 CHAPTER 45 Mr. Pickwick makes a tour of the diminutive world he inhabits and resolves to mix with it in future as little as possible. A few mornings after his incarceration Mr. Samuel Weller having arranged his master's room with all possible care and seen him comfortably seated over his books and papers withdrew to employ himself for an hour or two to come as best he could. It was a fine morning, and it occurred to Sam, that a pint of porter in the open air would lighten his next quarter of an hour or so as well as any little amusement in which he could indulge. Having arrived at this conclusion he betook himself to the tap. Having purchased the beer and obtained, moreover, the day bet one before yesterday's paper, he repaired to the skittle ground and seated himself on the bench, proceeded to enjoy himself in a very sedate and methodical manner. First of all he took a refreshing draught of the beer, and then he looked up at the window and bestowed a platonic wink on a young lady who was peeling potatoes there at. Then he opened the paper and folded it so as to get the police reports outward, and this being a vexatious and difficult thing to do when there is any kind of wind stirring, he took another draught of the beer when he had accomplished it. Then he read two lines of the paper and stopped short to look at a couple of men who were finishing a game of rackets, which being concluded he cried out, Why be good, in an approving manner, and looked around upon the spectators to ascertain whether their sentiments coincided with his own. This involved the necessity of looking up at the windows also, and as the young lady was still there it was an act of common politeness to wink again and to drink to her good health in dumb show in another draught of beer, which Sam did. And having frowned hideously upon a small boy who had noted this latter proceeding with open eyes, he threw one leg over the other and, holding the newspaper in both hands, began to read in real earnest. He had hardly composed himself into the needful state of abstraction when he thought he heard his own name proclaimed in some distant passage, nor was he mistaken for it quickly passed from mouth to mouth, and in a few seconds the air teemed with shouts of Weller. Here, roared Sam in his stentorian voice, what's the matter? Who wants him? Hasn't Express come to say that the country house is a fire? Somebody wants you in the hall, said a man who was standing by. Just mind that, our paper and pot hole fellow, will you? Said Sam. I'm coming. Blessed if they was calling me to the bar they couldn't make more noise about it. Accompanying these words with a gentle rap on the head of the young gentleman before noticed, who unconscious of his close vicinity to the person in request was screaming Weller with all his might, Sam hastened across the ground and ran up the steps into the hall. Here the first object that met his eyes was his beloved father, sitting on a bottom stair with his hat in his hand, shouting out Weller in his very loudest tone at half minute intervals. Said Sam in petuously when the old gentleman had discharged himself of another shout. Making yourself so precious hot that you looks like an aggravated glassblower, what's the matter? Ah, replied the old gentleman, I began to be afraid that you'd gone for a walk around the Regency Park, Sammy. Come, said Sam, none of them taunts again the wisdom of ours. And come off that air-step. What are you settin' down there for? I don't live there. I've got such a game for you, Sammy, said the elder of Mr. Weller rising. Stop a minute, said Sam. You're all a bit behind. That's right, Sammy. Rub it off, said Mr. Weller as his son dusted him. I might look personal here if a man walked about with white wash on his clothes, eh, Sammy? As Mr. Weller exhibited it in this place unequivocal symptoms of an approaching fit of chuckling, Sam interposed to stop it. Keep quiet, do, said Sam. There never was such an old picture-card born. What are you busting with now? Sammy, said Mr. Weller, wiping his forehead, I'm of fear that one of these days I shall laugh myself into apple-plexing my boy. Well, then, what do you do for it, said Sam? Now, what have you got to say? Who do you thinks come here with me, Sammovel? said Mr. Weller, drawing back a pace or two, pursing up his mouth and extending his eyebrows. Tell, said Sam. Mr. Weller shook his head and his red cheeks expanded with the laughter that was endeavouring to find event. Model-faced man, perhaps, suggested Sam. Again, Mr. Weller shook his head. Who, then? asked Sam. Your mother-in-law, said Mr. Weller, and it was lucky he did say it, or his cheeks must inevitably have cracked from their most unnatural distension. Your mother-in-law, Sammy, said Mr. Weller, and the red-nosed man, my boy, and the red-nosed man. Ho, ho, ho. With this, Mr. Weller launched into convulsions of laughter while Sam regarded him in a broad grin, gradually overspreading his whole countenance. They've come to have a little serious talk with you, Sammovel, said Mr. Weller, wiping his eyes. Don't let out nothing about our natural creditor, Sammy. Why, don't they know who it is, inquired Sam? Not a bit on it, replied his father. There are, they said, Sam, reciprocating all the old gentleman's grins. In the snuggery rejoined Mr. Weller. Catch the old red-nosed man, and go in any fare, but fare the liquorses. Naughty, Sammovel, naughty. Feed a very pleasant ride along the road from the marcuses this morning, Sammy, said Mr. Weller, when he felt himself equal to the task of speaking in an articulate manner. I drove the old pie-balled, and that there little she-cartes belonged to your mother-in-law's first ventor. Into which a harm-chair was lifted for the shepherd. And I'm blessed, said Mr. Weller, with a look of deep scorn. I'm blessed if they didn't bring a portable flight of steps out into the yard or front of our door for him to get up by. You don't mean that, said Sam. I do mean that, Sammy, replied his father, and I wish you could have seen how tight he held on by the sides when he did get up, as if he was a fear to be in precipitated downfall six-foot and dashed into a million problems. He tumbled in at last, however, into a wavy vent. And I rather think, I say I rather think, Sammovel, that he found himself a little jolted when we turned the corners. What? I suppose you happen to drive up again a post or two, said Sam. I'm a fear, replied Mr. Weller, and a rapture of winks. I'm a fear that took one or two of them, Sammy. He was a flying out of the harm-chair all the way. Here the old gentleman took his head from side to side and was seized with a horse-internal rumbling, accompanied with a violent swelling of the countenance and a sudden increase in the breadth of all his features, symptoms which alarmed his son not a little. Don't be frightened, Sammy. Don't be frightened, said the old gentleman when, by dint of much struggling and various convulsive stamps upon the ground, he had recovered his voice. It's only a kind of quiet laugh as I'm trying to come, Sammy. Well, if that's what it is, said Sammy, you'd better not try to come it again. You'll find it rather a dangerous and wench-in. Don't you like it, Sammy? inquired the old gentleman. Not at all, replied Sam. Well, said Mr. Weller, with the tears to run down his cheeks, it had been a very good accommodation to me if I could have done it, and I had saved a good many words between your mother-in-law and me sometimes. But I'm a weird your right, Sammy. It's too much of the apoplexy line. A deal too much, Samofo. This conversation brought them to the door of the snuggery into which Sam, pausing for an instant to look over his shoulder and cast a sly leer at his respected progenitor, who was still giggling behind, at once led the way. Mother-in-law, said Sam, politely saluting the lady, very much obliged to you for this year, was it? Shepherd, how are you? O Samuel, said Mrs. Weller, this is dreadful. Not a bit on it, Mom, replied Sam. It is a shepherd. Mr. Stiggins raised his hands and turned up his eyes to the whites, or rather the yellows, were alone visible. But made no reply in words. Is this here, gentlemen, troubling with any painful complaint, said Sam, looking to his mother-in-law for explanation? This good man is grieved to see you here, Samuel, replied Mrs. Weller. All that's it is it, said Sam. I was afeared from the manner that he might have forgotten to take pepper with that hair. Last cow-cumber he ate. Set down, sir, if you make no extra charge for the settin' down, as the king remarked when he blowed up his ministers. Young man, said Mr. Stiggins, ostentatiously, I fear you are not softened by imprisonment. Beg your pardon, sir, replied Sam. What was you graciously pleased to observe? I apprehend, young man, that your nature is no softer for this chastening, said Mr. Stiggins in a loud voice. Sir, replied Sam, you're very kind to say so. I hope my nature is not a soft answer. Very much applied to you for your good opinion, sir. At this point of the conversation a sound, indecorously approaching to a laugh, was heard to proceed from the chair in which the elder, Mr. Weller, was seated, upon which Mrs. Weller, on a hasting consideration of all the circumstances of the case, considered it her burdened duty to become gradually hysterical. Weller, said Mrs. Weller. The old gentleman was seated in a corner. Weller, come forth. Very much obliged to you, my dear, replied Mr. Weller. But I'm quite comfortable there I am. Upon this Mrs. Weller burst into tears. What's gone wrong, mom, said Sam. Oh, Sam, you'll reply, Mrs. Weller. Your father makes me wretched. Will nothing do him good? Dear, hear this here, said Sam. Lady wants to know whether nothing will do you good. Very much indebted to Mr. Weller for her polite inquiry, Sammy, replied the old gentleman. I think a pipe would benefit me a good deal. Could I be accommodated, Sammy? Here Mrs. Weller let fall some more tears, and Mr. Stiggins groaned. Hello, here's this unfortunate gentleman took you again, said Sam, looking round. Where do you feel it now, sir? In the same place, young man, rejoined Mr. Stiggins. In the same place. Where'd white that be, sir? Inquired Sam with great outward simplicity. In the bosom, young man, replied Mr. Stiggins, placing his umbrella on his waistcoat. At this effecting