmsford the weary day they'd come to I took them up right through to Ipswich where the manservant him in mulberries told me they was going to put up for a long time I'll follow him said Mr. Pickwick we may as well see Ipswich as any other place I'll follow him you're quite certain it was them governor inquired Mr. Weller junior quite Sammy quite replied his father for their appearance is very singular besides that are I wondered if I'd see the gentleman so familiar with his servant and more than that as they sat in the front right behind the box I heard him laughing and saying how they down old fireworks old who said Mr. Pickwick old fireworks sir by which I have no doubt meant you sir there is nothing positively vile or atrocious in the appellation of old fireworks but still it is by no means a respectful or flattering designation the recollection of all the wrongs he had sustained at Jingle's hand had crowded on Mr. Pickwick's mind the moment Mr. Weller began to speak it wanted but a feather to turn the scale and old fireworks did it I'll follow him said Mr. Pickwick with an emphatic blow on the table I shall work down Ipswich the day out or tomorrow sir and Mr. Weller the elder from the bowl of the white chapel and if you really mean to go you'd better go with me so we had said Mr. Pickwick very true I can right to bury and tell him to meet me at Ipswich we will go with you but don't hurry away Mr. Weller won't you take anything you're very good sir replied Mr. W stop in short perhaps a small glass of brandy to drink your health and success to Sammy sir wouldn't be a miss certainly not replied Mr. Pickwick a glass of brandy here the brandy was brought Mr. Weller after pulling his hair to Mr. Pickwick and nodding to Sam jerked it down his capaceous throat as if it had been a small thimbleful well done father said Sam take care old fellow all you'll have a touch of your old complaint the gout I found a sovereign cure for that Sammy said Mr. Weller sitting down the glass a sovereign cure for the gout said Mr. Pickwick hastily producing his notebook what is it the gout sir replied Mr. Weller the gout is a complaint as a rise is from too much ease and comfort if you're ever attacked with the gout sir just you myria witter as has got a loud voice with a decent notion of using it you'll never have the gout again it's a capital prescription sir I takes it regular and I can warn it to drive away any illness as caused by too much jollity having imparted this valuable secret Mr. Weller drained his glass once more produced a labored wink and sighed deeply and slowly retired well what do you think of what your father says Sam inquired Mr. Pickwick with a smile think sir replied Mr. Weller I think he is the victim of cannubiality as bluebeards domestic chaplain said that the tear of pity Vinnie buried him there was no replying to this very opposite conclusion therefore Mr. Pickwick after settling the reckoning resumed his walk to graze in by the time he reached its secluded groves however 8 o'clock had struck and the unbroken stream of gentlemen in muddy high lows soiled white hats and rusty apparel who were pouring toward the different avenues of egress warned him that the majority of the offices had closed for that day after climbing two pairs of steep and dirty stairs he found his anticipations were realized Mr. Perker's outer door was closed and the dead silence which followed Mr. Weller's repeated kicks there at announced the officials had retired from business for the night this is pleasant Sam said Mr. Pickwick I shouldn't lose an hour in seeing him I shall not be able to get one wink of sleep tonight I know unless I have the satisfaction of reflecting that I have confided this matter into a professional man here's an old woman coming upstairs sir replied Mr. Weller perhaps she knows where we can find somebody hello old lady there's Mr. Perker's people Mr. Perker's people said a thin miserable looking old woman stopping to recover breath after the ascent of the staircase Mr. Perker's people gone and I'm going to do the office out are you Mr. Perker's servant inquired Mr. Pickwick Mr. Perker's launderers replied the woman ah said Mr. Pickwick half aside to Sam it's a curious circumstance Sam that they call the old woman in these launderers I wonder what's that for because they has a mortal aversion to washing anything I suppose sir replied Mr. Weller I shouldn't wonder said Mr. Pickwick looking at the old woman whose appearance as well as the condition of the office which he had by this time opened indicated a rooted antithopy for application of soap and water do you know where I can find Mr. Perker my good woman no I don't reply the old woman gruffly he's out of town now that's unfortunate said Mr. Pickwick where's his clerk do you know yes I know where he is but he won't thank me for telling you replied the launderers I have a very particular business with him said Mr. Pickwick won't it do in the morning said the woman not so well replied Mr. Pickwick well said the old woman if it was anything very particular I was to say where he was so I suppose there's no harm in telling if you just go to the magpie and stomp and ask at the bar for Mr. Luton they'll show you into him he's Mr. Perker's clerk with this direction having been furthermore informed that the hostel re-inquestion was situated in a court happy in the double advantage of being in the vicinity of Clare Market and closely approximating to the back of new inn Mr. Pickwick and Sam descended the rickety staircase in safety and issued forth in quest of magpie and stomp this favored tavern, sacred to the evening orgies of Mr. Luton and his companions was what ordinary people would designate a public house that the landlord was a man of money making turn was sufficiently testified by the fact that of a small bulkhead beneath the taproom window in size and shape not unlike a sedan chair being under let to a mender of shoes and that he was being of a philanthropic mind was evident from the protection he afforded to a pieman who vended his delicacies without fear of interruption on the very doorstep in the lower windows which were decorated with curtains and a saffron hue dangled two or three printed cards bearing reference to Devonshire Cider and Isaac Spruce well a large blackboard announcing in white letters to the enlightened public that there were 500,000 barrels of double stout in the