Chapter: Considering it a matter of delicacy to abstain from introducing either
Bob Sawyer or Ben Allen to the young couple, until they were fully
prepared to expect them, and wishing to spare Arabella's feelings as
much as possible, Mr. Pickwick proposed that he and Sam should alight in
the neighbourhood of the George and Vulture, and that the two young men
should for the present take up their quarters elsewhere. To this they
very readily agreed, and the proposition was accordingly acted upon; Mr.
Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer betaking themselves to a sequestered pot-
shop on the remotest confines of the Borough, behind the bar door of
which their names had in other days very often appeared at the head of
long and complex calculations worked in white chalk.

'Dear me, Mr. Weller,' said the pretty housemaid, meeting Sam at the
door.

'Dear _me_ I vish it vos, my dear,' replied Sam, dropping behind, to let
his master get out of hearing. 'Wot a sweet-lookin' creetur you are,
Mary!'

'Lor', Mr. Weller, what nonsense you do talk!' said Mary. 'Oh! don't,
Mr. Weller.'

'Don't what, my dear?' said Sam.

'Why, that,' replied the pretty housemaid. 'Lor, do get along with you.'
Thus admonishing him, the pretty housemaid pushed Sam against the wall,
declaring that he had tumbled her cap, and put her hair quite out of
curl.

'And prevented what I was going to say, besides,' added Mary. 'There's a
letter been waiting here for you four days; you hadn't gone away, half
an hour, when it came; and more than that, it's got "immediate," on the
outside.'

'Vere is it, my love?' inquired Sam.

'I took care of it, for you, or I dare say it would have been lost long
before this,' replied Mary. 'There, take it; it's more than you
deserve.'

With these words, after many pretty little coquettish doubts and fears,
and wishes that she might not have lost it, Mary produced the letter
from behind the nicest little muslin tucker possible, and handed it to
Sam, who thereupon kissed it with much gallantry and devotion.

'My goodness me!' said Mary, adjusting the tucker, and feigning
unconsciousness, 'you seem to have grown very fond of it all at once.'

To this Mr. Weller only replied by a wink, the intense meaning of which
no description could convey the faintest idea of; and, sitting himself
down beside Mary on a window-seat, opened the letter and glanced at the
contents.

'Hollo!' exclaimed Sam, 'wot's all this?'

'Nothing the matter, I hope?' said Mary, peeping over his shoulder.

'Bless them eyes o' yourn!' said Sam, looking up.

'Never mind my eyes; you had much better read your letter,' said the
pretty housemaid; and as she said so, she made the eyes twinkle with
such slyness and beauty that they were perfectly irresistible.

Sam refreshed himself with a kiss, and read as follows:--


'MARKIS GRAN 'By DORKEN 'Wensdy.

'My DEAR SAMMLE,

'I am wery sorry to have the pleasure of being a Bear of ill news your
Mother in law cort cold consekens of imprudently settin too long on the
damp grass in the rain a hearin of a shepherd who warnt able to leave
off till late at night owen to his having vound his-self up vith brandy
and vater and not being able to stop his-self till he got a little sober
which took a many hours to do the doctor says that if she'd svallo'd
varm brandy and vater artervards insted of afore she mightn't have been
no vus her veels wos immedetly greased and everythink done to set her
agoin as could be inwented your father had hopes as she vould have
vorked round as usual but just as she wos a turnen the corner my boy she
took the wrong road and vent down hill vith a welocity you never see and
notvithstandin that the drag wos put on drectly by the medikel man it
wornt of no use at all for she paid the last pike at twenty minutes
afore six o'clock yesterday evenin havin done the jouney wery much under
the reglar time vich praps was partly owen to her haven taken in wery
little luggage by the vay your father says that if you vill come and see
me Sammy he vill take it as a wery great favor for I am wery lonely
Samivel N. B. he _vill _have it spelt that vay vich I say ant right and
as there is sich a many things to settle he is sure your guvner wont
object of course he vill not Sammy for I knows him better so he sends
his dooty in which I join and am Samivel infernally yours


'TONY VELLER.'

'Wot a incomprehensible letter,' said Sam; 'who's to know wot it means,
vith all this he-ing and I-ing! It ain't my father's writin', 'cept this
here signater in print letters; that's his.'

'Perhaps he got somebody to write it for him, and signed it himself
afterwards,' said the pretty housemaid.

'Stop a minit,' replied Sam, running over the letter again, and pausing
here and there, to reflect, as he did so. 'You've hit it. The gen'l'm'n
as wrote it wos a-tellin' all about the misfortun' in a proper vay, and
then my father comes a-lookin' over him, and complicates the whole
concern by puttin' his oar in. That's just the wery sort o' thing he'd
do. You're right, Mary, my dear.'

Having satisfied himself on this point, Sam read the letter all over,
once more, and, appearing to form a clear notion of its contents for the
first time, ejaculated thoughtfully, as he folded it up--

'And so the poor creetur's dead! I'm sorry for it. She warn't a bad-
disposed 'ooman, if them shepherds had let her alone. I'm wery sorry for
it.'

Mr. Weller uttered these words in so serious a manner, that the pretty
housemaid cast down her eyes and looked very grave.

'Hows'ever,' said Sam, putting the letter in his pocket with a gentle
sigh, 'it wos to be--and wos, as the old lady said arter she'd married
the footman. Can't be helped now, can it, Mary?'

Mary shook her head, and sighed too.

'I must apply to the hemperor for leave of absence,' said Sam.

Mary sighed again--the letter was so very affecting.

'Good-bye!' said Sam.

'Good-bye,' rejoined the pretty housemaid, turning her head away.

'Well, shake hands, won't you?' said Sam.

The pretty housemaid put out a hand which, although it was a
housemaid's, was a very small one, and rose to go.

'I shan't be wery long avay,' said Sam.

'You're always away,' said Mary, giving her head the slightest possible
toss in the air. 'You no sooner come, Mr. Weller, than you go again.'

