The Pickwick Papers
as I live, I have pledged myself to the people of these kingdoms to
support and to maintain?’ suggested Pott.
‘Why, I don’t exactly know about that,’ replied Bob Sawyer. ‘I am--’
‘Not buff, Mr. Pickwick,’ interrupted Pott, drawing back his chair,
‘your friend is not buff, sir?’
‘No, no,’ rejoined Bob, ‘I’m a kind of plaid at present; a compound of
all sorts of colours.’
‘A waverer,’ said Pott solemnly, ‘a waverer. I should like to show you a
series of eight articles, Sir, that have appeared in the Eatanswill
_Gazette_. I think I may venture to say that you would not be long in
establishing your opinions on a firm and solid blue basis, sir.’
I dare say I should turn very blue, long before I got to the end of
them,’ responded Bob.
Mr. Pott looked dubiously at Bob Sawyer for some seconds, and, turning
to Mr. Pickwick, said--
‘You have seen the literary articles which have appeared at intervals in
the Eatanswill _Gazette_ in the course of the last three months, and
which have excited such general--I may say such universal--attention and
admiration?’
‘Why,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, slightly embarrassed by the question, ‘the
fact is, I have been so much engaged in other ways, that I really have
not had an opportunity of perusing them.’
‘You should do so, Sir,’ said Pott, with a severe countenance.
‘I will,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘They appeared in the form of a copious review of a work on Chinese
metaphysics, Sir,’ said Pott.
‘Oh,’ observed Mr. Pickwick; ‘from your pen, I hope?’
‘From the pen of my critic, Sir,’ rejoined Pott, with dignity.
‘An abstruse subject, I should conceive,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Very, Sir,’ responded Pott, looking intensely sage. ‘He _crammed _for
it, to use a technical but expressive term; he read up for the subject,
at my desire, in the “Encyclopaedia Britannica.”’
‘Indeed!’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘I was not aware that that valuable work
contained any information respecting Chinese metaphysics.’
‘He read, Sir,’ rejoined Pott, laying his hand on Mr. Pickwick’s knee,
and looking round with a smile of intellectual superiority--‘he read for
metaphysics under the letter M, and for China under the letter C, and
combined his information, Sir!’
Mr. Pott’s features assumed so much additional grandeur at the
recollection of the power and research displayed in the learned
effusions in question, that some minutes elapsed before Mr. Pickwick
felt emboldened to renew the conversation; at length, as the editor’s
countenance gradually relaxed into its customary expression of moral
supremacy, he ventured to resume the discourse by asking--
‘Is it fair to inquire what great object has brought you so far from
home?’
‘That object which actuates and animates me in all my gigantic labours,
Sir,’ replied Pott, with a calm smile: ‘my country’s good.’
I supposed it was some public mission,’ observed Mr. Pickwick.
‘Yes, Sir,’ resumed Pott, ‘it is.’ Here, bending towards Mr. Pickwick,
he whispered in a deep, hollow voice, ‘A Buff ball, Sir, will take place
in Birmingham to-morrow evening.’
‘God bless me!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
‘Yes, Sir, and supper,’ added Pott.
‘You don’t say so!’ ejaculated Mr. Pickwick.
Pott nodded portentously.
Now, although Mr. Pickwick feigned to stand aghast at this disclosure,
he was so little versed in local politics that he was unable to form an
adequate comprehension of the importance of the dire conspiracy it
referred to; observing which, Mr. Pott, drawing forth the last number of
the Eatanswill _Gazette_, and referring to the same, delivered himself
of the following paragraph:--
HOLE-AND-CORNER BUFFERY.
‘A reptile contemporary has recently sweltered forth his black venom in
the vain and hopeless attempt of sullying the fair name of our
distinguished and excellent representative, the Honourable Mr. Slumkey--
that Slumkey whom we, long before he gained his present noble and
exalted position, predicted would one day be, as he now is, at once his
country’s brightest honour, and her proudest boast: alike her bold
defender and her honest pride--our reptile contemporary, we say, has
made himself merry, at the expense of a superbly embossed plated coal-
scuttle, which has been presented to that glorious man by his enraptured
constituents, and towards the purchase of which, the nameless wretch
insinuates, the Honourable Mr. Slumkey himself contributed, through a
confidential friend of his butler’s, more than three-fourths of the
whole sum subscribed. Why, does not the crawling creature see, that even
if this be the fact, the Honourable Mr. Slumkey only appears in a still
more amiable and radiant light than before, if that be possible? Does
not even his obtuseness perceive that this amiable and touching desire
to carry out the wishes of the constituent body, must for ever endear
him to the hearts and souls of such of his fellow townsmen as are not
worse than swine; or, in other words, who are not as debased as our
contemporary himself? But such is the wretched trickery of hole-and-
corner Buffery! These are not its only artifices. Treason is abroad. We
boldly state, now that we are goaded to the disclosure, and we throw
ourselves on the country and its constables for protection--we boldly
state that secret preparations are at this moment in progress for a Buff
ball; which is to be held in a Buff town, in the very heart and centre
of a Buff population; which is to be conducted by a Buff master of the
ceremonies; which is to be attended by four ultra Buff members of
Parliament, and the admission to which, is to be by Buff tickets! Does
our fiendish contemporary wince? Let him writhe, in impotent malice, as
we pen the words, _We will be there_.’
‘There, Sir,’ said Pott, folding up the paper quite exhausted, ‘that is
the state of the case!’
The landlord and waiter entering at the moment with dinner, caused Mr.