cellars of the establishment left the mind in a state of not unpleasing doubt and uncertainty as to the precise direction in the bowels of the earth in which this mighty cavern might be supposed to extend when we add to the weather-beaten signboard bore the obliterated semblance of a magpie intently eyeing a crooked streak of brown paint which the neighbors had been taught from infancy to consider as the stump we have said all that need be said of the exterior of the edifice on Mr. Pickwick's presenting himself at the bar an elderly female emerged from behind the screen therein and presented herself before him is Mr. Louten here, ma'am, inquired Mr. Pickwick here, Charlie, show the gentleman into Mr. Louten the gentleman can't go in just now, so the shamblin pot boy with the red head, because Mr. Louten is singing a comic song and he'll put him out he'll be done directly, sir the red-headed pot boy had scarcely finished speaking when the most unanimous hammering of tables and jingling of glasses announced that the song had that instant terminated and Mr. Pickwick, after desiring Sam to solace himself and the tap suffered himself to be conducted into the presence of Mr. Louten at the announcement of a gentleman to speak to you, sir a puffy-faced young man who filled the chair, the head at the table, looked with some surprise in the direction from whence the voice proceeded and the surprise seemed to be by no means diminished when his eyes rested on an individual he'd never seen before I beg your pardon, sir, said Mr. Pickwick and I am very sorry to disturb the other gentleman, too, but I come on very particular business and if you will suffer me to detain you at this end of the room for five minutes I shall be very much obliged to you the puffy-faced young man rose and drawing a chair close to Mr. Pickwick in an obscure corner of the room listened attentively to his tale of woe ah, he said when Mr. Pickwick had concluded Dodson and Fogg, sharp practice theirs, capital men of business, Dodson and Fogg, sir Mr. Pickwick admitted the sharp practice of Dodson and Fogg and Louten resumed Pernker ain't in town and he won't be neither before the end of next week but if you want the action defended and will leave a copy with me I can do all that's needful till he comes back that's exactly what I came here for said Mr. Pickwick handing over the document if anything particular occurs you can write to me at the post office Ipswich that's all right replied Mr. Perker's clerk and then seeing Mr. Pickwick's eye wandering curiously toward the table he added will you join us for half an hour so we are capital company here tonight there's Samkin and Greens Managing Clerk and Smithers and Price Chancery and Pinkin and Thomas's Out-of-Doors sings a capital song he does and Jack Bamber with the ever so many more you come out of the country I suppose would you like to join us Mr. Pickwick could not resist attempting an opportunity of studying human nature he suffered himself to be led to the table where after having been introduced to the company in due form he was accommodated with a seat near the chairman and called for a glass of his favorite beverage a profound silence quite contrary to Pickwick's expectations succeeded you don't find this sort of thing disagreeable I hope sir said his right-hand neighbor a gentleman in checkered shirt and mosaic stads with a cigar in his mouth not in the least replied Pickwick I like it very much although I am no smoker myself I should be very sorry to say I wasn't interposed another gentleman on the opposite side of the table it's bored and logins to me is smoke Pickwick glanced at the speaker and thought that if it were washing too it would be all the better here there was another pause Mr. Pickwick was a stranger and his coming had evidently cast a damp upon the party Mr. Grundy is going to oblige the company with the song said the chairman no we ain't said Mr. Grundy why not said the chairman because he can't said Mr. Grundy you had better say he won't said the chairman well then he won't retarded Mr. Grundy Mr. Grundy's positive refusal to gratify the company occasioned another silence when anybody in live in us said the chairman despondingly why don't you in live in us yourself Mr. Chairman said a young man with a whisker a squint and an open shirt collar dirty from the bottom of his table here here said the smoking gentleman in the mosaic jewelry because I only know one song and it's a fine of glasses round to sing the same song twice in the night replied the chairman this was an unanswerable reply and silence prevailed I have been tonight gentlemen said Mr. Pickwick hoping to start a subject on which the company could take apart in discussing I have been tonight in a place which you all know very well doubtless but which I have not been in for some years and know very little of praise in gentlemen curious little nooks in a great place like London these old ends are by Joe said the chairman whispering across the table to Mr. Pickwick you have hit upon something that one of us at least would talk upon forever you'll draw old Jack Bamber out he was never heard to talk about anything else but the ends and he has lived alone in them till he's half crazy the individual to whom Loten alluded was a little yellow high-shouldered man whose countenance from his habit and stooping forward when silent Mr. Pickwick had not observed before he wondered though when the old man raised his shriveled face and bent his gray eye upon him with a keen inquiring look that such remarkable features could have escaped his attention for a moment as a fixed grim smile perpetually on his countenance he leaned his chin on a long skinny hand with nails of extraordinary length and as he inclined his head to one side and looked keenly out from beneath his ragged gray eyebrows there was a strange wild slowness in his lear quite repulsive to behold this was the figure that now started forward and burst into an animated torrent of words as this chapter has been a long one however and as the old man was a remarkable personage it will be more respectful to him and more convenient to us to let him speak for himself in a fresh one End of Chapter 20 After having been introduced to the This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please go to LibriVox.org This reading by Patty Brugman The Pickwick Papers Charles Dickens Chapter 21 Inward to the old