Mr. Weller drew the household beauty closer to him, and entered upon a
whispering conversation, which had not proceeded far, when she turned
her face round and condescended to look at him again. When they parted,
it was somehow or other indispensably necessary for her to go to her
room, and arrange the cap and curls before she could think of presenting
herself to her mistress; which preparatory ceremony she went off to
perform, bestowing many nods and smiles on Sam over the banisters as she
tripped upstairs.

'I shan't be avay more than a day, or two, Sir, at the furthest,' said
Sam, when he had communicated to Mr. Pickwick the intelligence of his
father's loss.

'As long as may be necessary, Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'you have my
full permission to remain.'

Sam bowed.

'You will tell your father, Sam, that if I can be of any assistance to
him in his present situation, I shall be most willing and ready to lend
him any aid in my power,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Thank'ee, sir,' rejoined Sam. 'I'll mention it, sir.'

And with some expressions of mutual good-will and interest, master and
man separated.

It was just seven o'clock when Samuel Weller, alighting from the box of
a stage-coach which passed through Dorking, stood within a few hundred
yards of the Marquis of Granby. It was a cold, dull evening; the little
street looked dreary and dismal; and the mahogany countenance of the
noble and gallant marquis seemed to wear a more sad and melancholy
expression than it was wont to do, as it swung to and fro, creaking
mournfully in the wind. The blinds were pulled down, and the shutters
partly closed; of the knot of loungers that usually collected about the
door, not one was to be seen; the place was silent and desolate.

Seeing nobody of whom he could ask any preliminary questions, Sam walked
softly in, and glancing round, he quickly recognised his parent in the
distance.

The widower was seated at a small round table in the little room behind
the bar, smoking a pipe, with his eyes intently fixed upon the fire. The
funeral had evidently taken place that day, for attached to his hat,
which he still retained on his head, was a hatband measuring about a
yard and a half in length, which hung over the top rail of the chair and
streamed negligently down. Mr. Weller was in a very abstracted and
contemplative mood. Notwithstanding that Sam called him by name several
times, he still continued to smoke with the same fixed and quiet
countenance, and was only roused ultimately by his son's placing the
palm of his hand on his shoulder.

'Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, 'you're welcome.'

'I've been a-callin' to you half a dozen times,' said Sam, hanging his
hat on a peg, 'but you didn't hear me.'

'No, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, again looking thoughtfully at the fire.
'I was in a referee, Sammy.'

'Wot about?' inquired Sam, drawing his chair up to the fire.

'In a referee, Sammy,' replied the elder Mr. Weller, 'regarding _her_,
Samivel.' Here Mr. Weller jerked his head in the direction of Dorking
churchyard, in mute explanation that his words referred to the late Mrs.
Weller.

'I wos a-thinkin', Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, eyeing his son, with great
earnestness, over his pipe, as if to assure him that however
extraordinary and incredible the declaration might appear, it was
nevertheless calmly and deliberately uttered. 'I wos a-thinkin', Sammy,
that upon the whole I wos wery sorry she wos gone.'

'Vell, and so you ought to be,' replied Sam.

Mr. Weller nodded his acquiescence in the sentiment, and again fastening
his eyes on the fire, shrouded himself in a cloud, and mused deeply.

'Those wos wery sensible observations as she made, Sammy,' said Mr.
Weller, driving the smoke away with his hand, after a long silence.

'Wot observations?' inquired Sam.

'Them as she made, arter she was took ill,' replied the old gentleman.

'Wot was they?'

'Somethin' to this here effect. "Veller," she says, "I'm afeered I've
not done by you quite wot I ought to have done; you're a wery kind-
hearted man, and I might ha' made your home more comfortabler. I begin
to see now," she says, "ven it's too late, that if a married 'ooman
vishes to be religious, she should begin vith dischargin' her dooties at
home, and makin' them as is about her cheerful and happy, and that vile
she goes to church, or chapel, or wot not, at all proper times, she
should be wery careful not to con-wert this sort o' thing into a excuse
for idleness or self-indulgence. I have done this," she says, "and I've
vasted time and substance on them as has done it more than me; but I
hope ven I'm gone, Veller, that you'll think on me as I wos afore I
know'd them people, and as I raly wos by natur." '"Susan," says I--I wos
took up wery short by this, Samivel; I von't deny it, my boy--"Susan," I
says, "you've been a wery good vife to me, altogether; don't say nothin'
at all about it; keep a good heart, my dear; and you'll live to see me
punch that 'ere Stiggins's head yet." She smiled at this, Samivel,' said
the old gentleman, stifling a sigh with his pipe, 'but she died arter
all!'

'Vell,' said Sam, venturing to offer a little homely consolation, after
the lapse of three or four minutes, consumed by the old gentleman in
slowly shaking his head from side to side, and solemnly smoking, 'vell,
gov'nor, ve must all come to it, one day or another.'

'So we must, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller the elder.

'There's a Providence in it all,' said Sam.

'O' course there is,' replied his father, with a nod of grave approval.
'Wot 'ud become of the undertakers vithout it, Sammy?'

Lost in the immense field of conjecture opened by this reflection, the
elder Mr. Weller laid his pipe on the table, and stirred the fire with a
meditative visage.

While the old gentleman was thus engaged, a very buxom-looking cook,
dressed in mourning, who had been bustling about, in the bar, glided
into the room, and bestowing many smirks of recognition upon Sam,
silently stationed herself at the back of his father's chair, and
announced her presence by a slight cough, the which, being disregarded,
was followed by a louder one.

'Hollo!' said the elder Mr. Weller, dropping the poker as he looked
round, and hastily drew his chair away. 'Wot's the matter now?'

'Have a cup of tea, there's a good soul,' replied the buxom female
coaxingly.

'I von't,' replied Mr. Weller, in a somewhat boisterous manner. 'I'll
see you--' Mr. Weller hastily checked himself, and added in a low tone,
'furder fust.'

'Oh, dear, dear! How adwersity does change people!' said the lady,
looking upwards.