reply, Mrs. Weller, being wholly unable to suppress her feelings, sobbed aloud and stated her conviction that the red-nosed man was a saint. Whereupon Mr. Weller's senior ventured to suggest, in an undertone, that he must be the representative of the United Parishes of Saint Simon without and Saint Walker within. I'm a feared mom, said Sam, that this here gentleman with the twist in his countenance feels rather thirsty, with the melancholy spectacle of for him. Is it the case, Mum? The worthy lady looked at Mr. Stiggins for a reply. That gentleman, with many rollings of the eye, clenched his throat with his right hand and mimicked the act of swallowing to intimate that he was a thirst. I'm afraid, Samuel, that his feelings may have made him so indeed, said Mrs. Weller mournfully. What's your usual tap, sir, replied Sam? Oh, my dear young friend, replied Mr. Stiggins, all the taps is vanities. Too true, too true, indeed, said Mrs. Weller, murmuring a groan and shaking her head assentingly. Well, said Sam, I dare say they may, sir, but which is your particular vanity? Which vanity do you like the flavor on best, sir? Oh, my dear young friend, replied Mr. Stiggins, I despise them all if, said Mr. Stiggins, if there is only any one of them less odious than another, it is the liquor called rum. Warm, my dear young friend, with three lumps of sugar to the tumbler. Very sorry to say it, sir, said Sam, that they don't allow that particular vanity to be sold in this here establishment. Oh, the hardness of heart of these inveterate men, ejaculated Mr. Stiggins. Oh, the accursed cruelty of these inhuman persecutors. With these words Mr. Stiggins again cast up his eyes and wrapped his breast with his umbrella, and it is but justice to the reverent gentleman, to the reverent gentleman to say that his indignation appeared very real and unfeigned indeed. After Mrs. Weller and the red-nosed gentleman had commented on this inhuman usage in a very forcible manner, and had vented a variety of pious and holy execrations against its authors, the latter recommended a bottle of port wine warmed with a little water, spice, and sugar, as being grateful to the stomach, and savoring less of vanity than many other compounds. It was accordingly ordered to be prepared. Pending its preparation the red-nosed man and Mrs. Weller looked at the elder Weller and groaned. Well, Sammy, said that gentleman, I hope you'll find that your spirits rose by this here lively visit. Very cheerful and unproven conversation, ain't it, Sammy? You're a reprobate, replied Sam, and a desire you won't address no more of them on graceful remarks to me. So far from being edified by this very proper reply, the elder Mr. Weller at once relapsed into a broad grin, and this inexorable conduct causing the lady and Mr. Stiggins to close their eyes and rock themselves to and fro on their chairs in a troubled manner. He furthermore indulged in several acts of pantomime, indicative of a desire to pummel and ring the nose of the aforesaid Stiggins, the performance of which appeared to afford him a great mental relief. The old gentleman very narrowly escaped detection in one instance. For Mr. Stiggins, happening to give a start on the arrival of the negus, brought his head in smart contact with the clenched fist with which Mr. Weller had been describing imaginary fireworks in the air, within two inches of his ear, for some minutes. What are you reaching out your hand for the tumbler in that air saw-wage-way force, said Sam, with great promitude? Don't you see you've hit the gentleman? I didn't go to do it, Sammy, said Mr. Weller in some degree abashed by the very unexpected occurrence of the incident. Try an inner application, sir, said Sam, as the red-nosed gentleman rubbed his head with a rueful visage. What do you think all that? For a go, a weighty warm, sir? Mr. Stiggins made no verbal answer, but his manner was expressive. He tasted the contents of the glass which Sam had placed in his hand, put an umbrella on the floor, and tasted it again. Passing his hand placently across his stomach twice or thrice, he then drank the whole at a breath and smacking his lips, held out the tumbler for more. Nor was Mrs. Weller behind hand in doing justice in the composition. The good lady began by protesting that she couldn't touch a drop, then took a small drop, then a large drop, then a great many drops, and her feelings being of the nature of those substances which are powerfully affected by the application of strong waters, she teared with every drop of negus, and so got on, melting the feelings down, until at length she had arrived at a very pathetic and decent pitch of misery. The elder Mr. Weller observed these signs and tokens with many manifestations of disgust, and when, after a second jug of the same, Mr. Stiggins began to sigh in a dismal manner, he plainly evinced his disappropriation of the whole proceedings by sundry incoherent rabblings of speech, among which frequent angry repetitions of the word gammon were alone distinguishable to the ear. I'll tell you what it is, Sam over my boy, whispered the old gentleman into his son's ear after a long and steadfast contemplation of his lady and Mr. Stiggins, I think there must be something wrong in your mother-in-law's inside, as well as in that old of a red-nosed man. What do you mean, said Sam? I mean this here, Sammy, replied the old gentleman, that what they drink don't seem no nourishment to them. It all turns to warm water and comes up pouring out of their eyes. Pen'd upon it, Sammy, it's a constitutional infirmity. Mr. Weller delivered this scientific opinion with many confirmatory frowns and nods, which Mrs. Weller remarking and concluding that they bore some disparaging reference to either herself or to Mr. Stiggins or to both, the point of becoming infinitely worse when Mr. Stiggins, getting on his legs as well as he could, proceeded to deliver an edifying discourse for the benefit of the company, but more especially of Mr. Samuel, whom he adjured in moving terms to be upon his guard in that sink of iniquity into which he was cast, to abstain from all hypocrisy and pride of heart, and to take in all things exact patterns and copy by him Stiggins, in which case he might calculate on arriving sooner or later at the comfortable conclusion that, like him, he was a most estimable and blameless character, and that all his acquaintance and friends were hopelessly abandoned and profligate riches, which consideration, he said, could not but afford him the liveliest satisfaction. He furthermore conjured him to avoid, above all things, the vice of intoxication, which he likened unto the filthy habits of swine, and to those poisonous and baleful drugs which, being chewed in the mouth, are said to filter away the memory. At this point of the discourse, the reverend and red-nosed gentleman became singularly incoherent and, staggering to and fro in the excitement of his eloquence, was feigned to catch at the back of a chair to preserve his perpendicular. Mr. Stiggins did not desire his hearers to be upon their guard against those false prophets and wretched mockers of religion, who, without sense to expound its first doctrines or hearts to feel its first principles, are more dangerous members of society than the common criminal, imposing, as they necessarily do, upon the weakest and worst informed, casting scorn and contempt on what should be held most sacred and bringing into partial disrepute large bodies of virtuous and well-conducted persons of many excellent sex and persuasions. But as he leaned over the back of the chair for a considerable time and closing one eye, winked a good deal with the other. It is presumed that he thought all this but kept it to himself. During the delivery of the oration, Mrs. Weller sobbed and wept at the end of the paragraphs while Sam, sitting cross-legged on a chair and resting his arms on the top rail, regarded the speaker with great suavity and deblanness of demeanor, occasionally bestowing a look of recognition on the old gentleman who was delighted at the beginning and went to sleep about halfway. Royville, worry pretty, said Sam when the red-dosed man, having finished, pulled his worn gloves on, thereby thrusting his fingers through the broken tips until the knuckles were disclosed to view. Worry pretty. I hope it may do you good, Samuel, said Mrs. Weller solemnly. I think it will, Mum, replied Sam. I wish I could hope it would do your father good, said Mrs. Weller. Thank you, my dear, said Mr. Weller Sr. How do you find yourself after it, my love? Scoffer, exclaimed Mrs. Weller. Benighted ban, said the reverend Mr. Stiggins. If I don't give no better light than that of our moonshine yearn, my worthy creature, said the elder Mr. Weller, it's very likely, as I shall continue to be a night coach till I am, took off the road altogether. Now, Mrs. B., if the Pible stands at the livery much longer, he'll stand at nothing as we go back, and perhaps that our arm cheer, I'll be tipped over into some edge or another with the shepherd in it. At this supposition, the reverend Mr. Stiggins, in evident consternation, gathered up his hat and umbrella and proposed an immediate departure, to which Mrs. Weller assented. Sam walked with them to the large gate and took a dutiful leave. I do, Samuel, said the old gentleman. What a do, inquired Sammy. Well, goodbye then, said the old gentleman. Oh, that's what you're aiming at, is it, said Sam? Goodbye. Sammy, whispered Mr. Weller, looking cautiously around. My duty to your governor, and tell him if he thinks better of this year's business, to communicate with me. Me and a cabinetmaker has devised a plan for getting him out. A piano, Samuel, a piano. Said Mr. Weller, striking his son on the chest with the back of his hand and falling back a step or two. What do you mean, said Sam? A piano? Forty. Some of all rejoined Mr. Weller in still more mysterious manner, as he can have on hire. Von is going to play, Sammy. And would it be the good of that, said Sam? Let him send to my friend a cabinetmaker to fetch it back, Sammy, replied Mr. Weller. Are you awake now? No, rejoined Sam. There ain't no verks in it, whispered Mr. Weller. It'll hold him easy, and with his hat and shoes on, and breathe through the legs, fit his holler. Have a passage ready taken from Merricker. The American government will