man launches forth into his favorite theme and relates a story about a queer client Aha! said the old man A brief description of whose man and appearance concluded the last chapter Aha! Who was talking about the ins? I was, sir, replied Mr. Pickwick I was observing what singular old places they are You! said the old man contemptuously You know of the time when young men shut themselves up in those lonely rooms in red and red hour after hour and night after night till their reason wandered beneath their midnight studies till their mental powers were exhausted till morning's light brought no freshness or health to them and they sank beneath the unnatural devotion of their youthful energies to their dry old books Coming down to a latter time in a very different day of the gradual sinking beneath consumption or the quick wasting of fever the grand result of life and dissipation which men have undergone in these same rooms How many vain pleaders for mercy do you think have turned away heartsick from the lawyer's office to find a resting place in the Thames or a refuge in the jail They are no ordinary houses those There is not a panel in the old Wayne scotting but what if it were endowed with the powers of speech and memory could start from the walls and tell its tale of horror The romance of life, sir the romance of life commonplace as they now may seem I tell you they are strange old places and I would rather hear many a legend with a terrific sounding name than the true history of one old set of chambers There was something so odd and sudden energy and the subject which had called it forth that Mr. Pickwick was prepared with no observation and reply and the old man checking his impetuosity and resuming the leer which had disappeared during his previous excitement said look at them in another light their most common place and least romantic what fine places of slow torture they are think of a needy man who has spent his all and pinched his friends to enter the profession which is destined never to yield him a morsel of bread the waiting, the hope the disappointment the fear, the misery the poverty, the blight on his hopes and into his career the suicide perhaps or the shabby slip-shod drunker am I not right about them and the old man rubbed his hands and leered as if in delight at having found another point of view in which to place his favorite subject Mr. Pickwick eyed the old man with great curiosity and the remainder of the company smiled and looked on in silence talk of you German universities said the little old man poo poo there's romance enough at home without going half a mile for it only people never think of it I never thought of the romance of this particular subject before certainly said Mr. Pickwick laughing to be sure you didn't said the little old man of course not as a friend of mine used to say to me what is there in chambers in particular queer old places said I not at all said he lonely said I not a bit said he he died one morning of apoplexy as he was going to open his outer door fell with his head in his own letter box and there he lay for 18 months everybody thought he'd gone out of town and how was he found out at last inquired Mr. Pickwick the benches determined to have his door broken open as he hadn't paid any rent for two years so they did force the lock and a very dusty skeleton in a blue coat black knee shorts and silks fell forward in the arms of the porter who opened the door queer that rather perhaps rather a the little old man put his head more on one side and rubbed his hands with unspeakable glee I know another case said the little old man when his chuckles had in some degree subsided it occurred in Clifford's in tenet of a top set bad character shut himself up in his bedroom closet and took a dose of arsenic the steward body had run away opened the door and put up a bill another man came took the chambers furnished them and went to live there somehow or other he couldn't sleep always restless and uncomfortable odd says he I'll make the other room my bed chamber and this my sitting room he made the change and slept very well at night but suddenly found that somehow he couldn't read in the evening he got nervous and uncomfortable and used to be always snuffing his candles and staring about him I can't make this out he said when he came home from the play one night and was drinking a glass of cold grog with his back to the wall in order that he might not be able to fancy there was any one behind him I can't make it out he said and just then his eyes rested on the little closet that had always been locked up and a shutter ran through his whole frame from top to toe I have felt this strange feeling before said he I cannot help thinking there's something wrong about that closet this strong effort plucked up his courage shivered the lock with the blow or two of the poker opened the door and there sure enough standing bold upright in the corner was the last tenant with the bottle clasped firmly in his hand and his face well as the little old man concluded he looked round at the attentive faces of his wondering auditory with the smile of grim delight what strange things these are you tell us of sir said Mr. Pickwick minutely scanning the old man's countenance by the aid of his glasses strange said the little old man nonsense you think them strange because you know nothing about it they are funny but not uncommon funny exclaimed Mr. Pickwick involuntarily yes funny are they not replied the little old man with the diabolical leer and then without pausing for an answer he continued I knew another man let me see forty years ago now who took an old damp rotten set of chambers in one of the most ancient hands that had ever been shut up and empty for years and years before there were lots of old women's stories about the place and it certainly was very far from being a cheerful one but he was poor and the rooms were cheap and that would have been quite a sufficient reason for him if they had been ten times worse than they really were he was obliged to take some bouldering fixtures that were on the place and among the rest was a great lumbering wood press for papers with large glass doors and a green curtain inside a pretty useless thing for him for he had no papers to put in it and as it was to his clothes he carried them with him and that wasn't very hard work either well he moved in all his furniture it wasn't quite a