The Pickwick Papers
Sam encountering everything with a coolness which nothing could disturb.
Crossing a courtyard which was all noise and bustle, and passing a
couple of porters who seemed dressed to match the red fire engine which
was wheeled away into a corner, they passed into an office where their
business was to be transacted, and where Pell and Mr. Flasher left them
standing for a few moments, while they went upstairs into the Will
Office.
‘Wot place is this here?’ whispered the mottled-faced gentleman to the
elder Mr. Weller.
‘Counsel’s Office,’ replied the executor in a whisper.
‘Wot are them gen’l’men a-settin’ behind the counters?’ asked the hoarse
coachman.
‘Reduced counsels, I s’pose,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘Ain’t they the
reduced counsels, Samivel?’
‘Wy, you don’t suppose the reduced counsels is alive, do you?’ inquired
Sam, with some disdain.
‘How should I know?’ retorted Mr. Weller; ‘I thought they looked wery
like it. Wot are they, then?’
‘Clerks,’ replied Sam.
‘Wot are they all a-eatin’ ham sangwidges for?’ inquired his father.
‘’Cos it’s in their dooty, I suppose,’ replied Sam, ‘it’s a part o’ the
system; they’re alvays a-doin’ it here, all day long!’
Mr. Weller and his friends had scarcely had a moment to reflect upon
this singular regulation as connected with the monetary system of the
country, when they were rejoined by Pell and Wilkins Flasher, Esquire,
who led them to a part of the counter above which was a round blackboard
with a large ‘W.’ on it.
‘Wot’s that for, Sir?’ inquired Mr. Weller, directing Pell’s attention
to the target in question.
‘The first letter of the name of the deceased,’ replied Pell.
‘I say,’ said Mr. Weller, turning round to the umpires, there’s
somethin’ wrong here. We’s our letter--this won’t do.’
The referees at once gave it as their decided opinion that the business
could not be legally proceeded with, under the letter W., and in all
probability it would have stood over for one day at least, had it not
been for the prompt, though, at first sight, undutiful behaviour of Sam,
who, seizing his father by the skirt of the coat, dragged him to the
counter, and pinned him there, until he had affixed his signature to a
couple of instruments; which, from Mr. Weller’s habit of printing, was a
work of so much labour and time, that the officiating clerk peeled and
ate three Ribstone pippins while it was performing.
As the elder Mr. Weller insisted on selling out his portion forthwith,
they proceeded from the bank to the gate of the Stock Exchange, to which
Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, after a short absence, returned with a cheque
on Smith, Payne, & Smith, for five hundred and thirty pounds; that being
the money to which Mr. Weller, at the market price of the day, was
entitled, in consideration of the balance of the second Mrs. Weller’s
funded savings. Sam’s two hundred pounds stood transferred to his name,
and Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, having been paid his commission, dropped
the money carelessly into his coat pocket, and lounged back to his
office.
Mr. Weller was at first obstinately determined on cashing the cheque in
nothing but sovereigns; but it being represented by the umpires that by
so doing he must incur the expense of a small sack to carry them home
in, he consented to receive the amount in five-pound notes.
‘My son,’ said Mr. Weller, as they came out of the banking-house--‘my
son and me has a wery partickler engagement this arternoon, and I should
like to have this here bis’ness settled out of hand, so let’s jest go
straight avay someveres, vere ve can hordit the accounts.’
A quiet room was soon found, and the accounts were produced and audited.
Mr. Pell’s bill was taxed by Sam, and some charges were disallowed by
the umpires; but, notwithstanding Mr. Pell’s declaration, accompanied
with many solemn asseverations that they were really too hard upon him,
it was by very many degrees the best professional job he had ever had,
and one on which he boarded, lodged, and washed, for six months
afterwards.
The umpires having partaken of a dram, shook hands and departed, as they
had to drive out of town that night. Mr. Solomon Pell, finding that
nothing more was going forward, either in the eating or drinking way,
took a friendly leave, and Sam and his father were left alone.
‘There!’ said Mr. Weller, thrusting his pocket-book in his side pocket.
‘Vith the bills for the lease, and that, there’s eleven hundred and
eighty pound here. Now, Samivel, my boy, turn the horses’ heads to the
George and Wulter!’
CHAPTER LVI. AN IMPORTANT CONFERENCE TAKES PLACE BETWEEN MR. PICKWICK
AND SAMUEL WELLER, AT WHICH HIS PARENT ASSISTS--AN OLD GENTLEMAN IN A
SNUFF-COLOURED SUIT ARRIVES UNEXPECTEDLY
Mr. Pickwick was sitting alone, musing over many things, and thinking
among other considerations how he could best provide for the young
couple whose present unsettled condition was matter of constant regret
and anxiety to him, when Mary stepped lightly into the room, and,
advancing to the table, said, rather hastily--
‘Oh, if you please, Sir, Samuel is downstairs, and he says may his
father see you?’
‘Surely,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
‘Thank you, Sir,’ said Mary, tripping towards the door again.
‘Sam has not been here long, has he?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘Oh, no, Sir,’ replied Mary eagerly. ‘He has only just come home. He is
not going to ask you for any more leave, Sir, he says.’
Mary might have been conscious that she had communicated this last
intelligence with more warmth than seemed actually necessary, or she
might have observed the good-humoured smile with which Mr. Pickwick
regarded her, when she had finished speaking. She certainly held down
her head, and examined the corner of a very smart little apron, with
more closeness than there appeared any absolute occasion for.
‘Tell them they can come up at once, by all means,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
Mary, apparently much relieved, hurried away with her message.
Mr. Pickwick took two or three turns up and down the room; and, rubbing
his chin with his left hand as he did so, appeared lost in thought.