never give him up when they find he's got money to spend, Sammy. Let the governor stop there till Mrs. Bartels dead, or Mr. Dodson and Fogg's hung. Which, last event, I think, is the most likely to happen for Sammy. And then let him come back and write a book about Americans, as I'll pay all his expenses and more if he blows them up enough. Mr. Weller delivered this hurried abstract of his plot with great vehemence, a whisper, and then, as a fearful of weakening the effect of the tremendous communication by any further dialogue, he gave the coachman salute and vanished. Sam had scarcely recovered his usual composure of countenance, which had been greatly disturbed by the secret communication of his respected relative when Mr. Pickwick accosted him. Sam, said that gentleman, Sir, replied Mr. Weller. I'm going for a walk around the prison, and I wish you attend to me. I see a prisoner we know coming this way, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick smiling. Which, Sir, inquired Mr. Weller. Gentleman with a head of hair or the interesting captive in his stockings. Neither, rejoined Mr. Pickwick. He is an older friend of yours, Sam. Oh, mine, Sir, exclaimed Mr. Weller. You recollect the gentleman very well, I daresay, Sam, replied Mr. Pickwick. Or else you are more unmindful of your old acquaintances than I think you are. Hush, not a word, Sam, not a syllable, here he is. As Mr. Pickwick spoke, jingle walked up. He looked less miserable than before, being clad in a half-worn suit of clothes which, with Mr. Pickwick's assistance, had been released from the pawnbrokers. He wore clean linen, too, and had had his hair cut. He was very pale and thin, however, and as he crept slowly up, leaning on a stick, it was easy to see that he had suffered severely from illness and want, and was still very weak. He took off his hat, as Mr. Pickwick saluted him, and seemed much humbled and abashed, at sight of Sam Weller. Following close at his heels came Mr. Job Trotter, in the catalogue of whose vices want of faith and detachment to his companion, could at all events find no place. He was still ragged and squalid, but his face was not quite so hollow, as on first meeting with Mr. Pickwick a few days before. As he took off his hat to our benevolent old friend, he murmured some broken expressions of gratitude and muttered something about having been saved from starving. Well, well, said Mr. Pickwick, and patiently interrupting him, you can follow with Sam. I want to speak to you, Mr. Jingle. Can you walk without his arm? Certainly, sir, already, not too fast. Legs shaky, head queer, round and round. Earthquakey sorta feelin' very. Here, give me your arm, said Mr. Pickwick. No, no, replied Jingle. Won't, indeed, rather not. Nonsense, said Mr. Pickwick, lean upon me. I desire, sir. Seeing that he was confused and agitated and uncertain what to do, Mr. Pickwick caught the matter short by drawing the invalided stroller's arm through his and leading him away without saying another word about it. During the whole of the time, the countenance of Mr. Samuel Weller had exhibited an expression of the most overwhelming and absorbing astonishment that the imagination can portray. After looking from Job to Jingle and from Jingle to Job, in profound silence, he softly ejaculated the words, Well, I am damned, which he repeated at least a score of times after which exertion he appeared wholly bereft of speech, and again cast his eyes, first upon the one, and then upon the other, in mute perplexity and bewilderment. Now, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick, looking back. I'm a common, sir, replied Mr. Weller, mechanically following his master, and still he lifted not his eyes from Mr. Job Trotter, who walked at his side in silence. Job kept his eyes fixed on the ground for some time. Sam, with his glued to Job's countenance, ran up against the people who were walking about and fell over little children and stumbled against steps and railings, without appearing at all sensible until Job, looking stuffily upset, How do you do, Mr. Weller? It is him, exclaimed Sam, and having established Job's identity a beyond all doubt, he smote his leg and vented his feelings in a long, shrill whistle. Things has altered with me, sir, said Job. I should think they had, exclaimed Mr. Weller, surveying his companion's rags with undisguised wonder. This is rather a change for the worse, Mr. Trotter, as the gentleman said when he got to doubtful shillings and a six-penny worth of pocket pieces for a good half-crown. It is indeed, replied Job, shaking his head. There is no deception now, Mr. Weller, tears, said Job with a look of momentary slowness. Tears are not the only proofs of distress, nor the best ones. No, they ain't, replied Sam expressively. They may be put on, Mr. Weller, said Job. I know they may be, said Sam. Some people, indeed, has them always ready laid on, and can pull them out of the plug whenever they like. Yes, replied Job. But these sort of things are not so easily counterfeited, Mr. Weller, and it is a more painful process to get them up. As he spoke, he pointed to his sallow sunken cheeks and, drawing up his coat sleeves, disclosed an arm which looked as if the bone could be broken at a touch. So sharp and brittle it appeared beneath the thin covering of flesh. What have you been a do unto yourself? said Sam, recoiling. Nothing, replied Job. Nothing, echoed Sam. I have been doing nothing for many weeks past, said Job, and eating and drinking almost as little. Sam took one comprehensive glance at Mr. Trotter's thin face and wretched apparel, and then, seizing him by the arm, commenced dragging him away with great violence. Where are you going, Mr. Weller? said Job, vainly struggling in the powerful grasp of his old enemy. Come on, said Sam, come on. He dained no further explanation until they reached the tap and then called for a pot of porter which was speedily produced. Now, said Sam, drink that up every drop of it and then turn the pot upside down and let me see as you've took the medicine. But my dear Mr. Weller, remonstrated Job, down with it, said Sam, preemptorily. Thus admonished Mr. Trotter raised the pot to his lips and by gentle and almost imperceptible degrees tilted it into the air. He paused once and only once to draw a long breath, but without raising his face from the vessel, which, in a few moments thereafter, he held out at arm's length bottom upward. Nothing fell from the ground but a few particles of froth which slowly detached themselves from the rim and trickled lazily down. Well done, said Sam. How do you find yourself out of that? Better, sir, I think I am better, responded Job. Of course you are, said Sam, argumentatively. It's like putting gas in a balloon. I can see the naked eye that gets you the stouter under the operation. What do you say to another the same dimensions? I would rather not. I'm a much obliged to you, sir, replied Job. Much rather not. Well then, what do you say to some vittles? inquired Sam. Thank you, dear worthy governor, sir, said Mr. Trotter. We had half a leg of mutton, baked at a quarter before three, with the potatoes under it to save boiling. What? Has he been a burden for you? asked Sam, emphatically. He has, sir, replied Job. More than that, Mr. Weller. My master being very ill, he got us a room. We were in a kennel before and paid for it, sir, and come to look at us at night. But nobody should know, Mr. Weller, said Job, with real tears in his eyes for once. I could serve that gentleman till I fell down dead at his feet. I say, said Sam, I'll trouble you, my friend. None of that, Job Trotter looked amazed. None of that, I say, young fellow, repeated Sam firmly. No man serves him but me. And now we're upon it. I'll let you into another secret besides that, said Sam, as he paid for the beer. I never hear, to mind you, nor read in storybooks, nor see in pictures any angel in tights and gaiters. Not even in spectacles, as I remember, though that may have been done for anything I know, to the contrary. But mark my words, Job Trotter. He's our regular thoroughbred angel for all that, and let me see the man as one sure as to tell me he knows a better one. With this defiance Mr. Weller buttoned up his change in a side pocketen with many confirmatory nods and gestures, by the way, proceeded in search of the subject of discourse. They found Mr. Pickwick, in company with Jingle, talking very earnestly and not bestowing a look on the groups who were congregated on the racket ground. They were very motley groups, too, and worth looking at, if it were only in idle curiosity. Well, said Mr. Pickwick as Sam and his companion Drunai, you will see how your health becomes and think about it, meanwhile. Make the statement out for me when you feel yourself equal to the task, and I will discuss the subject with you when I have considered it. Now go to your room, you are tired, and not strong enough to be out. Mr. Alfred Jingle, with that one spark of his old animation, with nothing even at the dismal gaiety which he had assumed when Mr. Pickwick first stumbled on him in his misery, bowed low without speaking, and motioning to Job not to follow him just yet crept slowly away. Curious seeing this, is it not, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick, looking good humoredly around? Very much so, sir, replied Sam. Wonders will never cease, added Sam, speaking to himself. I am very much mistaken that our Jingle weren't of doing something in the watercard way. The area formed by the wall in that part of the fleet in which Mr. Pickwick stood was just wide enough to make a good racket court, one side being formed, of course, by the wall itself, and the other by the portion of the prison which looked, or rather would have looked, but for the wall, toward St. Paul's Cathedral. Sauntering more sitting about in every possible attitude of listless idleness were a great number of debtors, the major part of whom were waiting in prison until their day of going up before the insolvent court should arrive, while others had been remanded for various terms which they were idling away as best they could. Some were shabby, some were smart, many dirty, a few clean, but there they all lounged and loitered and slunk about with as little spirit or purpose as the beasts in a menagerie. Lawling from the windows which commended