Pott to lay his finger on his lips, in token that he considered his life
in Mr. Pickwick’s hands, and depended on his secrecy. Messrs. Bob Sawyer
and Benjamin Allen, who had irreverently fallen asleep during the
reading of the quotation from the Eatanswill _Gazette_, and the
discussion which followed it, were roused by the mere whispering of the
talismanic word ‘Dinner’ in their ears; and to dinner they went with
good digestion waiting on appetite, and health on both, and a waiter on
all three.
In the course of the dinner and the sitting which succeeded it, Mr. Pott
descending, for a few moments, to domestic topics, informed Mr. Pickwick
that the air of Eatanswill not agreeing with his lady, she was then
engaged in making a tour of different fashionable watering-places with a
view to the recovery of her wonted health and spirits; this was a
delicate veiling of the fact that Mrs. Pott, acting upon her often-
repeated threat of separation, had, in virtue of an arrangement
negotiated by her brother, the lieutenant, and concluded by Mr. Pott,
permanently retired with the faithful bodyguard upon one moiety or half
part of the annual income and profits arising from the editorship and
sale of the Eatanswill _Gazette_.
While the great Mr. Pott was dwelling upon this and other matters,
enlivening the conversation from time to time with various extracts from
his own lucubrations, a stern stranger, calling from the window of a
stage-coach, outward bound, which halted at the inn to deliver packages,
requested to know whether if he stopped short on his journey and
remained there for the night, he could be furnished with the necessary
accommodation of a bed and bedstead.
‘Certainly, sir,’ replied the landlord.
‘I can, can I?’ inquired the stranger, who seemed habitually suspicious
in look and manner.
‘No doubt of it, Sir,’ replied the landlord.
‘Good,’ said the stranger. ‘Coachman, I get down here. Guard, my carpet-
bag!’
Bidding the other passengers good-night, in a rather snappish manner,
the stranger alighted. He was a shortish gentleman, with very stiff
black hair cut in the porcupine or blacking-brush style, and standing
stiff and straight all over his head; his aspect was pompous and
threatening; his manner was peremptory; his eyes were sharp and
restless; and his whole bearing bespoke a feeling of great confidence in
himself, and a consciousness of immeasurable superiority over all other
people.
This gentleman was shown into the room originally assigned to the
patriotic Mr. Pott; and the waiter remarked, in dumb astonishment at the
singular coincidence, that he had no sooner lighted the candles than the
gentleman, diving into his hat, drew forth a newspaper, and began to
read it with the very same expression of indignant scorn, which, upon
the majestic features of Pott, had paralysed his energies an hour
before. The man observed too, that, whereas Mr. Pott’s scorn had been
roused by a newspaper headed the Eatanswill _Independent_, this
gentleman’s withering contempt was awakened by a newspaper entitled the
Eatanswill _Gazette_.
‘Send the landlord,’ said the stranger.
‘Yes, sir,’ rejoined the waiter.
The landlord was sent, and came.
‘Are you the landlord?’ inquired the gentleman.
‘I am sir,’ replied the landlord.
‘Do you know me?’ demanded the gentleman.
‘I have not had that pleasure, Sir,’ rejoined the landlord.
‘My name is Slurk,’ said the gentleman.
The landlord slightly inclined his head.
‘Slurk, sir,’ repeated the gentleman haughtily. ‘Do you know me now,
man?’
The landlord scratched his head, looked at the ceiling, and at the
stranger, and smiled feebly.
‘Do you know me, man?’ inquired the stranger angrily.
The landlord made a strong effort, and at length replied, ‘Well, Sir, I
do _not_ know you.’
‘Great Heaven!’ said the stranger, dashing his clenched fist upon the
table. ‘And this is popularity!’
The landlord took a step or two towards the door; the stranger fixing
his eyes upon him, resumed.
‘This,’ said the stranger--‘this is gratitude for years of labour and
study in behalf of the masses. I alight wet and weary; no enthusiastic
crowds press forward to greet their champion; the church bells are
silent; the very name elicits no responsive feeling in their torpid
bosoms. It is enough,’ said the agitated Mr. Slurk, pacing to and fro,
‘to curdle the ink in one’s pen, and induce one to abandon their cause
for ever.’
‘Did you say brandy-and-water, Sir?’ said the landlord, venturing a
hint.
‘Rum,’ said Mr. Slurk, turning fiercely upon him. ‘Have you got a fire
anywhere?’
‘We can light one directly, Sir,’ said the landlord.
‘Which will throw out no heat until it is bed-time,’ interrupted Mr.
Slurk. ‘Is there anybody in the kitchen?’
Not a soul. There was a beautiful fire. Everybody had gone, and the
house door was closed for the night.
‘I will drink my rum-and-water,’ said Mr. Slurk, ‘by the kitchen fire.’
So, gathering up his hat and newspaper, he stalked solemnly behind the
landlord to that humble apartment, and throwing himself on a settle by
the fireside, resumed his countenance of scorn, and began to read and
drink in silent dignity.
Now, some demon of discord, flying over the Saracen’s Head at that
moment, on casting down his eyes in mere idle curiosity, happened to
behold Slurk established comfortably by the kitchen fire, and Pott
slightly elevated with wine in another room; upon which the malicious
demon, darting down into the last-mentioned apartment with inconceivable
rapidity, passed at once into the head of Mr. Bob Sawyer, and prompted
him for his (the demon’s) own evil purpose to speak as follows:--
‘I say, we’ve let the fire out. It’s uncommonly cold after the rain,
isn’t it?’
‘It really is,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, shivering.
‘It wouldn’t be a bad notion to have a cigar by the kitchen fire, would