The Pickwick Papers
‘If you’d sent word you was a-coming, we’d ha’ had it repaired;’ replied
the imperturbable Sam.
The little man seemed rather baffled by these several repulses, and a
short consultation took place between him and the two plump gentlemen.
At its conclusion, the little man took a pinch of snuff from an oblong
silver box, and was apparently on the point of renewing the
conversation, when one of the plump gentlemen, who in addition to a
benevolent countenance, possessed a pair of spectacles, and a pair of
black gaiters, interfered--
‘The fact of the matter is,’ said the benevolent gentleman, ‘that my
friend here (pointing to the other plump gentleman) will give you half a
guinea, if you’ll answer one or two--’
‘Now, my dear sir--my dear Sir,’ said the little man, ‘pray, allow me--
my dear Sir, the very first principle to be observed in these cases, is
this: if you place the matter in the hands of a professional man, you
must in no way interfere in the progress of the business; you must
repose implicit confidence in him. Really, Mr.--’ He turned to the other
plump gentleman, and said, ‘I forget your friend’s name.’
‘Pickwick,’ said Mr. Wardle, for it was no other than that jolly
personage.
‘Ah, Pickwick--really Mr. Pickwick, my dear Sir, excuse me--I shall be
happy to receive any private suggestions of yours, as AMICUS CURIAE, but
you must see the impropriety of your interfering with my conduct in this
case, with such an AD CAPTANDUM argument as the offer of half a guinea.
Really, my dear Sir, really;’ and the little man took an argumentative
pinch of snuff, and looked very profound.
‘My only wish, Sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘was to bring this very
unpleasant matter to as speedy a close as possible.’
‘Quite right--quite right,’ said the little man.
‘With which view,’ continued Mr. Pickwick, ‘I made use of the argument
which my experience of men has taught me is the most likely to succeed
in any case.’
‘Ay, ay,’ said the little man, ‘very good, very good, indeed; but you
should have suggested it to me. My dear sir, I’m quite certain you
cannot be ignorant of the extent of confidence which must be placed in
professional men. If any authority can be necessary on such a point, my
dear sir, let me refer you to the well-known case in Barnwell and--’
‘Never mind George Barnwell,’ interrupted Sam, who had remained a
wondering listener during this short colloquy; ‘everybody knows what
sort of a case his was, tho’ it’s always been my opinion, mind you, that
the young ‘ooman deserved scragging a precious sight more than he did.
Hows’ever, that’s neither here nor there. You want me to accept of half
a guinea. Wery well, I’m agreeable: I can’t say no fairer than that, can
I, sir?’ (Mr. Pickwick smiled.) Then the next question is, what the
devil do you want with me, as the man said, wen he see the ghost?’
‘We want to know--’ said Mr. Wardle.
‘Now, my dear sir--my dear sir,’ interposed the busy little man.
Mr. Wardle shrugged his shoulders, and was silent.
‘We want to know,’ said the little man solemnly; ‘and we ask the
question of you, in order that we may not awaken apprehensions inside--
we want to know who you’ve got in this house at present?’
‘Who there is in the house!’ said Sam, in whose mind the inmates were
always represented by that particular article of their costume, which
came under his immediate superintendence. ‘There’s a vooden leg in
number six; there’s a pair of Hessians in thirteen; there’s two pair of
halves in the commercial; there’s these here painted tops in the
snuggery inside the bar; and five more tops in the coffee-room.’
‘Nothing more?’ said the little man.
‘Stop a bit,’ replied Sam, suddenly recollecting himself. ‘Yes; there’s
a pair of Vellingtons a good deal worn, and a pair o’ lady’s shoes, in
number five.’
‘What sort of shoes?’ hastily inquired Wardle, who, together with Mr.
Pickwick, had been lost in bewilderment at the singular catalogue of
visitors.
‘Country make,’ replied Sam.
‘Any maker’s name?’
‘Brown.’
‘Where of?’
‘Muggleton.
