The Pickwick Papers
my knowledge; which has happened I may say within the soap of my
everyday contemplation. Gentlemen, our friend Mr. Whiffers (everybody
looked at the individual in orange), our friend Mr. Whiffers has
resigned.’
Universal astonishment fell upon the hearers. Each gentleman looked in
his neighbour’s face, and then transferred his glance to the upstanding
coachman.
‘You may well be sapparised, gentlemen,’ said the coachman. ‘I will not
wenchure to state the reasons of this irrepairabel loss to the service,
but I will beg Mr. Whiffers to state them himself, for the improvement
and imitation of his admiring friends.’
The suggestion being loudly approved of, Mr. Whiffers explained. He said
he certainly could have wished to have continued to hold the appointment
he had just resigned. The uniform was extremely rich and expensive, the
females of the family was most agreeable, and the duties of the
situation was not, he was bound to say, too heavy; the principal service
that was required of him, being, that he should look out of the hall
window as much as possible, in company with another gentleman, who had
also resigned. He could have wished to have spared that company the
painful and disgusting detail on which he was about to enter, but as the
explanation had been demanded of him, he had no alternative but to
state, boldly and distinctly, that he had been required to eat cold
meat.
It is impossible to conceive the disgust which this avowal awakened in
the bosoms of the hearers. Loud cries of ‘Shame,’ mingled with groans
and hisses, prevailed for a quarter of an hour.
Mr. Whiffers then added that he feared a portion of this outrage might
be traced to his own forbearing and accommodating disposition. He had a
distinct recollection of having once consented to eat salt butter, and
he had, moreover, on an occasion of sudden sickness in the house, so far
forgotten himself as to carry a coal-scuttle up to the second floor. He
trusted he had not lowered himself in the good opinion of his friends by
this frank confession of his faults; and he hoped the promptness with
which he had resented the last unmanly outrage on his feelings, to which
he had referred, would reinstate him in their good opinion, if he had.
Mr. Whiffers’s address was responded to, with a shout of admiration, and
the health of the interesting martyr was drunk in a most enthusiastic
manner; for this, the martyr returned thanks, and proposed their
visitor, Mr. Weller--a gentleman whom he had not the pleasure of an
intimate acquaintance with, but who was the friend of Mr. John Smauker,
which was a sufficient letter of recommendation to any society of
gentlemen whatever, or wherever. On this account, he should have been
disposed to have given Mr. Weller’s health with all the honours, if his
friends had been drinking wine; but as they were taking spirits by way
of a change, and as it might be inconvenient to empty a tumbler at every
toast, he should propose that the honours be understood.
At the conclusion of this speech, everybody took a sip in honour of Sam;
and Sam having ladled out, and drunk, two full glasses of punch in
honour of himself, returned thanks in a neat speech.
‘Wery much obliged to you, old fellers,’ said Sam, ladling away at the
punch in the most unembarrassed manner possible, ‘for this here
compliment; which, comin’ from sich a quarter, is wery overvelmin’. I’ve
heered a good deal on you as a body, but I will say, that I never
thought you was sich uncommon nice men as I find you air. I only hope
you’ll take care o’ yourselves, and not compromise nothin’ o’ your
dignity, which is a wery charmin’ thing to see, when one’s out a-
walkin’, and has always made me wery happy to look at, ever since I was
a boy about half as high as the brass-headed stick o’ my wery
respectable friend, Blazes, there. As to the wictim of oppression in the
suit o’ brimstone, all I can say of him, is, that I hope he’ll get jist
as good a berth as he deserves; in vitch case it’s wery little cold
swarry as ever he’ll be troubled with agin.’
Here Sam sat down with a pleasant smile, and his speech having been
vociferously applauded, the company broke up.
‘Wy, you don’t mean to say you’re a-goin’ old feller?’ said Sam Weller
to his friend, Mr. John Smauker.
‘I must, indeed,’ said Mr. Smauker; ‘I promised Bantam.’
‘Oh, wery well,’ said Sam; ‘that’s another thing. P’raps he’d resign if
you disappinted him. You ain’t a-goin’, Blazes?’
‘Yes, I am,’ said the man with the cocked hat.
‘Wot, and leave three-quarters of a bowl of punch behind you!’ said Sam;
‘nonsense, set down agin.’
Mr. Tuckle was not proof against this invitation. He laid aside the
cocked hat and stick which he had just taken up, and said he would have
one glass, for good fellowship’s sake.
As the gentleman in blue went home the same way as Mr. Tuckle, he was
prevailed upon to stop too. When the punch was about half gone, Sam
ordered in some oysters from the green-grocer’s shop; and the effect of
both was so extremely exhilarating, that Mr. Tuckle, dressed out with
the cocked hat and stick, danced the frog hornpipe among the shells on
the table, while the gentleman in blue played an accompaniment upon an
ingenious musical instrument formed of a hair-comb upon a curl-paper. At
last, when the punch was all gone, and the night nearly so, they sallied
forth to see each other home. Mr. Tuckle no sooner got into the open
air, than he was seized with a sudden desire to lie on the curbstone;
Sam thought it would be a pity to contradict him, and so let him have
his own way. As the cocked hat would have been spoiled if left there,
Sam very considerately flattened it down on the head of the gentleman in
blue, and putting the big stick in his hand, propped him up against his
own street-door, rang the bell, and walked quietly home.
At a much earlier hour next morning than his usual time of rising, Mr.
