The Pickwick Papers
he sat by the fireside. There was a sympathising expression, too, in the
features of Mr. Ben Allen, as he gazed intently on the coals, and a tone
of melancholy in his voice, as he said, after a long silence--
‘Well, it is unlucky she should have taken it in her head to turn sour,
just on this occasion. She might at least have waited till to-morrow.’
‘That’s her malevolence--that’s her malevolence,’ returned Mr. Bob
Sawyer vehemently. ‘She says that if I can afford to give a party I
ought to be able to pay her confounded “little bill.”’
How long has it been running?’ inquired Mr. Ben Allen. A bill, by the
bye, is the most extraordinary locomotive engine that the genius of man
ever produced. It would keep on running during the longest lifetime,
without ever once stopping of its own accord.
‘Only a quarter, and a month or so,’ replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.
Ben Allen coughed hopelessly, and directed a searching look between the
two top bars of the stove.
‘It’ll be a deuced unpleasant thing if she takes it into her head to let
out, when those fellows are here, won’t it?’ said Mr. Ben Allen at
length.
‘Horrible,’ replied Bob Sawyer, ‘horrible.’
A low tap was heard at the room door. Mr. Bob Sawyer looked expressively
at his friend, and bade the tapper come in; whereupon a dirty, slipshod
girl in black cotton stockings, who might have passed for the neglected
daughter of a superannuated dustman in very reduced circumstances,
thrust in her head, and said--
‘Please, Mister Sawyer, Missis Raddle wants to speak to you.’
Before Mr. Bob Sawyer could return any answer, the girl suddenly
disappeared with a jerk, as if somebody had given her a violent pull
behind; this mysterious exit was no sooner accomplished, than there was
another tap at the door--a smart, pointed tap, which seemed to say,
‘Here I am, and in I’m coming.’
Mr. Bob Sawyer glanced at his friend with a look of abject apprehension,
and once more cried, ‘Come in.’
The permission was not at all necessary, for, before Mr. Bob Sawyer had
uttered the words, a little, fierce woman bounced into the room, all in
a tremble with passion, and pale with rage.
‘Now, Mr. Sawyer,’ said the little, fierce woman, trying to appear very
calm, ‘if you’ll have the kindness to settle that little bill of mine
I’ll thank you, because I’ve got my rent to pay this afternoon, and my
landlord’s a-waiting below now.’ Here the little woman rubbed her hands,
and looked steadily over Mr. Bob Sawyer’s head, at the wall behind him.
‘I am very sorry to put you to any inconvenience, Mrs. Raddle,’ said Bob
Sawyer deferentially, ‘but--’
‘Oh, it isn’t any inconvenience,’ replied the little woman, with a
shrill titter. ‘I didn’t want it particular before to-day; leastways, as
it has to go to my landlord directly, it was as well for you to keep it
as me. You promised me this afternoon, Mr. Sawyer, and every gentleman
as has ever lived here, has kept his word, Sir, as of course anybody as
calls himself a gentleman does.’ Mrs. Raddle tossed her head, bit her
lips, rubbed her hands harder, and looked at the wall more steadily than
ever. It was plain to see, as Mr. Bob Sawyer remarked in a style of
Eastern allegory on a subsequent occasion, that she was ‘getting the
steam up.’
‘I am very sorry, Mrs. Raddle,’ said Bob Sawyer, with all imaginable
humility, ‘but the fact is, that I have been disappointed in the City
to-day.’--Extraordinary place that City. An astonishing number of men
always _are _getting disappointed there.
‘Well, Mr. Sawyer,’ said Mrs. Raddle, planting herself firmly on a
purple cauliflower in the Kidderminster carpet, ‘and what’s that to me,
Sir?’
‘I--I--have no doubt, Mrs. Raddle,’ said Bob Sawyer, blinking this last
question, ‘that before the middle of next week we shall be able to set
ourselves quite square, and go on, on a better system, afterwards.’