‘It is them,’ exclaimed Wardle. ‘By heavens, we’ve found them.’
‘Hush!’ said Sam. ‘The Vellingtons has gone to Doctors’ Commons.’
‘No,’ said the little man.
‘Yes, for a licence.’
‘We’re in time,’ exclaimed Wardle. ‘Show us the room; not a moment is to
be lost.’
‘Pray, my dear sir--pray,’ said the little man; ‘caution, caution.’ He
drew from his pocket a red silk purse, and looked very hard at Sam as he
drew out a sovereign.
Sam grinned expressively.
‘Show us into the room at once, without announcing us,’ said the little
man, ‘and it’s yours.’
Sam threw the painted tops into a corner, and led the way through a dark
passage, and up a wide staircase. He paused at the end of a second
passage, and held out his hand.
‘Here it is,’ whispered the attorney, as he deposited the money on the
hand of their guide.
The man stepped forward for a few paces, followed by the two friends and
their legal adviser. He stopped at a door.
‘Is this the room?’ murmured the little gentleman.
Sam nodded assent.
Old Wardle opened the door; and the whole three walked into the room
just as Mr. Jingle, who had that moment returned, had produced the
licence to the spinster aunt.
The spinster uttered a loud shriek, and throwing herself into a chair,
covered her face with her hands. Mr. Jingle crumpled up the licence, and
thrust it into his coat pocket. The unwelcome visitors advanced into the
middle of the room.
‘You--you are a nice rascal, arn’t you?’ exclaimed Wardle, breathless
with passion.
‘My dear Sir, my dear sir,’ said the little man, laying his hat on the
table, ‘pray, consider--pray. Defamation of character: action for
damages. Calm yourself, my dear sir, pray--’
‘How dare you drag my sister from my house?’ said the old man.
Ay--ay--very good,’ said the little gentleman, ‘you may ask that. How
dare you, sir?--eh, sir?’
‘Who the devil are you?’ inquired Mr. Jingle, in so fierce a tone, that
the little gentleman involuntarily fell back a step or two.
‘Who is he, you scoundrel,’ interposed Wardle. ‘He’s my lawyer, Mr.
Perker, of Gray’s Inn. Perker, I’ll have this fellow prosecuted--
indicted--I’ll--I’ll--I’ll ruin him. And you,’ continued Mr. Wardle,
turning abruptly round to his sister--‘you, Rachael, at a time of life
when you ought to know better, what do you mean by running away with a
vagabond, disgracing your family, and making yourself miserable? Get on
your bonnet and come back. Call a hackney-coach there, directly, and
bring this lady’s bill, d’ye hear--d’ye hear?’
Cert’nly, Sir,’ replied Sam, who had answered Wardle’s violent ringing
of the bell with a degree of celerity which must have appeared
marvellous to anybody who didn’t know that his eye had been applied to
the outside of the keyhole during the whole interview.
‘Get on your bonnet,’ repeated Wardle.
‘Do nothing of the kind,’ said Jingle. ‘Leave the room, Sir--no business
here--lady’s free to act as she pleases--more than one-and-twenty.’
‘More than one-and-twenty!’ ejaculated Wardle contemptuously. ‘More than
one-and-forty!’
‘I ain’t,’ said the spinster aunt, her indignation getting the better of
her determination to faint.
‘You are,’ replied Wardle; ‘you’re fifty if you’re an hour.’
Here the spinster aunt uttered a loud shriek, and became senseless.
‘A glass of water,’ said the humane Mr. Pickwick, summoning the
landlady.
‘A glass of water!’ said the passionate Wardle. ‘Bring a bucket, and
throw it all over her; it’ll do her good, and she richly deserves it.’
‘Ugh, you brute!’ ejaculated the kind-hearted landlady. ‘Poor dear.’ And
with sundry ejaculations of ‘Come now, there’s a dear--drink a little of
this--it’ll do you good--don’t give way so--there’s a love,’ etc. etc.,
the landlady, assisted by a chambermaid, proceeded to vinegar the
forehead, beat the hands, titillate the nose, and unlace the stays of
the spinster aunt, and to administer such other restoratives as are
usually applied by compassionate females to ladies who are endeavouring
to ferment themselves into hysterics.