'It's the only thing 'twixt this and the doctor as shall change my
condition,' muttered Mr. Weller.

'I really never saw a man so cross,' said the buxom female.

'Never mind. It's all for my own good; vich is the reflection vith vich
the penitent school-boy comforted his feelin's ven they flogged him,'
rejoined the old gentleman.

The buxom female shook her head with a compassionate and sympathising
air; and, appealing to Sam, inquired whether his father really ought not
to make an effort to keep up, and not give way to that lowness of
spirits.

'You see, Mr. Samuel,' said the buxom female, 'as I was telling him
yesterday, he will feel lonely, he can't expect but what he should, sir,
but he should keep up a good heart, because, dear me, I'm sure we all
pity his loss, and are ready to do anything for him; and there's no
situation in life so bad, Mr. Samuel, that it can't be mended. Which is
what a very worthy person said to me when my husband died.' Here the
speaker, putting her hand before her mouth, coughed again, and looked
affectionately at the elder Mr. Weller.

'As I don't rekvire any o' your conversation just now, mum, vill you
have the goodness to re-tire?' inquired Mr. Weller, in a grave and
steady voice.

'Well, Mr. Weller,' said the buxom female, 'I'm sure I only spoke to you
out of kindness.'

'Wery likely, mum,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Samivel, show the lady out, and
shut the door after her.'

This hint was not lost upon the buxom female; for she at once left the
room, and slammed the door behind her, upon which Mr. Weller, senior,
falling back in his chair in a violent perspiration, said--

'Sammy, if I wos to stop here alone vun week--only vun week, my boy--
that 'ere 'ooman 'ud marry me by force and wiolence afore it was over.'

'Wot! is she so wery fond on you?' inquired Sam.

'Fond!' replied his father. 'I can't keep her avay from me. If I was
locked up in a fireproof chest vith a patent Brahmin, she'd find means
to get at me, Sammy.'

'Wot a thing it is to be so sought arter!' observed Sam, smiling.

'I don't take no pride out on it, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, poking the
fire vehemently, 'it's a horrid sitiwation. I'm actiwally drove out o'
house and home by it. The breath was scarcely out o' your poor mother-
in-law's body, ven vun old 'ooman sends me a pot o' jam, and another a
pot o' jelly, and another brews a blessed large jug o' camomile-tea,
vich she brings in vith her own hands.' Mr. Weller paused with an aspect
of intense disgust, and looking round, added in a whisper, 'They wos all
widders, Sammy, all on 'em, 'cept the camomile-tea vun, as wos a single
young lady o' fifty-three.'

Sam gave a comical look in reply, and the old gentleman having broken an
obstinate lump of coal, with a countenance expressive of as much
earnestness and malice as if it had been the head of one of the widows
last-mentioned, said:

'In short, Sammy, I feel that I ain't safe anyveres but on the box.'

'How are you safer there than anyveres else?' interrupted Sam.

''Cos a coachman's a privileged indiwidual,' replied Mr. Weller, looking
fixedly at his son. ''Cos a coachman may do vithout suspicion wot other
men may not; 'cos a coachman may be on the wery amicablest terms with
eighty mile o' females, and yet nobody think that he ever means to marry
any vun among 'em. And wot other man can say the same, Sammy?'

'Vell, there's somethin' in that,' said Sam.

'If your gov'nor had been a coachman,' reasoned Mr. Weller, 'do you
s'pose as that 'ere jury 'ud ever ha' conwicted him, s'posin' it
possible as the matter could ha' gone to that extremity? They dustn't
ha' done it.'

'Wy not?' said Sam, rather disparagingly.

'Wy not!' rejoined Mr. Weller; ''cos it 'ud ha' gone agin their
consciences. A reg'lar coachman's a sort o' con-nectin' link betwixt
singleness and matrimony, and every practicable man knows it.'

'Wot! You mean, they're gen'ral favorites, and nobody takes adwantage on
'em, p'raps?' said Sam.

His father nodded.

'How it ever come to that 'ere pass,' resumed the parent Weller, 'I
can't say. Wy it is that long-stage coachmen possess such insiniwations,
and is alvays looked up to--a-dored I may say--by ev'ry young 'ooman in
ev'ry town he vurks through, I don't know. I only know that so it is.
It's a regulation of natur--a dispensary, as your poor mother-in-law
used to say.'

'A dispensation,' said Sam, correcting the old gentleman.

'Wery good, Samivel, a dispensation if you like it better,' returned Mr.
Weller; 'I call it a dispensary, and it's always writ up so, at the
places vere they gives you physic for nothin' in your own bottles;
that's all.'

With these words, Mr. Weller refilled and relighted his pipe, and once
more summoning up a meditative expression of countenance, continued as
follows--

'Therefore, my boy, as I do not see the adwisability o' stoppin here to
be married vether I vant to or not, and as at the same time I do not
vish to separate myself from them interestin' members o' society
altogether, I have come to the determination o' driving the Safety, and
puttin' up vunce more at the Bell Savage, vich is my nat'ral born
element, Sammy.'

'And wot's to become o' the bis'ness?' inquired Sam.

'The bis'ness, Samivel,' replied the old gentleman, 'good-vill, stock,
and fixters, vill be sold by private contract; and out o' the money, two
hundred pound, agreeable to a rekvest o' your mother-in-law's to me, a
little afore she died, vill be invested in your name in--What do you
call them things agin?'

'Wot things?' inquired Sam.

'Them things as is always a-goin' up and down, in the city.'

'Omnibuses?' suggested Sam.

'Nonsense,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Them things as is alvays a-
fluctooatin', and gettin' theirselves inwolved somehow or another vith
the national debt, and the chequers bill; and all that.'

'Oh! the funds,' said Sam.

'Ah!' rejoined Mr. Weller, 'the funs; two hundred pounds o' the money is
to be inwested for you, Samivel, in the funs; four and a half per cent.
reduced counsels, Sammy.'

'Wery kind o' the old lady to think o' me,' said Sam, 'and I'm wery much
obliged to her.'