This was all Mrs. Raddle wanted. She had bustled up to the apartment of
the unlucky Bob Sawyer, so bent upon going into a passion, that, in all
probability, payment would have rather disappointed her than otherwise.
She was in excellent order for a little relaxation of the kind, having
just exchanged a few introductory compliments with Mr. R. in the front
kitchen.
‘Do you suppose, Mr. Sawyer,’ said Mrs. Raddle, elevating her voice for
the information of the neighbours--‘do you suppose that I’m a-going day
after day to let a fellar occupy my lodgings as never thinks of paying
his rent, nor even the very money laid out for the fresh butter and lump
sugar that’s bought for his breakfast, and the very milk that’s took in,
at the street door? Do you suppose a hard-working and industrious woman
as has lived in this street for twenty year (ten year over the way, and
nine year and three-quarters in this very house) has nothing else to do
but to work herself to death after a parcel of lazy idle fellars, that
are always smoking and drinking, and lounging, when they ought to be
glad to turn their hands to anything that would help ‘em to pay their
bills? Do you--’
‘My good soul,’ interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen soothingly.
‘Have the goodness to keep your observashuns to yourself, Sir, I beg,’
said Mrs. Raddle, suddenly arresting the rapid torrent of her speech,
and addressing the third party with impressive slowness and solemnity.
‘I am not aweer, Sir, that you have any right to address your
conversation to me. I don’t think I let these apartments to you, Sir.’
‘No, you certainly did not,’ said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
‘Very good, Sir,’ responded Mrs. Raddle, with lofty politeness. ‘Then
p’raps, Sir, you’ll confine yourself to breaking the arms and legs of
the poor people in the hospitals, and keep yourself _to_ yourself, Sir,
or there may be some persons here as will make you, Sir.’
‘But you are such an unreasonable woman,’ remonstrated Mr. Benjamin
Allen.
‘I beg your parding, young man,’ said Mrs. Raddle, in a cold
perspiration of anger. ‘But will you have the goodness just to call me
that again, sir?’
‘I didn’t make use of the word in any invidious sense, ma’am,’ replied
Mr. Benjamin Allen, growing somewhat uneasy on his own account.
‘I beg your parding, young man,’ demanded Mrs. Raddle, in a louder and
more imperative tone. ‘But who do you call a woman? Did you make that
remark to me, sir?’
‘Why, bless my heart!’ said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
‘Did you apply that name to me, I ask of you, sir?’ interrupted Mrs.
Raddle, with intense fierceness, throwing the door wide open.
‘Why, of course I did,’ replied Mr. Benjamin Allen.
‘Yes, of course you did,’ said Mrs. Raddle, backing gradually to the
door, and raising her voice to its loudest pitch, for the special behoof
of Mr. Raddle in the kitchen. ‘Yes, of course you did! And everybody
knows that they may safely insult me in my own ‘ouse while my husband
sits sleeping downstairs, and taking no more notice than if I was a dog
in the streets. He ought to be ashamed of himself (here Mrs. Raddle
sobbed) to allow his wife to be treated in this way by a parcel of young
cutters and carvers of live people’s bodies, that disgraces the lodgings
(another sob), and leaving her exposed to all manner of abuse; a base,
faint-hearted, timorous wretch, that’s afraid to come upstairs, and face
the ruffinly creatures--that’s afraid--that’s afraid to come!’ Mrs.
Raddle paused to listen whether the repetition of the taunt had roused
her better half; and finding that it had not been successful, proceeded
to descend the stairs with sobs innumerable; when there came a loud
double knock at the street door; whereupon she burst into an hysterical
fit of weeping, accompanied with dismal moans, which was prolonged until
the knock had been repeated six times, when, in an uncontrollable burst
of mental agony, she threw down all the umbrellas, and disappeared into
the back parlour, closing the door after her with an awful crash.