Pickwick walked downstairs completely dressed, and rang the bell.
‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, when Mr. Weller appeared in reply to the
summons, ‘shut the door.’
Mr. Weller did so.
‘There was an unfortunate occurrence here, last night, Sam,’ said Mr.
Pickwick, ‘which gave Mr. Winkle some cause to apprehend violence from
Mr. Dowler.’
‘So I’ve heerd from the old lady downstairs, Sir,’ replied Sam.
‘And I’m sorry to say, Sam,’ continued Mr. Pickwick, with a most
perplexed countenance, ‘that in dread of this violence, Mr. Winkle has
gone away.’
‘Gone avay!’ said Sam.
‘Left the house early this morning, without the slightest previous
communication with me,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘And is gone, I know not
where.’
‘He should ha’ stopped and fought it out, Sir,’ replied Sam
contemptuously. ‘It wouldn’t take much to settle that ‘ere Dowler, Sir.’
‘Well, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I may have my doubts of his great
bravery and determination also. But however that may be, Mr. Winkle is
gone. He must be found, Sam. Found and brought back to me.’
And s’pose he won’t come back, Sir?’ said Sam.
‘He must be made, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Who’s to do it, Sir?’ inquired Sam, with a smile.
‘You,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
‘Wery good, Sir.’
With these words Mr. Weller left the room, and immediately afterwards
was heard to shut the street door. In two hours’ time he returned with
so much coolness as if he had been despatched on the most ordinary
message possible, and brought the information that an individual, in
every respect answering Mr. Winkle’s description, had gone over to
Bristol that morning, by the branch coach from the Royal Hotel.
‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, grasping his hand, ‘you’re a capital fellow;
an invaluable fellow. You must follow him, Sam.’
‘Cert’nly, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
‘The instant you discover him, write to me immediately, Sam,’ said Mr.
Pickwick. ‘If he attempts to run away from you, knock him down, or lock
him up. You have my full authority, Sam.’
‘I’ll be wery careful, sir,’ rejoined Sam.
‘You’ll tell him,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that I am highly excited, highly
displeased, and naturally indignant, at the very extraordinary course he
has thought proper to pursue.’
‘I will, Sir,’ replied Sam.
‘You’ll tell him,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that if he does not come back to
this very house, with you, he will come back with me, for I will come
and fetch him.’
‘I’ll mention that ‘ere, Sir,’ rejoined Sam.
‘You think you can find him, Sam?’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking earnestly
in his face.
‘Oh, I’ll find him if he’s anyvere,’ rejoined Sam, with great
confidence.
‘Very well,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Then the sooner you go the better.’
With these instructions, Mr. Pickwick placed a sum of money in the hands
of his faithful servitor, and ordered him to start for Bristol
immediately, in pursuit of the fugitive.
Sam put a few necessaries in a carpet-bag, and was ready for starting.
He stopped when he had got to the end of the passage, and walking
quietly back, thrust his head in at the parlour door.
‘Sir,’ whispered Sam.
‘Well, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘I fully understands my instructions, do I, Sir?’ inquired Sam.
‘I hope so,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘It’s reg’larly understood about the knockin’ down, is it, Sir?’
inquired Sam.
‘Perfectly,’ replied Pickwick. ‘Thoroughly. Do what you think necessary.
You have my orders.’
Sam gave a nod of intelligence, and withdrawing his head from the door,
set forth on his pilgrimage with a light heart.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. HOW MR. WINKLE, WHEN HE STEPPED OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN,
WALKED GENTLY AND COMFORTABLY INTO THE FIRE
The ill-starred gentleman who had been the unfortunate cause of the
unusual noise and disturbance which alarmed the inhabitants of the Royal
Crescent in manner and form already described, after passing a night of
great confusion and anxiety, left the roof beneath which his friends
still slumbered, bound he knew not whither. The excellent and
considerate feelings which prompted Mr. Winkle to take this step can
never be too highly appreciated or too warmly extolled. ‘If,’ reasoned
Mr. Winkle with himself--‘if this Dowler attempts (as I have no doubt he
will) to carry into execution his threat of personal violence against
myself, it will be incumbent on me to call him out. He has a wife; that
wife is attached to, and dependent on him. Heavens! If I should kill him
in the blindness of my wrath, what would be my feelings ever
afterwards!’ This painful consideration operated so powerfully on the
feelings of the humane young man, as to cause his knees to knock
together, and his countenance to exhibit alarming manifestations of
inward emotion. Impelled by such reflections, he grasped his carpet-bag,
and creeping stealthily downstairs, shut the detestable street door with
as little noise as possible, and walked off. Bending his steps towards
the Royal Hotel, he found a coach on the point of starting for Bristol,
and, thinking Bristol as good a place for his purpose as any other he
could go to, he mounted the box, and reached his place of destination in
such time as the pair of horses, who went the whole stage and back
again, twice a day or more, could be reasonably supposed to arrive
there.
He took up his quarters at the Bush, and designing to postpone any
communication by letter with Mr. Pickwick until it was probable that Mr.
Dowler’s wrath might have in some degree evaporated, walked forth to
view the city, which struck him as being a shade more dirty than any
place he had ever seen. Having inspected the docks and shipping, and
viewed the cathedral, he inquired his way to Clifton, and being directed
thither, took the route which was pointed out to him. But as the
pavements of Bristol are not the widest or cleanest upon earth, so its