‘Well, well,’ said Mr. Pickwick, at length in a kind but somewhat
melancholy tone, ‘it is the best way in which I could reward him for his
attachment and fidelity; let it be so, in Heaven’s name. It is the fate
of a lonely old man, that those about him should form new and different
attachments and leave him. I have no right to expect that it should be
otherwise with me. No, no,’ added Mr. Pickwick more cheerfully, ‘it
would be selfish and ungrateful. I ought to be happy to have an
opportunity of providing for him so well. I am. Of course I am.’
Mr. Pickwick had been so absorbed in these reflections, that a knock at
the door was three or four times repeated before he heard it. Hastily
seating himself, and calling up his accustomed pleasant looks, he gave
the required permission, and Sam Weller entered, followed by his father.
‘Glad to see you back again, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘How do you do,
Mr. Weller?’
‘Wery hearty, thank’ee, sir,’ replied the widower; ‘hope I see you well,
sir.’
‘Quite, I thank you,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
‘I wanted to have a little bit o’ conwersation with you, sir,’ said Mr.
Weller, ‘if you could spare me five minits or so, sir.’
‘Certainly,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘Sam, give your father a chair.’
‘Thank’ee, Samivel, I’ve got a cheer here,’ said Mr. Weller, bringing
one forward as he spoke; ‘uncommon fine day it’s been, sir,’ added the
old gentleman, laying his hat on the floor as he sat himself down.
‘Remarkably so, indeed,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘Very seasonable.’
‘Seasonablest veather I ever see, sir,’ rejoined Mr. Weller. Here, the
old gentleman was seized with a violent fit of coughing, which, being
terminated, he nodded his head and winked and made several supplicatory
and threatening gestures to his son, all of which Sam Weller steadily
abstained from seeing.
Mr. Pickwick, perceiving that there was some embarrassment on the old
gentleman’s part, affected to be engaged in cutting the leaves of a book
that lay beside him, and waited patiently until Mr. Weller should arrive
at the object of his visit.
‘I never see sich a aggrawatin’ boy as you are, Samivel,’ said Mr.
Weller, looking indignantly at his son; ‘never in all my born days.’
‘What is he doing, Mr. Weller?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘He von’t begin, sir,’ rejoined Mr. Weller; ‘he knows I ain’t ekal to
ex-pressin’ myself ven there’s anythin’ partickler to be done, and yet
he’ll stand and see me a-settin’ here taking up your walable time, and
makin’ a reg’lar spectacle o’ myself, rayther than help me out vith a
syllable. It ain’t filial conduct, Samivel,’ said Mr. Weller, wiping his
forehead; ‘wery far from it.’
‘You said you’d speak,’ replied Sam; ‘how should I know you wos done up
at the wery beginnin’?’
‘You might ha’ seen I warn’t able to start,’ rejoined his father; ‘I’m
on the wrong side of the road, and backin’ into the palin’s, and all
manner of unpleasantness, and yet you von’t put out a hand to help me.
I’m ashamed on you, Samivel.’
‘The fact is, Sir,’ said Sam, with a slight bow, ‘the gov’nor’s been a-
drawin’ his money.’
‘Wery good, Samivel, wery good,’ said Mr. Weller, nodding his head with
a satisfied air, ‘I didn’t mean to speak harsh to you, Sammy. Wery good.
That’s the vay to begin. Come to the pint at once. Wery good indeed,
Samivel.’
Mr. Weller nodded his head an extraordinary number of times, in the
excess of his gratification, and waited in a listening attitude for Sam
to resume his statement.
‘You may sit down, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, apprehending that the
interview was likely to prove rather longer than he had expected.
Sam bowed again and sat down; his father looking round, he continued--
‘The gov’nor, sir, has drawn out five hundred and thirty pound.’
‘Reduced counsels,’ interposed Mr. Weller, senior, in an undertone.
‘It don’t much matter vether it’s reduced counsels, or wot not,’ said
Sam; ‘five hundred and thirty pounds is the sum, ain’t it?’
‘All right, Samivel,’ replied Mr. Weller.
‘To vich sum, he has added for the house and bisness--’
‘Lease, good-vill, stock, and fixters,’ interposed Mr. Weller.
‘As much as makes it,’ continued Sam, ‘altogether, eleven hundred and
eighty pound.’
‘Indeed!’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘I am delighted to hear it. I congratulate
you, Mr. Weller, on having done so well.’
‘Vait a minit, Sir,’ said Mr. Weller, raising his hand in a deprecatory
manner. ‘Get on, Samivel.’
‘This here money,’ said Sam, with a little hesitation, ‘he’s anxious to
put someveres, vere he knows it’ll be safe, and I’m wery anxious too,
for if he keeps it, he’ll go a-lendin’ it to somebody, or inwestin’
property in horses, or droppin’ his pocket-book down an airy, or makin’
a Egyptian mummy of his-self in some vay or another.’
‘Wery good, Samivel,’ observed Mr. Weller, in as complacent a manner as
if Sam had been passing the highest eulogiums on his prudence and
foresight. ‘Wery good.’
‘For vich reasons,’ continued Sam, plucking nervously at the brim of his
hat--‘for vich reasons, he’s drawn it out to-day, and come here vith me
to say, leastvays to offer, or in other vords--’
‘To say this here,’ said the elder Mr. Weller impatiently, ‘that it
ain’t o’ no use to me. I’m a-goin’ to vork a coach reg’lar, and ha’n’t
got noveres to keep it in, unless I vos to pay the guard for takin’ care
on it, or to put it in vun o’ the coach pockets, vich ‘ud be a
temptation to the insides. If you’ll take care on it for me, sir, I
shall be wery much obliged to you. P’raps,’ said Mr. Weller, walking up
to Mr. Pickwick and whispering in his ear--‘p’raps it’ll go a little vay