'The rest will be inwested in my name,' continued the elder Mr. Weller;
'and wen I'm took off the road, it'll come to you, so take care you
don't spend it all at vunst, my boy, and mind that no widder gets a
inklin' o' your fortun', or you're done.'

Having delivered this warning, Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with a more
serene countenance; the disclosure of these matters appearing to have
eased his mind considerably.

'Somebody's a-tappin' at the door,' said Sam.

'Let 'em tap,' replied his father, with dignity.

Sam acted upon the direction. There was another tap, and another, and
then a long row of taps; upon which Sam inquired why the tapper was not
admitted.

'Hush,' whispered Mr. Weller, with apprehensive looks, 'don't take no
notice on 'em, Sammy, it's vun o' the widders, p'raps.'

No notice being taken of the taps, the unseen visitor, after a short
lapse, ventured to open the door and peep in. It was no female head that
was thrust in at the partially-opened door, but the long black locks and
red face of Mr. Stiggins. Mr. Weller's pipe fell from his hands.

The reverend gentleman gradually opened the door by almost imperceptible
degrees, until the aperture was just wide enough to admit of the passage
of his lank body, when he glided into the room and closed it after him,
with great care and gentleness. Turning towards Sam, and raising his
hands and eyes in token of the unspeakable sorrow with which he regarded
the calamity that had befallen the family, he carried the high-backed
chair to his old corner by the fire, and, seating himself on the very
edge, drew forth a brown pocket-handkerchief, and applied the same to
his optics.

While this was going forward, the elder Mr. Weller sat back in his
chair, with his eyes wide open, his hands planted on his knees, and his
whole countenance expressive of absorbing and overwhelming astonishment.
Sam sat opposite him in perfect silence, waiting, with eager curiosity,
for the termination of the scene.

Mr. Stiggins kept the brown pocket-handkerchief before his eyes for some
minutes, moaning decently meanwhile, and then, mastering his feelings by
a strong effort, put it in his pocket and buttoned it up. After this, he
stirred the fire; after that, he rubbed his hands and looked at Sam.

'Oh, my young friend,' said Mr. Stiggins, breaking the silence, in a
very low voice, 'here's a sorrowful affliction!'

Sam nodded very slightly.

'For the man of wrath, too!' added Mr. Stiggins; 'it makes a vessel's
heart bleed!'

Mr. Weller was overheard by his son to murmur something relative to
making a vessel's nose bleed; but Mr. Stiggins heard him not.

'Do you know, young man,' whispered Mr. Stiggins, drawing his chair
closer to Sam, 'whether she has left Emanuel anything?'

'Who's he?' inquired Sam.

'The chapel,' replied Mr. Stiggins; 'our chapel; our fold, Mr. Samuel.'

'She hasn't left the fold nothin', nor the shepherd nothin', nor the
animals nothin',' said Sam decisively; 'nor the dogs neither.'

Mr. Stiggins looked slily at Sam; glanced at the old gentleman, who was
sitting with his eyes closed, as if asleep; and drawing his chair still
nearer, said--

'Nothing for _me_, Mr. Samuel?'

Sam shook his head.

'I think there's something,' said Stiggins, turning as pale as he could
turn. 'Consider, Mr. Samuel; no little token?'

'Not so much as the vorth o' that 'ere old umberella o' yourn,' replied
Sam.

'Perhaps,' said Mr. Stiggins hesitatingly, after a few moments' deep
thought, 'perhaps she recommended me to the care of the man of wrath,
Mr. Samuel?'

'I think that's wery likely, from what he said,' rejoined Sam; 'he wos
a-speakin' about you, jist now.'

'Was he, though?' exclaimed Stiggins, brightening up. 'Ah! He's changed,
I dare say. We might live very comfortably together now, Mr. Samuel, eh?
I could take care of his property when you are away--good care, you
see.'

Heaving a long-drawn sigh, Mr. Stiggins paused for a response. Sam
nodded, and Mr. Weller the elder gave vent to an extraordinary sound,
which, being neither a groan, nor a grunt, nor a gasp, nor a growl,
seemed to partake in some degree of the character of all four.

Mr. Stiggins, encouraged by this sound, which he understood to betoken
remorse or repentance, looked about him, rubbed his hands, wept, smiled,
wept again, and then, walking softly across the room to a well-
remembered shelf in one corner, took down a tumbler, and with great
deliberation put four lumps of sugar in it. Having got thus far, he
looked about him again, and sighed grievously; with that, he walked
softly into the bar, and presently returning with the tumbler half full
of pine-apple rum, advanced to the kettle which was singing gaily on the
hob, mixed his grog, stirred it, sipped it, sat down, and taking a long
and hearty pull at the rum-and-water, stopped for breath.

The elder Mr. Weller, who still continued to make various strange and
uncouth attempts to appear asleep, offered not a single word during
these proceedings; but when Stiggins stopped for breath, he darted upon
him, and snatching the tumbler from his hand, threw the remainder of the
rum-and-water in his face, and the glass itself into the grate. Then,
seizing the reverend gentleman firmly by the collar, he suddenly fell to
kicking him most furiously, accompanying every application of his top-
boot to Mr. Stiggins's person, with sundry violent and incoherent
anathemas upon his limbs, eyes, and body.

'Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, 'put my hat on tight for me.'

Sam dutifully adjusted the hat with the long hatband more firmly on his
father's head, and the old gentleman, resuming his kicking with greater
agility than before, tumbled with Mr. Stiggins through the bar, and
through the passage, out at the front door, and so into the street--the
kicking continuing the whole way, and increasing in vehemence, rather
than diminishing, every time the top-boot was lifted.

It was a beautiful and exhilarating sight to see the red-nosed man
writhing in Mr. Weller's grasp, and his whole frame quivering with
anguish as kick followed kick in rapid succession; it was a still more
exciting spectacle to behold Mr. Weller, after a powerful struggle,
immersing Mr. Stiggins's head in a horse-trough full of water, and
holding it there, until he was half suffocated.