a view of this promenade were a number of persons, some in noisy conversation with their acquaintance below, others playing it ball with some adventurous throwers outside, others looking on at the racket players or watching the boys as they cried the game. Dirty, slip-shot women passed and re-passed on their way to the cooking house in one corner of the yard. Children screamed and fought and played together in another. The tumbling of the skittles and the shouts of the players mingled perpetually with these and the hundred other sounds, and all was noise and tumult, save in a little miserable shed a few yards off where lay all quiet and ghastly the body of the chancery prisoner who had died the night before awaiting the mockery of an inquest, the body. It is the lawyer's term for the restless whirling mass of cares and anxieties, affections, hopes, and griefs that make up the living man. The law had his body, and there it lay clothed in grave clothes, an awful witness to its tender mercy. Would you like to see a whistling shop, sir? inquired Job Trotter. What do you mean, was Mr. Pickwick's counter-inquiry? A whistling shop, sir, interposed Mr. Weller. What is that, Sam, a bird fancier's? inquired Mr. Pickwick. Bless your heart, no, sir, replied Job. A whistling shop, sir, is where they sell spirits. Mr. Job Trotter briefly explained here that all persons being prohibited under heavy penalties from conveying spirits into debtor's prisons, and such commodities being highly prized by the ladies and gentlemen confined therein, it had occurred to some speculative turnkey to connive for certain lucrative considerations at two or three prisoners retailing the favorite article of Jinn for their own profit and advantage. This plan, you see, sir, has been gradually introduced into all the prisons for debt, said Mr. Trotter. And it has this worry-great advantage, said Sam, that the turnkey takes very good care to seize hold of everybody but them as pays him that attempts the woolleny and when it gets in the papers they're plotted for the vigilance so what cuts two ways frightens other people from the trade and eldweights their own character. Exactly as all, Mr. Weller, observed Job. Well, but are there rooms never searched to ascertain whether any spirits are concealed in them, said Mr. Pickwick? Certainly they are, sir, replied Sam, but the turnkey's no-before-handing gives the ward to the whistlers, and you may whistle for it when you go to look. By this time Job had tapped at a door which was opened by a gentleman with an uncombed head, who bolted it after them when they had walked in and grinned, upon which Job grinned and Sam also, whereupon Mr. Pickwick, thinking it might be expected of him, kept on smiling to the end of the interview. The gentleman, with the uncombed head, appeared quite satisfied with his mute announcement of their business and producing a flat stone bottle, which might hold about a couple of quarts, from beneath the bedstead filled out three glasses of gin, which Job Trotter and Sam disposed of in the most workman-like manner. Any more, said the whistling gentleman. No more, replied a Job Trotter. Mr. Pickwick paid, the door was unbolted and out they came. The uncombed gentleman bestowing a friendly nod upon Mr. Roker, who happened to be passing at that moment. From this spot Mr. Pickwick wandered along, all the galleries, up and down all the staircases, and once again round the whole area of the yard. The great body of the prison population appeared to be minivans, and smangle, and the parson, and the butcher, and the leg, over and over and over again. There were the same squalor, the same turmoil and noise, the same general characteristics in every corner, in the best and the worst alike. The whole place seemed restless and troubled, and the people were crowding and flitting to and fro, like the shadows, in an uneasy dream. I've seen enough, said Mr. Pickwick, as he threw himself into a chair in his little apartment. My head aches with these scenes, and my heart too. Henceforth I will be a prisoner in my own room. And Mr. Pickwick steadfastly adhered to this determination. For three long months he remained shut up all day, only stealing out at night to breathe the air, when the greater part of his fellow prisoners were in bed or carousing in their rooms. His health was beginning to suffer from the closeness of the confinement, but neither the oft-repeated entreaties of Perker and his friends, nor the still more frequently repeated warnings and admonitions of Mr. Samuel Weller, could induce him to alter one jot of his inflexible resolution. The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens, Chapter 46 Records a touching act of delicate feeling, not unmixed with pleasantry, achieved and performed by Messers Dodson and Fogg. It was within a week of the close of the month of July that a Hackney Cabriolet, number unrecorded, was seen to proceed at a rapid pace up Goswell Street. Three people were squeezed into it besides the driver, who sat in his own particular little diki at the side. Over the apron were hung two shawls belonging to two small, vixenish-looking ladies under the apron, between whom, compressed into a very small compass, was stowed away a gentleman of heavy and subdued demeanor, who, whenever he ventured to make an observation, was snapped up short by one of the vixenish ladies before mentioned. Lastly, the two vixenish ladies and the heavy gentleman were giving the driver contradictory directions, all tending to the one point that he should stop at Mrs. Bardell's door, which the heavy gentleman, in direct opposition to, in defiance of, the vixenish ladies, contended was a green door and not a yellow one. Stop at the house with a green door, driver, said the heavy gentleman. Oh, you perverse creeter, exclaimed one of the vixenish ladies. Drive to the house with a yellow door, cabman. Upon this the cab man, who, in a sudden effort to pull up at the house with a green door, had pulled the horse up so high that he nearly pulled him backward into the cabriolet, let the animal's four legs down to the ground again and paused. Now, there am I to pull up, inquired the driver. Settle it among yourselves, all I ask is, there. Here the contest was renewed with increased violence, and the horse being troubled with a fly in his nose, the cab man humanely employed his leisure in lashing him about on the head, on the counter-irritation principle. Most woats carries the day, said one of the vixenish ladies at length, the house with a yellow door, cabman. But after the cabriolet had dashed up in splendid style to the house with the yellow door, making, as one of the vixenish ladies triumphantly said, actually more noise than if one had come in one's own carriage, and after the driver had dismounted to assist the ladies in getting out, the small round head of master Thomas Bartle was thrust out of the one-peer window of the house with a red door a few numbers off. Agrawayton Thing, said the vixenish lady last mentioned, darting a withering glance at the heavy gentleman. My dear, it's not my fault, said the gentleman. Don't talk to me, you creter, don't, retorted the lady, the house with the red door, cabman. Oh, if ever a woman was troubled with a ruffinly creter, that takes a pride and a pleasure in disgracing his wife on every possible occasion of four strangers, I am that woman. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Rattle, said the other little woman, who was no other than Mrs. Clubbin's. What have I been a-doin' of, asked Mr. Rattle? Don't talk to me, don't, you brute, for fear I should be pervoked to forget my sect and strike you, said Mrs. Rattle. While this dialogue was going on, the driver was most ignominiously leading the horse by the bridle up to the house with a red door, which master Bartle had already opened. Here was a mean and lowly way of arriving at a friend's house. No dashing up with all the fire and fury of the animal, no jumping down of the driver, no loud knocking at the door, no opening of the apron with a crash at the very last moment, for fear of the lady sitting in a draft, and then the man handing the shawls out afterwards, as if he were a private coachman. The whole edge of the thing had been taken off. It was flatter than walking. Well, Tommy, said Mrs. Clubpins, how's your poor dear mother? Oh, she's very well, replied Master Bartle. She's in the front parlor already. I'm ready too, I am. Here Master Bartle put his hands in his pockets, and jumped off and on the bottom step of the door. Is anybody else a-going, Tommy? said Mrs. Clubpins, arranging her pelarine. Mrs. Sanders is going she is, replied Tommy. I'm going too, I am. Drat the boy, said little Mrs. Clubpins. He thinks of nobody but himself. Here, Tommy, dear. Well, said Master Bartle. Who else is a-going, lovey, said Mrs. Clubpins, in an insinuating manner? Oh, Mrs. Rogers is a-going, replied Master Bartle, opening his eyes very wide as he delivered the intelligence. What, the lady as has taken the lodgings, ejaculated Mrs. Clubpins. Master Bartle put his hands deeper down into his pockets, and nodded exactly thirty-five times, to imply that it was the lady lodger, and no other. Bless us, said Mrs. Clubpins, it's quite a party. Ah, if you knew what was in the cupboard, you'd say so, replied Master Bartle. What is there, Tommy, said Mrs. Clubpins coaxingly. You'll tell me, Tommy, I know. No, I won't, replied Master Bartle, shaking his head, and applying himself to the bottom step again. Drat the child, muttered Mrs. Clubpins. What a provoking little wretch it is. Come, Tommy, tell your dear Clubpy. Mother said I wasn't to rejoin Master Bartle. I'm a-going to have some, I am. Cheered by this prospect, the precocious boy applied himself to his infantile treadmill with increased vigor. The above examination of a child of tender years took place while Mr. and Mrs. Raddle and the cab driver were having an altercation concerning the fare, which, terminating at this point in favor of the cab man, Mrs. Raddle came up tottering. Lock, Marianne, what's the matter, said Mrs. Clubpins. It's put me all over in such a tremble, Betsy, replied Mrs. Raddle. Raddle ain't like a man. He leaves everything to me. This was scarcely fair upon the unfortunate Mr. Raddle, who had been thrust aside by his good lady in the commencement of the dispute