truck full and he sprinkled it about the room so as to make the four chairs look as much like a dozen as possible and was sitting down before the fire at night drinking his first glass of two gallons of whiskey he had ordered on credit wondering whether it would ever be paid for and if so in how many years time when his eyes encountered the glass doors of the wooden press ah says he if I hadn't been obliged to take that ugly article at the old broker's valuation I might have got something comfortable for the money I'll tell you what it is old fellow he said speaking aloud to the press having nothing else to speak to if it wouldn't cost more to break up your old carcass than it would ever be worth afterward I'd have a fire out of you in less than no time he had hardly spoken the words when a sound resembling a faint groan appeared to issue from the interior of the case it startled him at first but thinking that it must be some young fellow in the next chamber who had been dining out he put his feet on the fender and raised the poker to stir the fire at that moment the sound was repeated and one of the glass doors slowly opening disclosed a pale and emaciated finger in soiled and worn apparel standing erect in the press the figure was tall and thin and the countenance expressive of care and anxiety but there was something in the hue of the skin and gaunt and unearthly appearance of the whole form which no being of this world was ever seen to wear who are you said the new tenant turning very pale poising the poker in his hand however and taking a very decent aim at the countenance of the figure who are you don't throw that poker at me replied the form so sure an aim it would pass through me without resistance and expend its force on the wood behind I am a spirit and pray what do you want here faulted the tenant in this room replied the apparition my worldly ruin was worked and I and my children beggard in this press the papers in a long long suit which accumulated for years were deposited in this room I had died of grief and long deferred hope to wily harpies divided the wealth for which I had contested during a wretched existence and of which at last not one farthing was left for my unhappy descendants I terrified them from the spot and since that day have prowled by night the only period at which I can revisit the earth about the scenes of my long protracted misery this apartment is mine leave it to me if you insist upon making your appearance here said the tenant who had had time to collect his presence of mine during the prosy statement of the ghosts I shall give up possession with the greatest pleasure but I should like to ask you one question if you will allow me say on said the apparition sternly well said the tenant I don't apply the observation personally to you because it is equally applicable to most of the ghosts I have ever heard of but it does appear to me somewhat inconsistent and when you have an opportunity of visiting the fairest spots of earth for I suppose space is nothing to you you should always return exactly to the very places where you have been most miserable eek gods that's very true I never thought of that before said the ghost you see sir pursued the tenant this is a very uncomfortable room from the appearance of that press I should be disposed to say that it is not wholly free from bugs and I really think you might find much more comfortable quarters to say nothing of the climate of London which is extremely disagreeable you are very right sir said the ghost politely it never struck me till now I'll try change there directly and in fact he began to vanish as he spoke his legs indeed had quite disappeared and if sir said the tenant calling after him if you would have the goodness to suggest to the other ladies and gentlemen who are now engaged in haunting old empty houses that they might be much more comfortable elsewhere you will confer a very great benefit on society I will reply the ghost we must be delfellas very delfellas indeed I can't imagine how we could have been so stupid with these words the spirit disappeared and what is rather remarkable added the old man with the shrewd look around the table he never came back again that ain't bad if it's true said the man in the mosaic studs lighting a fresh cigar if exclaimed the old man with the look of excessive contempt I suppose he added turning to lotan he'll say next that my story about the queer client we had when I was in an attorney's office is not true either I shouldn't wonder to say anything at all about it seeing that I never heard the story observed at the owner of the mosaic decorations I wish you would repeat it sir said Mr. Pickwick odd do said lotan nobody has heard it but me and I have nearly forgotten it the old man looked around the table and leered more horribly than ever as if in triumph at the attention which was depicted in every face then rubbing his chin with his hand and looking up to the ceiling as if to recall the circumstances in his memory he began as follows the old man's tale about the queer client it matters little said the old man where or how I picked up this brief history if I were to relate it in the order in which it reached me I should commence in the middle and when I had arrived at the conclusion go back for a beginning it is enough for me to say that some of its circumstances passed before my eyes for the remainder I know them to have happened and there are many persons yet living who will remember them but too well in the borough high street near St. George's church and on the same side of the way stands as most people know the smallest of our debtors prisons the marshall sea although in later times it has been a very different place from the sink of filth and dirt it once was even its improved condition holds out little temptation to the extravagant or consolation to the improvident the condemned felon has as good a yard for air and exercise a new gate as the insolvent debtor in the marshall sea prison better but this is past in a better age and the prison exists no longer it may be my fancy or it may be that I cannot separate the place from the old recollections associated with it but this part of London I cannot bear the street is broad the shops are spacious the noise of passing vehicles the footsteps of a perpetual stream of people all the busy sounds of traffic resound in it from mourn to midnight but the streets