'There!' said Mr. Weller, throwing all his energy into one most
complicated kick, as he at length permitted Mr. Stiggins to withdraw his
head from the trough, 'send any vun o' them lazy shepherds here, and
I'll pound him to a jelly first, and drownd him artervards! Sammy, help
me in, and fill me a small glass of brandy. I'm out o' breath, my boy.'


When Arabella, after some gentle preparation and many assurances that
there was not the least occasion for being low-spirited, was at length
made acquainted by Mr. Pickwick with the unsatisfactory result of his
visit to Birmingham, she burst into tears, and sobbing aloud, lamented
in moving terms that she should have been the unhappy cause of any
estrangement between a father and his son.

'My dear girl,' said Mr. Pickwick kindly, 'it is no fault of yours. It
was impossible to foresee that the old gentleman would be so strongly
prepossessed against his son's marriage, you know. I am sure,' added Mr.
Pickwick, glancing at her pretty face, 'he can have very little idea of
the pleasure he denies himself.'

'Oh, my dear Mr. Pickwick,' said Arabella, 'what shall we do, if he
continues to be angry with us?'

'Why, wait patiently, my dear, until he thinks better of it,' replied
Mr. Pickwick cheerfully.

'But, dear Mr. Pickwick, what is to become of Nathaniel if his father
withdraws his assistance?' urged Arabella.

'In that case, my love,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, 'I will venture to
prophesy that he will find some other friend who will not be backward in
helping him to start in the world.'

The significance of this reply was not so well disguised by Mr. Pickwick
but that Arabella understood it. So, throwing her arms round his neck,
and kissing him affectionately, she sobbed louder than before.

'Come, come,' said Mr. Pickwick taking her hand, 'we will wait here a
few days longer, and see whether he writes or takes any other notice of
your husband's communication. If not, I have thought of half a dozen
plans, any one of which would make you happy at once. There, my dear,
there!'

With these words, Mr. Pickwick gently pressed Arabella's hand, and bade
her dry her eyes, and not distress her husband. Upon which, Arabella,
who was one of the best little creatures alive, put her handkerchief in
her reticule, and by the time Mr. Winkle joined them, exhibited in full
lustre the same beaming smiles and sparkling eyes that had originally
captivated him.

'This is a distressing predicament for these young people,' thought Mr.
Pickwick, as he dressed himself next morning. 'I'll walk up to Perker's,
and consult him about the matter.'

As Mr. Pickwick was further prompted to betake himself to Gray's Inn
Square by an anxious desire to come to a pecuniary settlement with the
kind-hearted little attorney without further delay, he made a hurried
breakfast, and executed his intention so speedily, that ten o'clock had
not struck when he reached Gray's Inn.

It still wanted ten minutes to the hour when he had ascended the
staircase on which Perker's chambers were. The clerks had not arrived
yet, and he beguiled the time by looking out of the staircase window.

The healthy light of a fine October morning made even the dingy old
houses brighten up a little; some of the dusty windows actually looking
almost cheerful as the sun's rays gleamed upon them. Clerk after clerk
hastened into the square by one or other of the entrances, and looking
up at the Hall clock, accelerated or decreased his rate of walking
according to the time at which his office hours nominally commenced; the
half-past nine o'clock people suddenly becoming very brisk, and the ten
o'clock gentlemen falling into a pace of most aristocratic slowness. The
clock struck ten, and clerks poured in faster than ever, each one in a
greater perspiration than his predecessor. The noise of unlocking and
opening doors echoed and re-echoed on every side; heads appeared as if
by magic in every window; the porters took up their stations for the
day; the slipshod laundresses hurried off; the postman ran from house to
house; and the whole legal hive was in a bustle.

'You're early, Mr. Pickwick,' said a voice behind him.

'Ah, Mr. Lowten,' replied that gentleman, looking round, and recognising
his old acquaintance.

'Precious warm walking, isn't it?' said Lowten, drawing a Bramah key
from his pocket, with a small plug therein, to keep the dust out.

'You appear to feel it so,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, smiling at the clerk,
who was literally red-hot.

'I've come along, rather, I can tell you,' replied Lowten. 'It went the
half hour as I came through the Polygon. I'm here before him, though, so
I don't mind.'

Comforting himself with this reflection, Mr. Lowten extracted the plug
from the door-key; having opened the door, replugged and repocketed his
Bramah, and picked up the letters which the postman had dropped through
the box, he ushered Mr. Pickwick into the office. Here, in the twinkling
of an eye, he divested himself of his coat, put on a threadbare garment,
which he took out of a desk, hung up his hat, pulled forth a few sheets
of cartridge and blotting-paper in alternate layers, and, sticking a pen
behind his ear, rubbed his hands with an air of great satisfaction.

'There, you see, Mr. Pickwick,' he said, 'now I'm complete. I've got my
office coat on, and my pad out, and let him come as soon as he likes.
You haven't got a pinch of snuff about you, have you?'

'No, I have not,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'I'm sorry for it,' said Lowten. 'Never mind. I'll run out presently,
and get a bottle of soda. Don't I look rather queer about the eyes, Mr.
Pickwick?'

The individual appealed to, surveyed Mr. Lowten's eyes from a distance,
and expressed his opinion that no unusual queerness was perceptible in
those features.

'I'm glad of it,' said Lowten. 'We were keeping it up pretty tolerably
at the Stump last night, and I'm rather out of sorts this morning.
Perker's been about that business of yours, by the bye.'

'What business?' inquired Mr. Pickwick. 'Mrs. Bardell's costs?'

'No, I don't mean that,' replied Mr. Lowten. 'About getting that
customer that we paid the ten shillings in the pound to the bill-
discounter for, on your account--to get him out of the Fleet, you know--
about getting him to Demerara.'

'Oh, Mr. Jingle,' said Mr. Pickwick hastily. 'Yes. Well?'

'Well, it's all arranged,' said Lowten, mending his pen. 'The agent at
Liverpool said he had been obliged to you many times when you were in
business, and he would be glad to take him on your recommendation.'