‘Does Mr. Sawyer live here?’ said Mr. Pickwick, when the door was
opened.
‘Yes,’ said the girl, ‘first floor. It’s the door straight afore you,
when you gets to the top of the stairs.’ Having given this instruction,
the handmaid, who had been brought up among the aboriginal inhabitants
of Southwark, disappeared, with the candle in her hand, down the kitchen
stairs, perfectly satisfied that she had done everything that could
possibly be required of her under the circumstances.
Mr. Snodgrass, who entered last, secured the street door, after several
ineffectual efforts, by putting up the chain; and the friends stumbled
upstairs, where they were received by Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been
afraid to go down, lest he should be waylaid by Mrs. Raddle.
‘How are you?’ said the discomfited student. ‘Glad to see you--take care
of the glasses.’ This caution was addressed to Mr. Pickwick, who had put
his hat in the tray.
‘Dear me,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I beg your pardon.’
‘Don’t mention it, don’t mention it,’ said Bob Sawyer. ‘I’m rather
confined for room here, but you must put up with all that, when you come
to see a young bachelor. Walk in. You’ve seen this gentleman before, I
think?’ Mr. Pickwick shook hands with Mr. Benjamin Allen, and his
friends followed his example. They had scarcely taken their seats when
there was another double knock.
‘I hope that’s Jack Hopkins!’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer. ‘Hush. Yes, it is.
Come up, Jack; come up.’
A heavy footstep was heard upon the stairs, and Jack Hopkins presented
himself. He wore a black velvet waistcoat, with thunder-and-lightning
buttons; and a blue striped shirt, with a white false collar.
‘You’re late, Jack?’ said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
‘Been detained at Bartholomew’s,’ replied Hopkins.
‘Anything new?’
‘No, nothing particular. Rather a good accident brought into the
casualty ward.’
‘What was that, sir?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘Only a man fallen out of a four pair of stairs’ window; but it’s a very
fair case indeed.’
‘Do you mean that the patient is in a fair way to recover?’ inquired Mr.
Pickwick.
‘No,’ replied Mr. Hopkins carelessly. ‘No, I should rather say he
wouldn’t. There must be a splendid operation, though, to-morrow--
magnificent sight if Slasher does it.’
‘You consider Mr. Slasher a good operator?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Best alive,’ replied Hopkins. ‘Took a boy’s leg out of the socket last
week--boy ate five apples and a gingerbread cake--exactly two minutes
after it was all over, boy said he wouldn’t lie there to be made game
of, and he’d tell his mother if they didn’t begin.’
‘Dear me!’ said Mr. Pickwick, astonished.
‘Pooh! That’s nothing, that ain’t,’ said Jack Hopkins. ‘Is it, Bob?’
‘Nothing at all,’ replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.
‘By the bye, Bob,’ said Hopkins, with a scarcely perceptible glance at
Mr. Pickwick’s attentive face, ‘we had a curious accident last night. A
child was brought in, who had swallowed a necklace.’
‘Swallowed what, Sir?’ interrupted Mr. Pickwick.
‘A necklace,’ replied Jack Hopkins. ‘Not all at once, you know, that
would be too much--you couldn’t swallow that, if the child did--eh, Mr.
Pickwick? ha, ha!’ Mr. Hopkins appeared highly gratified with his own
pleasantry, and continued--‘No, the way was this. Child’s parents were
poor people who lived in a court. Child’s eldest sister bought a
necklace--common necklace, made of large black wooden beads. Child being
fond of toys, cribbed the necklace, hid it, played with it, cut the
string, and swallowed a bead. Child thought it capital fun, went back
next day, and swallowed another bead.’
‘Bless my heart,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘what a dreadful thing! I beg your
pardon, Sir. Go on.’
‘Next day, child swallowed two beads; the day after that, he treated
himself to three, and so on, till in a week’s time he had got through
the necklace--five-and-twenty beads in all. The sister, who was an