and peremptorily commanded to hold his tongue. He had no opportunity of defending himself, however, for Mrs. Raddle gave unequivocal signs of fainting, which, being perceived from the parlor window, Mrs. Bartle, Mrs. Sanders, the lodger, and the lodger's servant darted precipitately out and conveyed her into the house, all talking at the same time, and giving utterance to various expressions of pity and condolence, as if she were one of the most suffering mortals on earth. Being conveyed into the front parlor, she was there deposited on a sofa and the lady, from the first floor running up to the first floor, returned with a bottle of salvolatil, which, holding Mrs. Raddle tight round the neck, she applied in all womanly kindness and pity to her nose, until that lady, with many plunges and struggles, was feigned to declare herself decidedly better. Ah, poor thing, said Mrs. Rogers, I know what her feelings is too well. Ah, poor thing, so do I, said Mrs. Sanders, and then all the ladies moaned in unison, and said they knew what it was, and they pitted her from their hearts they did. Even the lodger's little servant, who was thirteen years old and three feet high, murmured her sympathy. But what's the matter, said Mrs. Bartle? Ah, what has decomposed you, ma'am? inquired Mrs. Rogers. I have been a good deal flurried, replied Mrs. Raddle, in a reproachful manner. Thereupon the ladies cast indignant glances at Mr. Raddle. Why the fact is, said the unhappy gentleman, stepping forward, when we alighted at this door, a disputor rose with the driver of the cabrioli. A loud scream from his wife, at the mention of this word, rendered all further explanation inaudible. You'd better leave us to bring her round, Raddle, said Mrs. Clubbins, she'll never get better as long as you're here. All the ladies concurred in this opinion, so Mr. Raddle was pushed out of the room, and requested to give himself an airing in the backyard, which he did for about a quarter of an hour, when Mrs. Raddle announced to him with a solemn face that he might come in now, but that he must be very careful how he behaved toward his wife. She knew he didn't mean to be unkind, that Mary Ann was far from strong, and if he didn't take care, he might lose her when he least expected it, which would be a very dreadful reflection for him afterwards, and so on. All this Mr. Raddle heard with great submission, and presently ventured to the parlor in a most lamb-like manner. Why Mrs. Rogers, ma'am, said Mrs. Bartle, you've never been introduced, I declare. Mr. Raddle, ma'am, Mrs. Clubbins, ma'am, Mrs. Raddle, ma'am, which is Mrs. Clubbins' sister, suggested Mrs. Sanders. Oh, indeed, said Mrs. Rogers graciously, for she was the lodger, and her servant was in waiting, so she was more gracious than intimate, and right of her position. Oh, indeed! Mrs. Raddle smiled sweetly. Mr. Raddle bowed, and Mrs. Clubbins said, she was sure she was very happy to have an opportunity of being known to a lady which she adhered so much in favor of as Mrs. Rogers, a compliment which the last named lady acknowledged with graceful condescension. Well, Mr. Raddle, said Mrs. Bartle, I'm sure you ought to feel very much honored at you and Tommy being the only gentleman to escort so many ladies all the way to the Spaniards at Hampstead. Don't you think he ought Mrs. Rogers, ma'am? Oh, certainly, ma'am, replied Mrs. Rogers, after whom all the other ladies responded, Oh, certainly! Of course I feel it, ma'am, said Mr. Raddle, rubbing his hands and evincing a slight tendency to brighten up a little. Indeed, to tell you the truth, I said, as we was coming along in the cabrioli, at the recapitulation of the word which awakened so many painful recollections, Mrs. Raddle applied her handkerchief to her eyes again, and uttered a half-suppressed scream, so that Mrs. Bartle frowned upon Mr. Raddle to intimate that he had better not say anything more, and desired Mrs. Rogers' servant, with an ear, to put the wine on. This was a signal for displaying the hidden treasures of the closet, which comprised sundry plates of oranges and biscuits, and a bottle of old crusted port, that at one and nine, with another of the celebrated East India sherry at fourteen pence, which were all produced in honor of the lodger, and afforded unlimited satisfaction to everybody. After great consternation had been excited in the mind of Mrs. Clubbins, by an attempt on the part of Tommy to recount how he had been cross-examined regarding the cupboard then in action, which was fortunately nipped in the bud by his imbibing half a glass of the old crusted the wrong way, and thereby endangering his life for some seconds, the party walked forth in quest of a hamsted stage. This was soon found, and in a couple of hours they all arrived safely at the Spaniard's tea gardens, where the luckless Mr. Rattle's very first act nearly occasioned his good lady a relapse, it being neither more nor less than to order tea for seven, whereas, as the ladies won an all remark, what could have been easier than for Tommy to have drank out of anybody's cup or everybody's, if that was all, when the waiter wasn't looking, which would have saved one head of tea, and the tea just as good. However, there was no help for it, and the tea tray came with seven cups and saucers and bread and butter on the same scale. Mrs. Bartle was unanimously voted into the chair, and Mrs. Rogers being stationed on her right hand, and Mrs. Rattle on her left, the meal proceeded with great merriment and success. How sweet the country is to be sure, sighed Mrs. Rogers. I almost wish I lived in it always. Oh, you wouldn't like that, ma'am, replied Mrs. Bartle, rather hastily, for it was not at all advisable, with reference to the lodgings, to encourage such notions. You wouldn't like it, ma'am. Oh, I should think you was a deal too lively and sought after to be content with the country, ma'am, said little Mrs. Clubpins. Perhaps I am, ma'am, perhaps I am, sighed the first floor lodger. For lone people, as have got nobody to care for them, or take care of them, or as have been hurt in their mind, or that kind of thing, observed Mr. Rattle, plucking up a little cheerfulness and looking round, the country is all very well, the country for a wounded spirit, they say. Now, of all things in the world that the unfortunate man could have said, any would have been preferable to this. Of course Mrs. Bartle burst into tears, and requested to be led from the table instantly, upon which the affectionate child began to cry too most dismally. Would anybody believe, ma'am, exclaimed Mrs. Rattle, turning fiercely to the first floor lodger, that a woman could be married to such an unmanly creed-er, which can tamper with a woman's feelings, as he does, every hour in the day, ma'am. My dear, remonstrated Mr. Rattle, I didn't mean anything, my dear. You didn't mean, repeated Mrs. Rattle, with great scorn and contempt. Go away, I can't bear the sight on you, you brute. You must not flurry yourself, Marianne, interpose Mrs. Clubpins, you really must consider yourself, my dear, which you never do. Now go away, Rattle, there's a good soul, or you'll only aggravate her. You would better take your tea by yourself, sir, indeed, said Mrs. Rogers, again applying the smelling bottle. Mrs. Sanders, who, according to custom, was very busy with the bread and butter, expressed the same opinion, and Mr. Rattle quietly retired. After this, there was a great hoisting up of Master Bartle, who was rather a large size for hugging, into his mother's arms, in which operation he got his boots in the teaboard, and occasioned some confusion among the cups and saucers. But that description of fainting fits, which is contagious among ladies, seldom last long, so when he had been well kissed, and a little cried over, Mrs. Bartle recovered, set him down again, wondering how she could have been so foolish, and poured out some more tea. It was at this moment that the sound of approaching wheels was heard, and that the ladies, looking up, saw a hackney coach stop at the garden gate. More company, said Mrs. Sanders. It's a gentleman, said Mrs. Rattle. Well, if it ain't Mr. Jackson, the young man from Dodson and Foggs, cried Mrs. Bartle. Why gracious, surely Mr. Pickwick can't have paid the damages? Or hofford marriage, said Mrs. Clubpins. Dear me, how slow the gentleman is, exclaimed Mrs. Rogers. Why doesn't he make haste? As the lady spoke these words, Mr. Jackson turned from the coach where he had been addressing some observations to a shabby man in black leggings who had just emerged from the vehicle with a thick ash stick in his hand, and made his way to the place where the ladies were seated, winding his hair around the brim of his hat as he came along. Is anything the matter? Has anything taken place, Mr. Jackson, said Mrs. Bartle eerily? Nothing whatever, ma'am, replied Mr. Jackson. How do you do, ladies? I have to ask pardon ladies for intruding, but the law, ladies, the law. With this apology, Mr. Jackson smiled, made a comprehensive bow, and gave his hair another wind. Mrs. Rogers whispered Mrs. Rattle that he was really an elegant young man. I called in Goswell Street, resumed Mr. Jackson, and hearing that you were here, from the slavey, took a coach and came on. Our people want you down in the city directly, Mrs. Bartle. Lore, ejaculated that lady, starting at the sudden nature of the communication. Yes, said Mr. Jackson, biting his lip, it's very important in pressing business, which can't be postponed on any account. Indeed, Dodson expressly said so to me, and so did Fogg. I've kept the coach on purpose for you to go back in. How very strange, exclaimed Mrs. Bartle. The ladies agreed that it was very strange, but were unanimously of opinion that it must be very important, or Dodson and Fogg would never have sent, and further, that the business being urgent, she ought to repair to Dodson and Fogg's without any delay. There was a certain degree of pride and importance about being wanted by one's lawyers in such a monstrous hurry that was by no means displeasing to Mrs. Bartle, especially as it might be reasonably supposed to enhance her consequence in the eyes of the first floor lodger. She simpered a little, affected extreme vexation and hesitation, but at last arrived to the conclusion that she supposed she must go. But won't you refresh yourself