'That's well,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'I am delighted to hear it.'

'But I say,' resumed Lowten, scraping the back of the pen preparatory to
making a fresh split, 'what a soft chap that other is!'

'Which other?'

'Why, that servant, or friend, or whatever he is; you know, Trotter.'

'Ah!' said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile. 'I always thought him the
reverse.'

'Well, and so did I, from what little I saw of him,' replied Lowten, 'it
only shows how one may be deceived. What do you think of his going to
Demerara, too?'

'What! And giving up what was offered him here!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.

'Treating Perker's offer of eighteen bob a week, and a rise if he
behaved himself, like dirt,' replied Lowten. 'He said he must go along
with the other one, and so they persuaded Perker to write again, and
they've got him something on the same estate; not near so good, Perker
says, as a convict would get in New South Wales, if he appeared at his
trial in a new suit of clothes.'

'Foolish fellow,' said Mr. Pickwick, with glistening eyes. 'Foolish
fellow.'

'Oh, it's worse than foolish; it's downright sneaking, you know,'
replied Lowten, nibbing the pen with a contemptuous face. 'He says that
he's the only friend he ever had, and he's attached to him, and all
that. Friendship's a very good thing in its way--we are all very
friendly and comfortable at the Stump, for instance, over our grog,
where every man pays for himself; but damn hurting yourself for anybody
else, you know! No man should have more than two attachments--the first,
to number one, and the second to the ladies; that's what I say--ha! ha!'
Mr. Lowten concluded with a loud laugh, half in jocularity, and half in
derision, which was prematurely cut short by the sound of Perker's
footsteps on the stairs, at the first approach of which, he vaulted on
his stool with an agility most remarkable, and wrote intensely.

The greeting between Mr. Pickwick and his professional adviser was warm
and cordial; the client was scarcely ensconced in the attorney's arm-
chair, however, when a knock was heard at the door, and a voice inquired
whether Mr. Perker was within.

'Hark!' said Perker, 'that's one of our vagabond friends--Jingle
himself, my dear Sir. Will you see him?'

'What do you think?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, hesitating.

'Yes, I think you had better. Here, you Sir, what's your name, walk in,
will you?'

In compliance with this unceremonious invitation, Jingle and Job walked
into the room, but, seeing Mr. Pickwick, stopped short in some
confusion.

'Well,' said Perker, 'don't you know that gentleman?'

'Good reason to,' replied Mr. Jingle, stepping forward. 'Mr. Pickwick--
deepest obligations--life preserver--made a man of me--you shall never
repent it, Sir.'

'I am happy to hear you say so,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'You look much
better.'

'Thanks to you, sir--great change--Majesty's Fleet--unwholesome place--
very,' said Jingle, shaking his head. He was decently and cleanly
dressed, and so was Job, who stood bolt upright behind him, staring at
Mr. Pickwick with a visage of iron.

'When do they go to Liverpool?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, half aside to
Perker.

'This evening, Sir, at seven o'clock,' said Job, taking one step
forward. 'By the heavy coach from the city, Sir.'

'Are your places taken?'

'They are, sir,' replied Job.

'You have fully made up your mind to go?'

'I have sir,' answered Job.

'With regard to such an outfit as was indispensable for Jingle,' said
Perker, addressing Mr. Pickwick aloud. 'I have taken upon myself to make
an arrangement for the deduction of a small sum from his quarterly
salary, which, being made only for one year, and regularly remitted,
will provide for that expense. I entirely disapprove of your doing
anything for him, my dear sir, which is not dependent on his own
exertions and good conduct.'

'Certainly,' interposed Jingle, with great firmness. 'Clear head--man of
the world--quite right--perfectly.'

'By compounding with his creditor, releasing his clothes from the
pawnbroker's, relieving him in prison, and paying for his passage,'
continued Perker, without noticing Jingle's observation, 'you have
already lost upwards of fifty pounds.'

'Not lost,' said Jingle hastily, 'Pay it all--stick to business--cash
up--every farthing. Yellow fever, perhaps--can't help that--if not--'
Here Mr. Jingle paused, and striking the crown of his hat with great
violence, passed his hand over his eyes, and sat down.

'He means to say,' said Job, advancing a few paces, 'that if he is not
carried off by the fever, he will pay the money back again. If he lives,
he will, Mr. Pickwick. I will see it done. I know he will, Sir,' said
Job, with energy. 'I could undertake to swear it.'

'Well, well,' said Mr. Pickwick, who had been bestowing a score or two
of frowns upon Perker, to stop his summary of benefits conferred, which
the little attorney obstinately disregarded, 'you must be careful not to
play any more desperate cricket matches, Mr. Jingle, or to renew your
acquaintance with Sir Thomas Blazo, and I have little doubt of your
preserving your health.'

Mr. Jingle smiled at this sally, but looked rather foolish
notwithstanding; so Mr. Pickwick changed the subject by saying--

'You don't happen to know, do you, what has become of another friend of
yours--a more humble one, whom I saw at Rochester?'

'Dismal Jemmy?' inquired Jingle.

'Yes.'

Jingle shook his head.

'Clever rascal--queer fellow, hoaxing genius--Job's brother.'

'Job's brother!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. 'Well, now I look at him
closely, there _is_ a likeness.'

'We were always considered like each other, Sir,' said Job, with a
cunning look just lurking in the corners of his eyes, 'only I was really
of a serious nature, and he never was. He emigrated to America, Sir, in
consequence of being too much sought after here, to be comfortable; and
has never been heard of since.'

'That accounts for my not having received the "page from the romance of
real life," which he promised me one morning when he appeared to be
contemplating suicide on Rochester Bridge, I suppose,' said Mr.
Pickwick, smiling. 'I need not inquire whether his dismal behaviour was
natural or assumed.'

'He could assume anything, Sir,' said Job. 'You may consider yourself
very fortunate in having escaped him so easily. On intimate terms he
would have been even a more dangerous acquaintance than--' Job looked at
Jingle, hesitated, and finally added, 'than--than-myself even.'

