The Pickwick Papers
Whether it was done in good time, or not, will be seen hereafter.
CHAPTER XXIV. WHEREIN MR. PETER MAGNUS GROWS JEALOUS, AND THE MIDDLE-
AGED LADY APPREHENSIVE, WHICH BRINGS THE PICKWICKIANS WITHIN THE GRASP
OF THE LAW
When Mr. Pickwick descended to the room in which he and Mr. Peter Magnus
had spent the preceding evening, he found that gentleman with the major
part of the contents of the two bags, the leathern hat-box, and the
brown-paper parcel, displaying to all possible advantage on his person,
while he himself was pacing up and down the room in a state of the
utmost excitement and agitation.
‘Good-morning, Sir,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus. ‘What do you think of this,
Sir?’
‘Very effective indeed,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, surveying the garments of
Mr. Peter Magnus with a good-natured smile.
‘Yes, I think it’ll do,’ said Mr. Magnus. ‘Mr. Pickwick, Sir, I have
sent up my card.’
‘Have you?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘And the waiter brought back word, that she would see me at eleven--at
eleven, Sir; it only wants a quarter now.’
‘Very near the time,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Yes, it is rather near,’ replied Mr. Magnus, ‘rather too near to be
pleasant--eh! Mr. Pickwick, sir?’
‘Confidence is a great thing in these cases,’ observed Mr. Pickwick.
‘I believe it is, Sir,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus. ‘I am very confident,
Sir. Really, Mr. Pickwick, I do not see why a man should feel any fear
in such a case as this, sir. What is it, Sir? There’s nothing to be
ashamed of; it’s a matter of mutual accommodation, nothing more. Husband
on one side, wife on the other. That’s my view of the matter, Mr.
Pickwick.’
‘It is a very philosophical one,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘But breakfast
is waiting, Mr. Magnus. Come.’
Down they sat to breakfast, but it was evident, notwithstanding the
boasting of Mr. Peter Magnus, that he laboured under a very considerable
degree of nervousness, of which loss of appetite, a propensity to upset
the tea-things, a spectral attempt at drollery, and an irresistible
inclination to look at the clock, every other second, were among the
principal symptoms.
‘He-he-he,’ tittered Mr. Magnus, affecting cheerfulness, and gasping
with agitation. ‘It only wants two minutes, Mr. Pickwick. Am I pale,
Sir?’
‘Not very,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
There was a brief pause.
‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick; but have you ever done this sort of
thing in your time?’ said Mr. Magnus.
‘You mean proposing?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Yes.’
‘Never,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with great energy, ‘never.’
‘You have no idea, then, how it’s best to begin?’ said Mr. Magnus.
‘Why,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I may have formed some ideas upon the
subject, but, as I have never submitted them to the test of experience,
I should be sorry if you were induced to regulate your proceedings by
them.’
‘I should feel very much obliged to you, for any advice, Sir,’ said Mr.
Magnus, taking another look at the clock, the hand of which was verging
on the five minutes past.
‘Well, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with the profound solemnity with which
that great man could, when he pleased, render his remarks so deeply
impressive. ‘I should commence, sir, with a tribute to the lady’s beauty
and excellent qualities; from them, Sir, I should diverge to my own
unworthiness.’
‘Very good,’ said Mr. Magnus.
‘Unworthiness for _her _only, mind, sir,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick; ‘for to
show that I was not wholly unworthy, sir, I should take a brief review
of my past life, and present condition. I should argue, by analogy, that
to anybody else, I must be a very desirable object. I should then
expatiate on the warmth of my love, and the depth of my devotion.
Perhaps I might then be tempted to seize her hand.’
‘Yes, I see,’ said Mr. Magnus; ‘that would be a very great point.’
‘I should then, Sir,’ continued Mr. Pickwick, growing warmer as the
subject presented itself in more glowing colours before him--‘I should
then, Sir, come to the plain and simple question, “Will you have me?” I
think I am justified in assuming that upon this, she would turn away her
head.’
‘You think that may be taken for granted?’ said Mr. Magnus; ‘because, if
she did not do that at the right place, it would be embarrassing.’
‘I think she would,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Upon this, sir, I should
squeeze her hand, and I think--I think, Mr. Magnus--that after I had
done that, supposing there was no refusal, I should gently draw away the
handkerchief, which my slight knowledge of human nature leads me to
suppose the lady would be applying to her eyes at the moment, and steal
a respectful kiss. I think I should kiss her, Mr. Magnus; and at this
particular point, I am decidedly of opinion that if the lady were going
to take me at all, she would murmur into my ears a bashful acceptance.’
Mr. Magnus started; gazed on Mr. Pickwick’s intelligent face, for a
short time in silence; and then (the dial pointing to the ten minutes
past) shook him warmly by the hand, and rushed desperately from the
room.
Mr. Pickwick had taken a few strides to and fro; and the small hand of
the clock following the latter part of his example, had arrived at the
figure which indicates the half-hour, when the door suddenly opened. He
turned round to meet Mr. Peter Magnus, and encountered, in his stead,
the joyous face of Mr. Tupman, the serene countenance of Mr. Winkle, and
the intellectual lineaments of Mr. Snodgrass.
As Mr. Pickwick greeted them, Mr. Peter Magnus tripped into the room.
‘My friends, the gentleman I was speaking of--Mr. Magnus,’ said Mr.
Pickwick.
‘Your servant, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Magnus, evidently in a high state of
excitement; ‘Mr. Pickwick, allow me to speak to you one moment, sir.’
As he said this, Mr. Magnus harnessed his forefinger to Mr. Pickwick’s
buttonhole, and, drawing him to a window recess, said--
‘Congratulate me, Mr. Pickwick; I followed your advice to the very
letter.’