around are mean and close poverty and debauchery life festering in the crowded alleys want and misfortune are pent up in the narrow prison an air of gloom and dreariness seems in my eyes at least to hang about the scene and to impart to it a squalid and sticky hue many eyes that have long since been closed in the grave have looked around upon that scene lightly enough when entering the gate of the old marshall sea prison for the first time for despair seldom comes with the first severe shock of misfortune a man has confidence in untried friends he remembers the many offers of service so freely made by his boon companions when he wanted them not he has hope the hope of happy inexperience and however he may bend beneath the first shock it springs up in his bosom and flourishes there for a brief space until it groups beneath the blight of disappointment and neglect how soon have those same eyes deeply sunken in the head glared from faces wasted with famine and sallow from confinement in days when it was no figure of speech to say that debtors rotted in prisons with no hope of release and no prospect of liberty the atrocity in its full extent no longer exists but there is enough of it left to give rise to occurrences that make the heart bleed twenty years ago that pavement was worn with such footsteps of a mother and child who day by day so surely as in the morning came presented themselves at the prison gate often after a night of restless misery and anxious thought were they there a full hour too soon and then the young mother turning meekly away would lead the child to the old bridge and raising him in her arms to show him the glistening water tinted with the light of the morning sun and stirring with all the bustling preparations for business and pleasure that the river presented at that early hour endeavor to interest his thoughts in the objects before him but she would quickly set him down and hiding her face and her shawl give vent to the tears that blinded her her no expression of interest or amusement lighted up his thin and sickly face his recollections were very few or all of one kind all connected with the poverty and misery of his parents hour after hour had he sat on his mother's knee and with childish sympathy watched the tears that stole down her face and then crept quietly away into some dark corner and sobbed himself to sleep the hard realities of the world with many of its worst privations hunger and thirst and cold and want all come home to him and the first dawnings of reason and though the form of childhood was there its light heart, its merry laugh and sparkling eyes were wanting the father and mother looked on upon this and upon each other with thoughts of agony they dared not breathe in words the healthy strong made man who could have borne almost any fatigue of active exertion beneath the close confinement and unhealthy atmosphere of a crowded prison the slight and delicate woman was sinking beneath the combined effects of bodily and material illness the child's young heart was breaking winter came and with it weeks of cold and heavy rain the poor girl had removed to a wretched apartment close to a spot of her husband's imprisonment and though the change had been rendered necessary by their increasing poverty she was happier now for she was nearer him for two months she and her little companion watched the opening of the gate as usual one day she failed to come for the first time another morning arrived and she came alone the child was dead they little know who coldly talk of the poor man's bereavements as a happy release from pain to the departed and a merciful relief from expense to the survivor they little know I say what the agony of those bereavements is a silent look of affection and regard when all other eyes are turned coldly away the consciousness that we possess the sympathy and affection of one being when all others have deserted us is a hold a stay, a comfort in the deepest affliction which no wealth could purchase or power bestow the child had sat at his parents feet for hours together with his little hands patiently folded in each other and his thin one face raised toward them they had seen him pine away from day to day and though his brief existence had been a joyless one and he was now removed to the peace and rest which child as he was he had never known in this world they were his parents they had never seen each other it was plain to those who looked upon the mother's altered face that death must soon close the scene of her adversity and trial her husband's fellow prisoners shrank from obtruding and his grief and misery and left to himself alone the small room he had previously occupied in common with his two companions she shared it with him and lingering on without pain her life had slowly away she had fainted one evening in her husband's arms and he had borne her to the open window to revive her with the air when the light of the moon falling full upon her face showed him a change upon her features which made him stagger beneath her weight like a helpless infant set me down, George, she said faintly he did so and sitting himself beside her covered his face with his hands and burst into tears it is very hard to leave you, George, she said but it is God's will and you must bear it for my sake oh, how I thank him for having taken our boy he is happy and in heaven now what would he have done here without his mother you shall not die, Mary you shall not die, said the husband starting up he paced hurriedly to and fro striking his head with his clenched fists then receding himself beside her and supporting her in his arms added more calmly rouse yourself, my dear, pray, pray do you will revive yet never again, George, never again said the dying woman let them lay me by my poor boy now but promise me that if you ever leave this dreadful place and should grow rich you will have us removed to some quiet country churchyard a long, long way off very far from here where we can rest in peace dear George, promise me you will I do, I do said the man throwing himself passionately on his knees before her speak to me, Mary, another word one look, but one he ceased to speak for the arm that clasped his neck grew stiff and heavy a deep sigh escaped from the wasted form before him the lips moved and a smile played upon the face but the lips were pallid and the smile faded into a rigid and ghastly stare he was alone in