'A hopeful family yours, Mr. Trotter,' said Perker, sealing a letter
which he had just finished writing.

'Yes, Sir,' replied Job. 'Very much so.'

'Well,' said the little man, laughing, 'I hope you are going to disgrace
it. Deliver this letter to the agent when you reach Liverpool, and let
me advise you, gentlemen, not to be too knowing in the West Indies. If
you throw away this chance, you will both richly deserve to be hanged,
as I sincerely trust you will be. And now you had better leave Mr.
Pickwick and me alone, for we have other matters to talk over, and time
is precious.' As Perker said this, he looked towards the door, with an
evident desire to render the leave-taking as brief as possible.

It was brief enough on Mr. Jingle's part. He thanked the little attorney
in a few hurried words for the kindness and promptitude with which he
had rendered his assistance, and, turning to his benefactor, stood for a
few seconds as if irresolute what to say or how to act. Job Trotter
relieved his perplexity; for, with a humble and grateful bow to Mr.
Pickwick, he took his friend gently by the arm, and led him away.

'A worthy couple!' said Perker, as the door closed behind them.

'I hope they may become so,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'What do you think?
Is there any chance of their permanent reformation?'

Perker shrugged his shoulders doubtfully, but observing Mr. Pickwick's
anxious and disappointed look, rejoined--

'Of course there is a chance. I hope it may prove a good one. They are
unquestionably penitent now; but then, you know, they have the
recollection of very recent suffering fresh upon them. What they may
become, when that fades away, is a problem that neither you nor I can
solve. However, my dear Sir,' added Perker, laying his hand on Mr.
Pickwick's shoulder, 'your object is equally honourable, whatever the
result is. Whether that species of benevolence which is so very cautious
and long-sighted that it is seldom exercised at all, lest its owner
should be imposed upon, and so wounded in his self-love, be real charity
or a worldly counterfeit, I leave to wiser heads than mine to determine.
But if those two fellows were to commit a burglary to-morrow, my opinion
of this action would be equally high.'

With these remarks, which were delivered in a much more animated and
earnest manner than is usual in legal gentlemen, Perker drew his chair
to his desk, and listened to Mr. Pickwick's recital of old Mr. Winkle's
obstinacy.

'Give him a week,' said Perker, nodding his head prophetically.

'Do you think he will come round?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'I think he will,' rejoined Perker. 'If not, we must try the young
lady's persuasion; and that is what anybody but you would have done at
first.'

Mr. Perker was taking a pinch of snuff with various grotesque
contractions of countenance, eulogistic of the persuasive powers
appertaining unto young ladies, when the murmur of inquiry and answer
was heard in the outer office, and Lowten tapped at the door.

'Come in!' cried the little man.

The clerk came in, and shut the door after him, with great mystery.

'What's the matter?' inquired Perker.

'You're wanted, Sir.'

'Who wants me?'

Lowten looked at Mr. Pickwick, and coughed.

'Who wants me? Can't you speak, Mr. Lowten?'

'Why, sir,' replied Lowten, 'it's Dodson; and Fogg is with him.'

'Bless my life!' said the little man, looking at his watch, 'I appointed
them to be here at half-past eleven, to settle that matter of yours,
Pickwick. I gave them an undertaking on which they sent down your
discharge; it's very awkward, my dear Sir; what will you do? Would you
like to step into the next room?'

The next room being the identical room in which Messrs. Dodson & Fogg
were, Mr. Pickwick replied that he would remain where he was: the more
especially as Messrs. Dodson & Fogg ought to be ashamed to look him in
the face, instead of his being ashamed to see them. Which latter
circumstance he begged Mr. Perker to note, with a glowing countenance
and many marks of indignation.

'Very well, my dear Sir, very well,' replied Perker, 'I can only say
that if you expect either Dodson or Fogg to exhibit any symptom of shame
or confusion at having to look you, or anybody else, in the face, you
are the most sanguine man in your expectations that I ever met with.
Show them in, Mr. Lowten.'

Mr. Lowten disappeared with a grin, and immediately returned ushering in
the firm, in due form of precedence--Dodson first, and Fogg afterwards.

'You have seen Mr. Pickwick, I believe?' said Perker to Dodson,
inclining his pen in the direction where that gentleman was seated.

'How do you do, Mr. Pickwick?' said Dodson, in a loud voice.

'Dear me,' cried Fogg, 'how do you do, Mr. Pickwick? I hope you are
well, Sir. I thought I knew the face,' said Fogg, drawing up a chair,
and looking round him with a smile.

Mr. Pickwick bent his head very slightly, in answer to these
salutations, and, seeing Fogg pull a bundle of papers from his coat
pocket, rose and walked to the window.

'There's no occasion for Mr. Pickwick to move, Mr. Perker,' said Fogg,
untying the red tape which encircled the little bundle, and smiling
again more sweetly than before. 'Mr. Pickwick is pretty well acquainted
with these proceedings. There are no secrets between us, I think. He!
he! he!'

'Not many, I think,' said Dodson. 'Ha! ha! ha!' Then both the partners
laughed together--pleasantly and cheerfully, as men who are going to
receive money often do.

'We shall make Mr. Pickwick pay for peeping,' said Fogg, with
considerable native humour, as he unfolded his papers. 'The amount of
the taxed costs is one hundred and thirty-three, six, four, Mr. Perker.'

There was a great comparing of papers, and turning over of leaves, by
Fogg and Perker, after this statement of profit and loss. Meanwhile,
Dodson said, in an affable manner, to Mr. Pickwick--

'I don't think you are looking quite so stout as when I had the pleasure
of seeing you last, Mr. Pickwick.'

'Possibly not, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, who had been flashing forth
looks of fierce indignation, without producing the smallest effect on
either of the sharp practitioners; 'I believe I am not, Sir. I have been
persecuted and annoyed by scoundrels of late, Sir.'