after your walk, Mr. Jackson? said Mrs. Bartle persuasively. Why, really, there ain't much time to lose, replied Jackson, and I've got a friend here, he continued, looking toward the man with the ash stick. Oh, ask your friend to come here, sir, said Mrs. Bartle. Pray, ask your friend to hear, sir. Why, thank ye, I'd rather not, said Mr. Jackson with some embarrassment of manner. He's not much used to lady's society, and it makes him bashful. If you'll order the waiter to deliver him anything short, he won't drink it off at once, won't he? Only try him. Mr. Jackson's fingers wandered playfully round his nose at this portion of his discourse to warn his hearers that he was speaking ironically. The waiter was at once dispatched to the bashful gentleman, and the bashful gentleman took something. Mr. Jackson also took something, and the ladies took something for hospitality's sake. Mr. Jackson then said he was afraid it was time to go, upon which Mrs. Sanders, Mrs. Clubmans, and Tommy, who it was arranged should accompany Mrs. Bartle, leaving the others to Mr. Rattle's protection, got into the coach. Isaac, said Jackson, as Mrs. Bartle prepared to get in, looking up at the man with the ash stick, who was seated on the box smoking a cigar. Well, this is Mrs. Bartle. Oh, I'd known that long ago, said the man. Mrs. Bartle got in, Mr. Jackson got in after her, and away they drove. Mrs. Bartle could not help ruminating on what Mr. Jackson's friend had said. Trude creatures, those lawyers, Lord bless us, how they find people out. Sad thing about these costs of our peoples, ain't it, said Jackson, when Mrs. Clubmans and Mrs. Sanders had fallen asleep. Your bill of costs, I mean. I'm very sorry they can't get them, replied Mrs. Bartle, but if you law gentlemen do these things on speculation, why, you must get a loss now and then, you know. You gave them a cognit for the amount of your costs after the trial, I'm told, said Jackson. Yes, just as a matter of form, replied Mrs. Bartle. Certainly, replied Jackson Drally, quite a matter of form, quite. On they drove, and Mrs. Bartle fell asleep. She was awakened after some time by the stopping of the coach. Bless us, said the lady. Are we at Freeman's Court? We're not going quite so far, replied Jackson. Have the goodness to step out. Mrs. Bartle, not yet thoroughly awake, complied. It was a curious place, a large wall, with a gate in the middle and a gaslight burning inside. Now ladies cried the man with the ash stick looking into the coach and shaking Mrs. Sanders to wake her. Come! Rousing her friend Mrs. Sanders lighted. Mrs. Bartle, leaning on Jackson's arm and leading Tommy by the hand, had already entered the porch. They followed. The room they turned into was even more odd looking than the porch. Such a number of men standing about, and they stared so. What place is this? inquired Mrs. Bartle, pausing. Only one of our public offices replied Jackson, hurrying her through a door and looking round to see that the other women were following. Look sharp, Isaac. Safe and sound replied the man with the ash stick. The door swung heavily after them and they descended a small flight of steps. Here we are at last. All right and tight, Mrs. Bartle, said Jackson, looking exultingly round. What do you mean, said Mrs. Bartle, with a palpitating heart. Just this, replied Jackson, drawing her a little on one side. Don't be frightened, Mrs. Bartle. There never was a more delicate man than Dodson, ma'am, or a more humane man than Fogg. It was their duty in the way of business to take you in execution for them costs, but they were anxious to spare your feelings as much as they could. What a comfort it must be to you to think how it's been done. This is the fleet, ma'am. Wish you good night, Mrs. Bartle. Good night, Tommy. As Jackson hurried away in company with the man with the ash stick, another man, with a key in his hand, who had been looking on, led the bewildered female to a second short flight of steps leading to a doorway. Mrs. Bartle screamed violently. Tommy roared. Mrs. Clubbin shrunk within herself, and Mrs. Sanders made off without more ado, for there stood the injured Mr. Pickwick, taking his nightly allowance of air, and beside him lent Samuel Weller, who, seeing Mrs. Bartle, took his hat off with mock reverence, while his master turned indignantly on his heel. Don't bother the woman, said the turnkey to Weller. She's just come in. A prisoner, said Sam, quickly replacing his hat. Who's the plaintives? What for? Speak up, old feller. Dodson and Fogg replied the man, execution on Cognovit for costs. Here, Job, Job, shouted Sam, dashing into the passage. Run to Mr. Perker's, Job. I want him directly. I see some good in this. Here's a game. Hooray! There's the governor. But there was no reply to these inquiries, for Job had started furiously off the instant he received his commission, and Mrs. Bartle had fainted in real downright earnest. End of Chapter 46 Recording by Edward Elmer San Antonio, Texas Chapter 47 of the Pickwick Papers This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Edward Elmer The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens, Chapter 47 Is chiefly devoted to matters of business and the temporal advantage of Dodson and Fogg Mr. Winkle reappears under extraordinary circumstances. Mr. Pickwick's benevolence proved stronger than his obstinacy. Job Trotter, abating nothing of his speed, ran up to Holborn, sometimes in the middle of the road, sometimes on the pavement, sometimes in the gutter, as the chances of getting along varied with oppressive men, women, children, and coaches, in each division of the thoroughfare, and regardless of all obstacles, stopped not for an instant until he reached the gate of Grey's Inn. Notwithstanding all the expedition he had used, however, the gate had been closed a good half hour when he reached it. And by the time he had discovered Mr. Perker's Laundress, who lived with a married daughter, who had bestowed her hand upon a non-resident waiter, who occupied the one pair of some number, in some street closely adjoining to some brewery somewhere, behind Grey's Inn Lane, it was within fifteen minutes of closing the prison for the night. Mr. Lotton had still to be ferreted out from the back parlor of the magpie and stump, and Job had scarcely accomplished this object, and communicated Sam Weller's message when the clock struck ten. There, said Lotton, it's too late now, you can't get in tonight. You've got the key of the street, my friend. Never mind, replied Job, I can sleep anywhere. But won't it be better to see Mr. Perker tonight, so that we may be there the first thing in the morning? Why, responded Lotton, after a little consideration. If it was in anybody else's case, Perker wouldn't be best pleased at my going up to his house. But as it's Mr. Pickwick's, I think I may venture to take a cab and charge it to the office. Deciding on this line of contact, Mr. Lotton took up his hat, and begging the assembled company to appoint a deputy chairman during his temporary absence, led the way to the nearest coach stand. Summoning the cab of most promising appearance, he directed the driver to appear to Montague Place, Russell Square. Mr. Perker had had a dinner party that day, as was testified by the appearance of lights in the drawing room windows, the sound of an improved grand piano, and an improvable cabinet voice issuing therefrom and a rather overpowering smell of meat which pervaded the steps and entry. In fact, a couple of very good country agencies happening to come up to town at the same time, an agreeable little party had been got together to meet them, comprising Mr. Snicks, the life office secretary, Mr. Pro-Z, the eminent council, three solicitors, one commissioner of bankrupts, a special pleader from the temple, a small-eyed, peremptory young gentleman, his pupil who had written a lively book about the law of demises, with a vast quantity of marginal notes and references, and several other eminent and distinguished personages. From this society, little Mr. Perker detached himself, on his clerk being announced in a whisper, and repairing to the dining room, there found Mr. Loten and Job Trotter looking very dim and shadowy by the light of a kitchen candle, which the gentleman who condescended to appear in plus shorts and cottons, for a quarterly stipend head, with a becoming contempt for the clerk and all things appertaining to the office, placed on the table. Now Loten said little Mr. Perker shutting the door, what's the matter? No important letter, come in a parcel, is there? No, sir, replied Loten, this is a messenger from Mr. Pickwick, sir. From Pickwick, eh? said the little man, turning quickly to Job. Well, what is it? Dodson and Fogg have taken Mrs. Bartle in execution for her costs, sir, said Job. No, exclaimed Perker, putting his hands in his pockets and reclining against the sideboard. Yes, said Job, it seems they got a cogn of it out of her, for the amount of them directly after the trial. By Job, said Perker, taking both hands out of his pockets and striking the knuckles of his right against the palm of his left emphatically, those are the cleverest scamps I ever had anything to do with. The sharpest practitioners I ever knew, sir, observed Loten. Sharp, echoed Perker, there's no knowing where to have them. Very true, sir, there is not, replied Loten, and then both master and man pondered for a few seconds, with animated countenances, as if they were reflecting upon one of the most beautiful and ingenious discoveries the intellect of man had ever made. When they had in some measure recovered from their trance of admiration, Job Trotter discharged himself of the rest of his commission. Perker nodded his head thoughtfully and pulled out his watch. At ten precisely I will be there, said the little man. Sam is quite right, tell him so. Will you take a glass of wine, Loten? No, thank you, sir. You mean yes, I think, said the little man, turning to the sideboard for a decanturing glass. As Loten did mean yes, he said no more on the subject, but inquired of Job in an audible whisper, whether the portrait of Perker, which hung ups at the fireplace, wasn't a wonderful likeness, to which Job, of course, replied that it was. The wine, being by this time poured out, Loten drank to Mrs. Perker and the children, and Job to Perker. The gentleman