the world that night in the silence and desolation of his miserable room the wretched man knelt down by the dead body of his wife and called on God to witness a terrible oath that from that hour he devoted himself to revenge her death and that of his child that thence forth to the last moment of his life his whole energy should be directed to that object that his revenge should be protracted and terrible that his hatred should be undying and inextinguishable and should hunt its object through the world the deepest despair and passion scarcely human had made such fierce ravages on his face and form in that one night that his companions and misfortunes shrank affrighted from him as he passed by his eyes were bloodshot and heavy his face a deadly white and his body bent as if with age he had bitten his underlip nearly through in the violence of his mental suffering and the blood which had flowed from the wound had trickled down his chin and stained his shirt and neckerchief no tear or sound of complaint had escaped him but the unsettled look the disordered haste with which he paced up and down the yard denoted the fever which was burning within it was necessary that his wife's body should be removed from the prison without delay he received the communication with perfect calmness and acquiesced in its propriety nearly all the inmates of the prison had assembled to witness its removal they fell back on either side when the widower appeared he walked hurriedly forward and stationed himself alone in that little railed area close to the lodge gate from whence the crowd with an instinctive feeling of delicacy had retired the rude coffin was born slowly forward on men's shoulders a dead silence pervaded the throng broken only by the audible lamentations of the women and the shuffling steps of the bearers on the stone pavement they reached the spot where the bereaved husband stood and stopped he laid his hand upon the coffin and mechanically adjusted to the paw which it was covered motioned them onward the turn keys with the prison lobby took off their hats as it passed through and in another moment the heavy gate closed behind it he looked vacantly upon the crowd and fell heavily to the ground although for many weeks after this he was watched night and day in the wildest ravings of fever neither the consciousness of his loss nor the recollection of the vow he had made ever left him for a moment scenes changed before his eyes place succeeded place and event followed event in all the hurry of delirium but they were all connected in some way with the great object of his mind he was sailing over a boundless expanse of sea with the blood red sky above him and the angry waters lashed into fury beneath toiling and eddying up on every side there was another vessel before him toiling and laboring in the howling storm her candles fluttering in ribbons from the mast and her deck thronged with figures who were lashed to the sides over which huge waves every instant burst sweeping away some devoted creatures into the foaming sea onward they bore amidst the roaring mass of water and with the speed and force everything could resist and striking the stem of the foremost vessel crushed her beneath their keel from the huge whirlpool which the sinking wreck occasioned arose a shriek so loud and shrill a death cry of a hundred drowning creatures blended into one fierce yell that it rung far above the war cry of the elements and echoed and re-echoed till it seemed pierced the air sky and ocean but what was that that old grey head that rose above the water's surface and with looks of agony and screams for aid buffeted with the waves one look and he sprung from the vessel's side with a vigorous strokes and was swimming towards it he reached it he was close upon it they were his features the old man saw him coming and vainly strove to elude his grasp but he clasped him tight and dragged him beneath the water down, down with him fifty fathoms down his struggles were fainter and fainter until they wholly ceased he was dead he had killed him and had kept his oath he was traversing the scorching sands of a mighty desert barefoot and alone the sand choked and blinded him its fine thin grains entered the very pores of his skin and irritated him almost to madness gigantic masses of the same material carried him forward by the wind and shone through by the burning sun stalked in the distance like pillars of living fire the bones of men who had perished in the dreary waste they scattered at his feet a fearful light fell on everything around so far as the eye could reach nothing but objects of dread and horror presented themselves vainly striving to utter a cry of terror with his tongue cleaving to his mouth he rushed madly forward armed with supernatural strength he waded through the sand until exhausted with fatigue and thirst he fell senseless on the earth what fragrant coolness revived him what gushing sound was that water it was indeed a well and the clear fresh stream at his feet he drank deeply of it and throwing his aching limbs upon the bank sank into a delicious trance the sound of approaching footsteps aroused him the old gray headed man tottered forward to slake his burning thirst it was he again he wound his arms around the old man's body and held him back he struggled and shrieked for water but for one drop of water to save his life that he held the old man firmly and watched his agonies with greedy eyes and when his lifeless head fell forward on his bosom he rolled the corpse from him with his feet when the fever left him and consciousness returned he awoke to find himself rich and free to hear that the parent who would have let him die in jail would who had let those who were far dearer to him die of want and sickness of heart that medicine cannot cure had been found dead in his bed of down he had had all the heart to leave his son a beggar but proud even at his health and strength had put off the act till it was too late and now might gnash his teeth in the other world at the thought of his wealth his remissness had left him he awoke to this and he awoke to more to recollect the purpose for which he lived and to remember that his enemy was his wife's own father the man who had cast him into prison and who when his daughter and her child sued at his feet for mercy had spurned them from his door oh how he cursed the weakness that prevented him from being up and active