‘Coach is ready, Sir,’ said Sam, appearing at the door.
‘Come along,’ cried Wardle. ‘I’ll carry her downstairs.’
At this proposition, the hysterics came on with redoubled violence.
The landlady was about to enter a very violent protest against this
proceeding, and had already given vent to an indignant inquiry whether
Mr. Wardle considered himself a lord of the creation, when Mr. Jingle
interposed--
‘Boots,’ said he, ‘get me an officer.’
‘Stay, stay,’ said little Mr. Perker. ‘Consider, Sir, consider.’
‘I’ll not consider,’ replied Jingle. ‘She’s her own mistress--see who
dares to take her away--unless she wishes it.’
‘I _won’t_ be taken away,’ murmured the spinster aunt. ‘I _don’t_ wish
it.’ (Here there was a frightful relapse.)
‘My dear Sir,’ said the little man, in a low tone, taking Mr. Wardle and
Mr. Pickwick apart--‘my dear Sir, we’re in a very awkward situation.
It’s a distressing case--very; I never knew one more so; but really, my
dear sir, really we have no power to control this lady’s actions. I
warned you before we came, my dear sir, that there was nothing to look
to but a compromise.’
There was a short pause.
‘What kind of compromise would you recommend?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘Why, my dear Sir, our friend’s in an unpleasant position--very much so.
We must be content to suffer some pecuniary loss.’
‘I’ll suffer any, rather than submit to this disgrace, and let her, fool
as she is, be made miserable for life,’ said Wardle.
‘I rather think it can be done,’ said the bustling little man. ‘Mr.
Jingle, will you step with us into the next room for a moment?’
Mr. Jingle assented, and the quartette walked into an empty apartment.
‘Now, sir,’ said the little man, as he carefully closed the door, ‘is
there no way of accommodating this matter--step this way, sir, for a
moment--into this window, Sir, where we can be alone--there, sir, there,
pray sit down, sir. Now, my dear Sir, between you and I, we know very
well, my dear Sir, that you have run off with this lady for the sake of
her money. Don’t frown, Sir, don’t frown; I say, between you and I, _we_
know it. We are both men of the world, and WE know very well that our
friends here, are not--eh?’
Mr. Jingle’s face gradually relaxed; and something distantly resembling
a wink quivered for an instant in his left eye.
‘Very good, very good,’ said the little man, observing the impression he
had made. ‘Now, the fact is, that beyond a few hundreds, the lady has
little or nothing till the death of her mother--fine old lady, my dear
Sir.’
‘_Old_,’ said Mr. Jingle briefly but emphatically.
‘Why, yes,’ said the attorney, with a slight cough. ‘You are right, my
dear Sir, she is rather old. She comes of an old family though, my dear
Sir; old in every sense of the word. The founder of that family came
into Kent when Julius Caesar invaded Britain;--only one member of it,
since, who hasn’t lived to eighty-five, and he was beheaded by one of
the Henrys. The old lady is not seventy-three now, my dear Sir.’ The
little man paused, and took a pinch of snuff.
‘Well,’ cried Mr. Jingle.
‘Well, my dear sir--you don’t take snuff!--ah! so much the better--
expensive habit--well, my dear Sir, you’re a fine young man, man of the
world--able to push your fortune, if you had capital, eh?’
‘Well,’ said Mr. Jingle again.
‘Do you comprehend me?’
‘Not quite.’
‘Don’t you think--now, my dear Sir, I put it to you don’t you think--
that fifty pounds and liberty would be better than Miss Wardle and
expectation?’
‘Won’t do--not half enough!’ said Mr. Jingle, rising.
‘Nay, nay, my dear Sir,’ remonstrated the little attorney, seizing him