in the plus shorts and cottons, considering it no part of his duty to show the people from the office out, consistently declined to answer the bell, and they showed themselves out. The attorney but took himself to his drawing-room, the clerk to the magpie and stump, and Job to Covent Garden Market to spend the night in a vegetable basket. Punctually at the appointed hour next morning the good-humored little attorney tapped at Mr. Pickwick's door, which was opened with great alacrity by Sam Weller. Mr. Perker, sir, said Sam, announcing the visitor to Mr. Pickwick, who was sitting at the window in a thoughtful attitude. Very glad you've looked in accidentally, sir. I rather think the governor wants to have a word and a half with you, sir. Perker bestowed a look of intelligence on Sam, intimating that he understood he was not to say he had been sent for, and beckoning him to approach, whispered briefly in his ear. You don't mean that ear, sir, said Sam, starting back in excessive surprise. Perker nodded and smiled. Mr. Samuel Weller looked at the little lawyer, then at Mr. Pickwick, then at the ceiling, then at Perker again, grinned, laughed outright, and finally catching up his hat from the carpet, without further explanation, disappeared. What does this mean, inquired Mr. Pickwick, looking at Perker with astonishment? What has put Sam into this extraordinary state? Oh, nothing, nothing, replied Perker. Come, my dear sir, draw up your chair to the table. I have a good deal to say to you. What papers are those, inquired Mr. Pickwick, as the little man deposited on the table a small bundle of documents tied with red tape? The papers in Bardell and Pickwick, replied Perker, undoing the knot with his teeth. Mr. Pickwick grated the legs of his chair against the ground and, throwing himself into it, folded his hands and looked sternly, if Mr. Pickwick could ever look sternly, at his legal friend. You don't like to hear the name of the cause, said the little man, still busying himself with a knot? No, I do not indeed, replied Mr. Pickwick. Sorry for that, resumed Perker, because it will form the subject of our conversation. I would rather that the subject should be never mentioned between us, Perker, interposed Mr. Pickwick hastily. Poo-poo, my dear sir, said the little man, untying the bundle, and clancing eagerly at Mr. Pickwick out of the corners of his eyes. It must be mentioned, I have come here on purpose. Now, are you ready to hear what I have to say, my dear sir? No, hurry, if you are not, I can wait. I have this morning's paper here. Your time shall be mine. There! Hereupon the little man threw one leg over the other, and made a show of beginning to read with great composure and application. Well, well, said Mr. Pickwick, with a sigh but softening into a smile at the same time. Say what you have to say, it's the old story, I suppose. With a difference, my dear sir, with a difference rejoined Perker, deliberately folding up the paper and putting it into his pocket again. Mrs. Bardell, the plaintiff in the action, is within these walls, sir. I know it was Mr. Pickwick's reply. Very good, retorted Perker, and you know how she comes here, I suppose. I mean on what grounds and at whose suit. Yes, at least I have heard Sam's account of the matter, said Mr. Pickwick, with affected carelessness. Sam's account of the matter, replied Perker, is, I will venture to say, a perfectly correct one. Well now, my dear sir, the first question I have to ask is whether this woman is to remain here. To remain here, echoed Mr. Pickwick. To remain here, my dear sir, rejoined Perker, leaning back in his chair and looking steadily at his client. How can you ask me, said that gentleman? It rests with Dodson and Fogg. You know that very well. I know nothing of the kind, retorted Perker firmly. It does not rest with Dodson and Fogg. You know the men, my dear sir, as well as I do. It rests solely, wholly, and entirely with you. With me ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, rising nervously from his chair, and receding himself directly afterwards. The little man gave a double knock on the lid of his snuff box, opened it, took a great pinch, shut it up again, and repeated the words, with you. I say, my dear sir, resumed the little man who seemed to gather confidence from the snuff. I say that her speedy liberation or perpetual imprisonment rests with you, and with you alone. Hear me out, my dear sir, if you please, and do not be so very energetic, for it will only put you into a perspiration and do no good whatever. I say, continued Perker, checking off each position on a different finger, as he laid it down. I say that nobody but you can rescue her from this den of wretchedness, and that you can only do that by paying the cost of this suit, both of plaintive and defendant, into the hands of these Freeman court sharks. Now pray be quiet, my dear sir. Mr. Pickwick, whose face had been undergoing most surprising changes during this speech, and was evidently on the verge of a strong burst of indignation, calmed his wrath as well as he could. Perker, strengthening his argumentative powers with another pinch of snuff, proceeded. I have seen the woman this morning. By paying the cost, you can obtain a full release and discharge from the damages. And further, this I know is a far greater object of consideration with you, my dear sir, a voluntary statement under her hand in the form of a letter to me, that this business was, from the very first, fomented and encouraged, and brought about by these men, Dodson and Fogg, that she deeply regrets ever having been the instrument of annoyance or injury to you, and that she entreats me to intercede with you and implore your pardon. If I pay her cost for her, said Mr. Pickwick indignantly, a valuable document indeed. No if, in the case, my dear sir, said Perker triumphantly. There is the very letter I speak of brought to my office by another woman at nine o'clock this morning before I set foot in this place, or held any communication with Mrs. Bartle upon my honour. Selecting the letter from the bundle, the little lawyer laid it at Mr. Pickwick's elbow, and took snuff for two consecutive minutes without winking. Is this all you have to say to me, inquired Mr. Pickwick mildly? Not quite, replied Perker. I cannot undertake to say, at this moment, whether the wording of the cognit, the nature of the ostensible consideration, and the proof we can get together about the whole conduct of the suit, will be sufficient to justify an indictment for conspiracy. I fear not, my dear sir, they are too clever for that, I doubt. I do mean to say, however, that the whole facts taken together will be sufficient to justify you, in the minds of all reasonable men. And now, my dear sir, I put it to you. This one hundred and fifty pounds, or whatever it may be, take it in round numbers, is nothing to you. A jury had decided against you. Well, their verdict is wrong, but still they decided, as they thought right, and it is against you. You have now an opportunity, on easy terms, of placing yourself in a much higher position than you ever could, by remaining here, which could only be imputed by people who didn't know you to sheer, dogged, wrong-headed, brutal obstinacy. Nothing else, my dear sir, believe me. Can you hesitate to avail yourself of it when it restores you to your friends, your old pursuits, your health and amusements, when it liberates your faithful and attached servant, whom you otherwise doomed to imprisonment for the whole of your life, and above all, when it enables you to take the very magnanimous revenge, which I know, my dear sir, is one after your own heart, of releasing this woman from a scene of misery and debauchery, to which no man should ever be consigned, if I ever had my will, but the inflection of which upon any woman is even more frightful and barbarous. Now I ask you, my dear sir, not only as your legal advisor, but as your very true friend, will you let slip the occasion of attaining all these objects, and doing all this good for the paltry consideration of a few pounds finding their way into the pockets of a couple of rascals, to whom it makes no manner of difference, except that the more they gain, the more they'll seek, and so the sooner be led into some piece of navery that must end in a crash. I will put these considerations to you, my dear sir, very feebly and imperfectly, but I ask you to think of them. Turn them over in your mind, as long as you please. I wait here patiently for your answer. Before Mr. Pickwick could reply, before Mr. Perker had taken one-twentieth of the snuff, with which so unusually long an address imperatively required to be followed up, there was a low murmuring of voices outside, and then a hesitating knock at the door. Dear, dear, exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who had been evidently roused by his friend's appeal, what an annoyance that door is. Who is that? Me, sir, replied Sam Weller, putting in his head. I can't speak to you just now, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick. I am engaged at this moment, Sam. Beg your pardon, sir, rejoin Mr. Weller, but there is a lady here, sir, as says she is something very particular to disclose. I can't see any lady, replied Mr. Pickwick, whose mind was filled with visions of Mrs. Bartle. I wouldn't make too sure of that, sir, urged Mr. Weller, shaking his head. If you knowed who is near, sir, I'd rather think you'd change your note, as the hawk remarked to himself with a cheerful laugh, and he heared the robin-red breast as singing round the corner. Who is it? inquired Mr. Pickwick. Will you see here, sir? asked Mr. Weller, holding the door in his hand, as if he had some curious live animal on the other side. I suppose I must, said Mr. Pickwick, looking at Perker. Well then, all in to begin, cried Sam. Sound the gong, draw up the curtain, and enter the two conspirators. As Sam Weller spoke, he threw the door open, and there rushed tumultuously into the room Mr. Nathaniel Winkle, leading after him by the hand, the identical young lady who at Dingley Dell had worn the boots with a fur round the tops, and who, now a very pleasing compound of blushes and confusion, and lilac silk, and a smart bonnet, and a rich lace veil, looked prettier than ever. Miss Arabella Allen exclaimed Mr. Pickwick rising from his