in his scheme of vengeance he caused himself to be carried from the scene of his loss and misery and conveyed to a quiet residence on the sea coast not in the hope of recovering his peace of mind or happiness for both were fled forever but to restore his prostrate energies and meditate on his darling object and here for some evil spirit cast in his way the opportunity for his first and most horrible revenge it was summertime and wrapped in his gloomy thoughts he would issue from his solitary lodgings early in the evening and wandering along a narrow path beneath the cliffs to a wild and lonely spot that had struck his fancy in his ramblings seat himself on some fallen fragment of rock and bearing his face in his hands remained there for hours sometimes until night had completely closed in and the long shadows of the frowning cliffs above his head cast thick black darkness on every object near him he was seated there one calm evening in his old position now and then raising his head to watch the flight of a seagull or carry his eye along the glorious crimson path which commencing in the middle of the ocean seemed to lead to its very verge where the sun was setting when the profound stillness of the spot was broken by a loud cry for help he listened doubted of his own having heard it right when the cry was repeated with even greater vehemence than before and starting to his feet he hastened in the direction whence it proceeded the tale told itself at once some scattered garments lay on the beach a human head was just visible above the waves at a little distance from the shore and an old man wringing his hands in agony was running to and fro shrieking for assistance the invalid whose strength was now sufficiently restored threw off his coat and rushed toward the sea with the intention of plunging in and dragging the drowning man ashore hastened here, sir, in God's name help, help, sir for the love of heaven he is my son, sir, my only son said the old man frantically as he advanced to meet him my only son, sir, and he is dying before his father's eyes at the first word the old man uttered the stranger checked himself for his career and folding his arms stood perfectly motionless great God exclaimed the old man recoiling, hailing the stranger smiled and was silent hailing said the old man wildly my boy hailing, my dear boy look, look gasping for breath the miserable father pointed to this spot where the young man was struggling for life hark said the old man he cries once more he is alive yet hailing save him, save him the stranger smiled again remained immovable as a statue I have wronged you shrieked the old man falling on his knees and clasping his hands together be revenged take my all, my life cast me into the water at your feet and if human nature can repress a struggle I will die without stirring hand or foot do it hailing, do it, but save my boy he is so young hailing so young to die listen, said this stranger grasping the old man fiercely by the wrist I will have life for life and here is one my child died before his father's eyes a far more agonizing and painful death than the young slanderer of his sister's worth is meeting while I speak you laughed laughed in your daughter's face where death had already set his hand at our sufferings then what think you of them now see there, see there as the stranger spoke he pointed to the sea a faint cry died away upon the surface the last powerful struggle of the dying man agitated the rippling waves for a few seconds and the spot where he had gone down into his early grave was undistinguishable from the surrounding water three years had elapsed when a gentleman alighted from a private carriage at a door of a London attorney then well known as a man of no great nicety in his professional dealings and requested a private interview on business of importance although evidently not past the prime of life his face was pale, haggard and dejected it did not require the acute perception of the man of business to discern at a glance the disease or suffering had done more to work a change in his appearance than the mere hand of time could have accomplished in twice the period of his whole life I wish you to undertake some legal business for me said the stranger the attorney bowed obsequiously and glanced at a large packet which the gentleman carried in his hand his visitor observed the look and proceeded it is no common business said he nor have these pages reached my hand with that long trouble and great expense the attorney cast a still more anxious look at the packet and his visitor untieing the string that bound it disclosed a quantity of promissory notes with copies of deeds and other documents upon these papers said the client the man whose name they bear has raised as you will see large sums of money for years past there was a tacit understanding between him and the men into whose hands they originally went and from whom I have by degrees purchased the whole for trouble and quadruple their normal value that these loans should be from time to time renewed until a given period had elapsed such an understanding is nowhere expressed he has sustained many losses of late and these obligations accumulating upon him at once would crush him to the earth the whole amount is many thousands of pounds said the attorney looking over the papers it is said the client what are we to do inquired the man of business do reply the client with sudden vehemence put every engine of the law in force a trick that ingenuity can devise and rascality execute fair means foul the open oppression of the law aided by all the craft of its most ingenious practitioners that would have him die a harassing and lingering death ruin him, seize him and sell his lands and goods drive him from house and house and drag him forth a beggar in his old age to die in a common jail the costs, my dear sir, the costs of all this reasoned the attorney when he had recovered from his momentary surprise if the defendant be a man of straw who is to pay the costs, sir name any sum, said the stranger his hand trembling so violently with excitement that he could scarcely hold the pen he seized as he spoke any sum and it is yours don't be afraid to name it man I shall not think it dear if you gain my object the attorney named a large sum at hazard as in advance he should require to secure himself against the possibility of loss but more with the view of