‘And it was all correct, was it?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘It was, Sir. Could not possibly have been better,’ replied Mr. Magnus.
‘Mr. Pickwick, she is mine.’
‘I congratulate you, with all my heart,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, warmly
shaking his new friend by the hand.
‘You must see her. Sir,’ said Mr. Magnus; ‘this way, if you please.
Excuse us for one instant, gentlemen.’ Hurrying on in this way, Mr.
Peter Magnus drew Mr. Pickwick from the room. He paused at the next door
in the passage, and tapped gently thereat.
‘Come in,’ said a female voice. And in they went.
‘Miss Witherfield,’ said Mr. Magnus, ‘allow me to introduce my very
particular friend, Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick, I beg to make you known
to Miss Witherfield.’
The lady was at the upper end of the room. As Mr. Pickwick bowed, he
took his spectacles from his waistcoat pocket, and put them on; a
process which he had no sooner gone through, than, uttering an
exclamation of surprise, Mr. Pickwick retreated several paces, and the
lady, with a half-suppressed scream, hid her face in her hands, and
dropped into a chair; whereupon Mr. Peter Magnus was stricken motionless
on the spot, and gazed from one to the other, with a countenance
expressive of the extremities of horror and surprise.
This certainly was, to all appearance, very unaccountable behaviour; but
the fact is, that Mr. Pickwick no sooner put on his spectacles, than he
at once recognised in the future Mrs. Magnus the lady into whose room he
had so unwarrantably intruded on the previous night; and the spectacles
had no sooner crossed Mr. Pickwick’s nose, than the lady at once
identified the countenance which she had seen surrounded by all the
horrors of a nightcap. So the lady screamed, and Mr. Pickwick started.
‘Mr. Pickwick!’ exclaimed Mr. Magnus, lost in astonishment, ‘what is the
meaning of this, Sir? What is the meaning of it, Sir?’ added Mr. Magnus,
in a threatening, and a louder tone.
‘Sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, somewhat indignant at the very sudden manner
in which Mr. Peter Magnus had conjugated himself into the imperative
mood, ‘I decline answering that question.’
‘You decline it, Sir?’ said Mr. Magnus.
‘I do, Sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘I object to say anything which may
compromise that lady, or awaken unpleasant recollections in her breast,
without her consent and permission.’
‘Miss Witherfield,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus, ‘do you know this person?’
‘Know him!’ repeated the middle-aged lady, hesitating.
‘Yes, know him, ma’am; I said know him,’ replied Mr. Magnus, with
ferocity.
‘I have seen him,’ replied the middle-aged lady.
‘Where?’ inquired Mr. Magnus, ‘where?’
‘That,’ said the middle-aged lady, rising from her seat, and averting
her head--‘that I would not reveal for worlds.’
‘I understand you, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘and respect your
delicacy; it shall never be revealed by _me_ depend upon it.’
‘Upon my word, ma’am,’ said Mr. Magnus, ‘considering the situation in
which I am placed with regard to yourself, you carry this matter off
with tolerable coolness--tolerable coolness, ma’am.’
‘Cruel Mr. Magnus!’ said the middle-aged lady; here she wept very
copiously indeed.
‘Address your observations to me, sir,’ interposed Mr. Pickwick; ‘I
alone am to blame, if anybody be.’
‘Oh! you alone are to blame, are you, sir?’ said Mr. Magnus; ‘I--I--see
through this, sir. You repent of your determination now, do you?’
‘My determination!’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Your determination, Sir. Oh! don’t stare at me, Sir,’ said Mr. Magnus;
‘I recollect your words last night, Sir. You came down here, sir, to
expose the treachery and falsehood of an individual on whose truth and
honour you had placed implicit reliance--eh?’ Here Mr. Peter Magnus
indulged in a prolonged sneer; and taking off his green spectacles--
which he probably found superfluous in his fit of jealousy--rolled his
little eyes about, in a manner frightful to behold.
‘Eh?’ said Mr. Magnus; and then he repeated the sneer with increased
effect. ‘But you shall answer it, Sir.’
‘Answer what?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Never mind, sir,’ replied Mr. Magnus, striding up and down the room.
‘Never mind.’
There must be something very comprehensive in this phrase of ‘Never
mind,’ for we do not recollect to have ever witnessed a quarrel in the
street, at a theatre, public room, or elsewhere, in which it has not
been the standard reply to all belligerent inquiries. ‘Do you call
yourself a gentleman, sir?’--‘Never mind, sir.’
Did I offer to say anything to the young woman, sir?’--‘Never mind,
sir.’
Do you want your head knocked up against that wall, sir?’--‘Never mind,
sir.’ It is observable, too, that there would appear to be some hidden
taunt in this universal ‘Never mind,’ which rouses more indignation in
the bosom of the individual addressed, than the most lavish abuse could
possibly awaken.
We do not mean to assert that the application of this brevity to
himself, struck exactly that indignation to Mr. Pickwick’s soul, which
it would infallibly have roused in a vulgar breast. We merely record the
fact that Mr. Pickwick opened the room door, and abruptly called out,
‘Tupman, come here!’
Mr. Tupman immediately presented himself, with a look of very
considerable surprise.
‘Tupman,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘a secret of some delicacy, in which that
lady is concerned, is the cause of a difference which has just arisen
between this gentleman and myself. When I assure him, in your presence,
that it has no relation to himself, and is not in any way connected with
his affairs, I need hardly beg you to take notice that if he continue to
dispute it, he expresses a doubt of my veracity, which I shall consider
extremely insulting.’ As Mr. Pickwick said this, he looked encyclopedias
at Mr. Peter Magnus.
Mr. Pickwick’s upright and honourable bearing, coupled with that force