chair. No replied Mr. Winkle, dropping in his knees. Mrs. Winkle, pardon my dear friend, pardon. Mr. Pickwick could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses, and perhaps would not have done so, but for the corroborative testimony afforded by the smiling countenance of Perker, and the bodily presence in the background of Sam and the pretty housemaid, who appeared to contemplate the proceedings with the liveliest satisfaction. Oh, Mr. Pickwick said Arabella in a low voice, as if alarmed at the silence. Can you forgive my imprudence? Mr. Pickwick returned no verbal response to this appeal, but he took off his spectacles in great haste, and seizing both the young lady's hands in his, kissed her a great number of times, perhaps a greater number than was absolutely necessary, and then, still retaining one of her hands, told Mr. Winkle he was an audacious young dog, and bade him get up. This Mr. Winkle, who had been for some second scratching his nose with the brim of his hat, in a penitent manner, did. Whereupon Mr. Pickwick slapped him on the back several times, and then shook hands heartily with Perker, who, not to be behind hand with the compliments of the occasion, saluted both the bride and the pretty housemaid with a right good will, and, having wrung Mr. Winkle's hand most cordially, wound up his demonstrations of joy by taking snuff enough to set any half dozen men with ordinarily constructed noses a sneezing for life. Why, my dear girl, said Mr. Pickwick, how has all this come about? Come, sit down, and let me hear it all. How well she looks, doesn't she, Perker? added Mr. Pickwick, surveying Arabella's face with a look of as much pride and exultation as if she had been his daughter. Delightful, my dear sir, replied the little man, if I were not a married man myself, I should be disposed to envy you, you dog. Thus expressing himself, the little lawyer gave Mr. Winkle a poke in the chest, which that gentleman reciprocated, after which they both laughed very loudly, but not so loudly as Mr. Samuel Weller, who had just relieved his feelings by kissing the pretty housemaid under cover of the cupboard door. I can never be grateful enough to you, Sam, I am sure, said Arabella, with a sweetest smile imaginable. I shall not forget your exertions in the garden at Clifton. Don't say nothing whatever about it, ma'am, replied Sam. I only assisted Nader, ma'am, as the doctor said to the boy's mother after he'd bled him to death. Mary, my dear, sit down, said Mr. Pickwick, cutting short these compliments. Now then, how long have you been married, eh? Arabella looked bashfully at her lord and master, who replied, only three days. Only three days, eh? said Mr. Pickwick. Why, what have you been doing these three months? Ah, to be sure, interposed perker, come, account for this idleness. You see, Mr. Pickwick's only astonishment is, that it wasn't all over months ago. Why, the fact is, replied Mr. Winko, looking at his blushing young wife, that I could not persuade Bella to run away for a long time, and when I had persuaded her, it was a long time more before we could find an opportunity. Mary had to give a month's warning, too, before she could leave her place next door, and we couldn't possibly have done it without her assistance. Upon my word, exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who by this time had resumed his spectacles, and was looking from Arabella to Winko, and from Winko to Arabella, with as much delight depicted in his countenance, as warm-heartedness and kindly feeling can communicate to the human face. Upon my word, you seem to have been very systematic in your proceedings. And is your brother acquainted with all this, my dear? Oh, no, no, replied Arabella, changing color. Dear Mr. Pickwick, he must only know it from you, from your lips alone. He is so violent, so prejudiced, and has been so anxious in behalf of his friend Mr. Sawyer, added Arabella, looking down, that I fear the consequence is dreadfully. Ah, to be sure, said Berker gravely, you must take this matter in hand for them, my dear sir. These young men will respect you when they would listen to nobody else. You must prevent mischief, my dear sir. Hot blood, hot blood! And the little man took a warning pinch, and shook his head doubtfully. You forget my love, said Mr. Pickwick gently. You forget that I am a prisoner. No, indeed I do not, my dear sir, replied Arabella. I never have forgotten it. I have never ceased to think how great your sufferings must have been in this shocking place. But I hope that what no consideration for yourself would induce you to do, a regard for her happiness might. If my brother hears of this first from you, I feel certain we shall be reconciled. He is my only relation in the world, Mr. Pickwick, and unless you plead for me, I fear I have lost even him. I have done wrong, very, very wrong, I know. Here poor Arabella hit her face in her handkerchief, and wept bitterly. Mr. Pickwick's nature was a good deal worked upon by these same tears. But when Mrs. Winkle, drying her eyes, took to coaxing and in treating in the sweetest tones of a very sweet voice he became particularly restless and evidently undecided how to act, as was evinced by sundry, nervous rubbings of his spectacle glasses, nose, tights, head, and gaiters. Taking advantage of these symptoms of indecision, Mr. Perker, to whom it appeared the young couple had driven straight that morning, urged with legal point and shrewdness that Mr. Winkle, senior, was still unacquainted with the important rise in life's flight of steps which his son had taken, that the future expectations of the said son depended entirely upon the said Winkle, senior, continuing to regard him with undiminished feelings of affection and attachment, which it was very unlikely he would if this great event were long kept a secret from him, that Mr. Pickwick, repairing to Bristol to seek Mr. Allen, might, with equal reason, repair to Birmingham to seek Mr. Winkle, senior, lastly, that Mr. Winkle, senior, had good right and title to consider Mr. Pickwick, as in some degree, the guardian and advisor of his son, and that it consequently behoved that gentleman, and was indeed due to his personal character, to acquaint the aforesaid Winkle, senior, personally, and by word of mouth, with the whole circumstances of the case, and with the share he had taken in the transaction. Mr. Tubman and Mr. Snodgrass arrived, most opportunity, in this stage of the pleadings, and as it was necessary to explain to them all that it occurred, together with the various reasons pro and con, the whole of the arguments were gone over again, after which everybody urged every argument in his own way, and at his own length, and at last Mr. Pickwick, fairly argued and remonstrated out of all his resolutions, and being in imminent danger of being argued and remonstrated out of his wits, caught Arabella in his arms, and declaring that she was a very amiable creature, and that he didn't know how it was, but he had always been very fond of her from the first, said he could never find it in his heart to stand in the way of young people's happiness, and they might do with him as they pleased. Mr. Weller's first act, on hearing this concession, was to dispatch Job Trotter to the illustrious Mr. Pell, with an authority to deliver to the bearer the formal discharge which his prudent parent had had the foresight to leave in the hands of that learned gentleman, in case it should be, at any time, required on an emergency. His next proceeding was to invest his whole stock of ready money in the purchase of five and twenty gallons of mild porter, which he himself dispensed on the racket ground to everybody who would partake of it. This done here hurried in diverse parts of the building, until he lost his voice, and then quietly relapsed into his usual collected and philosophical condition. At three o'clock that afternoon Mr. Pickwick took a last look at his little room and made his way, as well as he could, through the throng of debtors who pressed eagerly forward to shake him by the hand, until he reached the lodge steps. He turned there to look about him, and his eye lightened as he did so. In all the crowd of one, emaciated faces, he saw not one which was not happier for his sympathy and charity. Perker said Mr. Pickwick, beckoning one young man towards him, This is Mr. Jingle whom I spoke to you about. Very good, my dear sir, replied Perker, looking hard at Jingle. You will see me again, young man, tomorrow. I hope you may live to remember and feel deeply what I shall have to communicate, sir. Jingle bowed respectfully, trembled very much as he took Mr. Pickwick's proffered hand, and withdrew. Job, you know, I think, said Mr. Pickwick, presenting that gentleman. I know the rascal, replied Perker, good humoredly. See after your friend, and be in the way tomorrow at one. Do you hear? Now, is there anything more? You have delivered the little parcel I gave you for your old landlord, Sam? I have, sir, replied Sam. He bussed out a cry in sir, and said you was very generous and thoughtful, and he only wished you could have him inoculated for a galloping consumption, for his old friend as he lived here so long was dead, and he had no where to look for another. Poor, poor fellows in Mr. Pickwick, God bless you, my friends. As Mr. Pickwick uttered this adieu, the crowd raised a loud shout. Many among them were pressing forward to shake him by the hand again when he drew his arm through Perkers and hurried from the prison. Far more sad and melancholy for the moment than when he had first entered it. Alas, how many sad and unhappy beings had he left behind? A happy evening was that for at least one party in the Georgian vulture, and light and cheerful were two of the hearts that emerged from its hospitable door the next morning. The owners thereof were Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller, the former of whom was speedily deposited inside a comfortable post-coach with a little dickey behind in which the latter mounted with great agility. Sir called out Mr. Weller to his master. Well, Sam replied Mr. Pickwick, thrusting his head out of the window. I wish them horses had been three months and better in the fleet, sir. Why, Sam, inquired Mr. Pickwick. Why, sir, exclaimed Mr. Weller, rubbing his hands, how they would go if they had been.