ascertaining how far his client was really disposed to go than with any idea that he would comply with the demand the stranger rode check upon his banker for the whole amount and left him the draft was duly honored and the attorney finding that his strange client might be safely relied on commenced his work in earnest for more than two years afterward the stranger hailing would sit whole days together in the office pouring over the papers as they accumulated and reading again and again his eyes gleaming with joy the letters of remonstrance the prayers for a little delay the representations of a certain ruin in which the opposite party must be involved which poured in as suit after suit and process after process was commenced to all applications for a brief indulgence there was but one reply the money must be paid land, house, furniture each in its turn was taken under some one of the numerous executions which were issued and the old man himself would have been immured in prison had he not escaped the vigilance of the officers and fled the implacable animosity of hailing so far from being satiated by the success of this persecution increased a hundredfold with the ruin he inflicted unbeing informed of the old man's flight his fury was unbounded he gnashed his teeth with rage tore the hair from his head and assailed with horrid implications the men who had been entrusted with the writ he was only restored to comparative calmness by the repeated assurances of the certainty of discovering the fugitive agents were sent in quest of him in all directions every stratagem that could be invented was resorted to for the purpose of discovering his place of retreat but it was all in vain half a year had passed and he was still undiscovered at length, late one night hailing of whom nothing had been seen for many weeks before appeared in his attorney's private residence and sent up word that a gentleman wished to see him instantly before the attorney who had recognized his voice from above stairs could order the servant to admit him he had rushed up the staircase and entered the drawing room pale and breathless having closed the door to prevent being overheard he sank into a chair and set in a low voice hush I have found him at last no said the attorney well done my dear sir well done he lies concealed in a wretched lodging in Camden town said hailing perhaps it is well that we did lose sight of him for he has been living alone there in the most abject misery all the time and he is poor very poor very good said the attorney you will have the caption made tomorrow of course yes said hailing stay no the next day you are surprised at my wishing to postpone it he added with a ghastly smile but I had forgotten the next day is the anniversary of his life let it be done then very good said the attorney will you write down instructions for the officer no let him meet me here at eight in the evening and I will accompany him myself they met on the appointed night and hiring a hackney coach directed the driver to stop at that corner of the old pancreas road at which stands the parish workhouse by the time they alighted there it was quite dark and proceeding by the dead wall in front of the veterinary hospital they entered a small by street which is or was at that time called little college street in which whatever it may be now was in those days a desolate place enough surrounded by little elves than fields and ditches having drawn the traveling cap he had on half over his face and muffled himself in his cloak hailing stopped before the meanest looking house in the street and knocked gently at the door it was at once open by a woman who dropped a curtsy of recognition and hailing whispering the officer to remain below crept gently upstairs and opening the door of the front room entered at once the object of his search and his unrelenting animosity now a decrepit old man was seated at a bare deal table on which stood a miserable candle he started at the entrance of the stranger and rose feebly to his feet what now what now said the old man what fresh misery is this what do you want here heard with you replied hailing as he spoke he seated himself at the other end of the table and throwing off his cloak and cap disclosed his features the old man seemed instantly deprived of speech he felt backward in his chair and clasping his hands together gazed on the apparition with a mingled look of abhorrence and fear this day six years said hailing I claimed the life you owed me for my child beside the lifeless form of your daughter the old man I swore to live a life of revenge I have never swerved for my purpose for a moment's space but if I had one thought of her uncomplaining suffering look as she drooped away or if the starving face of our innocent child would have unnerved me to my task my first act of requital you well remember this is my last the old man shivered and his hands dropped powerless on his side I leave England tomorrow said hailing after a moment's pause tonight I can sign you to a living death to which you devoted her a hopeless prison he raised his eyes to the old man's countenance and paused he lifted the light to his face set it down gently and left the apartment you had better see to the old man he said to the woman as he opened the door and motioned the officer to follow him into the street I think he is ill the woman closed the door ran hastily upstairs and found him lifeless beneath a plain gravestone in one of the most peaceful and secluded church yards in Kent where wildflowers mingle with the grass and the soft landscape around forms the fairest spot in the garden of England lie the bones of the young mother and her gentle child but the ashes of the father do not mingle with theirs more from that night forward did the attorney ever gain the remotest clue to the subsequent history of his queer client as the old man concluded his tale he advanced to a peg in one corner and taking down his hat and coat put them on with great deliberation and without saying another word walked slowly away as the gentleman with the mosaic studs had fallen asleep and the major part of the company were deeply occupied in the humorous process of dropping melted talogrease into his brandy and water Mr. Pickwick departed unnoticed and having settled his own score and that of Mr. Weller issued forth in the company of that gentleman from beneath the portal of the magpie and stump