Perker coughed violently, and asked Mr. Pickwick whether he wouldn't
like to look at the morning paper. To which inquiry Mr. Pickwick
returned a most decided negative.

'True,' said Dodson, 'I dare say you have been annoyed in the Fleet;
there are some odd gentry there. Whereabouts were your apartments, Mr.
Pickwick?'

'My one room,' replied that much-injured gentleman, 'was on the coffee-
room flight.'

'Oh, indeed!' said Dodson. 'I believe that is a very pleasant part of
the establishment.'

'Very,' replied Mr. Pickwick drily.

There was a coolness about all this, which, to a gentleman of an
excitable temperament, had, under the circumstances, rather an
exasperating tendency. Mr. Pickwick restrained his wrath by gigantic
efforts; but when Perker wrote a cheque for the whole amount, and Fogg
deposited it in a small pocket-book, with a triumphant smile playing
over his pimply features, which communicated itself likewise to the
stern countenance of Dodson, he felt the blood in his cheeks tingling
with indignation.

'Now, Mr. Dodson,' said Fogg, putting up the pocket-book and drawing on
his gloves, 'I am at your service.'

'Very good,' said Dodson, rising; 'I am quite ready.'

'I am very happy,' said Fogg, softened by the cheque, 'to have had the
pleasure of making Mr. Pickwick's acquaintance. I hope you don't think
quite so ill of us, Mr. Pickwick, as when we first had the pleasure of
seeing you.'

'I hope not,' said Dodson, with the high tone of calumniated virtue.
'Mr. Pickwick now knows us better, I trust; whatever your opinion of
gentlemen of our profession may be, I beg to assure you, sir, that I
bear no ill-will or vindictive feeling towards you for the sentiments
you thought proper to express in our office in Freeman's Court,
Cornhill, on the occasion to which my partner has referred.'

'Oh, no, no; nor I,' said Fogg, in a most forgiving manner.

'Our conduct, Sir,' said Dodson, 'will speak for itself, and justify
itself, I hope, upon every occasion. We have been in the profession some
years, Mr. Pickwick, and have been honoured with the confidence of many
excellent clients. I wish you good-morning, Sir.'

'Good-morning, Mr. Pickwick,' said Fogg. So saying, he put his umbrella
under his arm, drew off his right glove, and extended the hand of
reconciliation to that most indignant gentleman; who, thereupon, thrust
his hands beneath his coat tails, and eyed the attorney with looks of
scornful amazement.

'Lowten!' cried Perker, at this moment. 'Open the door.'

'Wait one instant,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Perker, I _will _speak.'

'My dear Sir, pray let the matter rest where it is,' said the little
attorney, who had been in a state of nervous apprehension during the
whole interview; 'Mr. Pickwick, I beg--'

'I will not be put down, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick hastily. 'Mr.
Dodson, you have addressed some remarks to me.'

Dodson turned round, bent his head meekly, and smiled.

'Some remarks to me,' repeated Mr. Pickwick, almost breathless; 'and
your partner has tendered me his hand, and you have both assumed a tone
of forgiveness and high-mindedness, which is an extent of impudence that
I was not prepared for, even in you.'

'What, sir!' exclaimed Dodson.

'What, sir!' reiterated Fogg.

'Do you know that I have been the victim of your plots and
conspiracies?' continued Mr. Pickwick. 'Do you know that I am the man
whom you have been imprisoning and robbing? Do you know that you were
the attorneys for the plaintiff, in Bardell and Pickwick?'

'Yes, sir, we do know it,' replied Dodson.

'Of course we know it, Sir,' rejoined Fogg, slapping his pocket--perhaps
by accident.

'I see that you recollect it with satisfaction,' said Mr. Pickwick,
attempting to call up a sneer for the first time in his life, and
failing most signally in so doing. 'Although I have long been anxious to
tell you, in plain terms, what my opinion of you is, I should have let
even this opportunity pass, in deference to my friend Perker's wishes,
but for the unwarrantable tone you have assumed, and your insolent
familiarity. I say insolent familiarity, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick,
turning upon Fogg with a fierceness of gesture which caused that person
to retreat towards the door with great expedition.

'Take care, Sir,' said Dodson, who, though he was the biggest man of the
party, had prudently entrenched himself behind Fogg, and was speaking
over his head with a very pale face. 'Let him assault you, Mr. Fogg;
don't return it on any account.'

'No, no, I won't return it,' said Fogg, falling back a little more as he
spoke; to the evident relief of his partner, who by these means was
gradually getting into the outer office.

'You are,' continued Mr. Pickwick, resuming the thread of his discourse-
-'you are a well-matched pair of mean, rascally, pettifogging robbers.'

'Well,' interposed Perker, 'is that all?'

'It is all summed up in that,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick; 'they are mean,
rascally, pettifogging robbers.'

'There!' said Perker, in a most conciliatory tone. 'My dear sirs, he has
said all he has to say. Now pray go. Lowten, is that door open?'

Mr. Lowten, with a distant giggle, replied in the affirmative.

'There, there--good-morning--good-morning--now pray, my dear sirs--Mr.
Lowten, the door!' cried the little man, pushing Dodson & Fogg, nothing
loath, out of the office; 'this way, my dear sirs--now pray don't
prolong this--Dear me--Mr. Lowten--the door, sir--why don't you attend?'

'If there's law in England, sir,' said Dodson, looking towards Mr.
Pickwick, as he put on his hat, 'you shall smart for this.'

'You are a couple of mean--'

'Remember, sir, you pay dearly for this,' said Fogg.

'--Rascally, pettifogging robbers!' continued Mr. Pickwick, taking not
the least notice of the threats that were addressed to him.

'Robbers!' cried Mr. Pickwick, running to the stair-head, as the two
attorneys descended.

'Robbers!' shouted Mr. Pickwick, breaking from Lowten and Perker, and
thrusting his head out of the staircase window.

When Mr. Pickwick drew in his head again, his countenance was smiling
and placid; and, walking quietly back into the office, he declared that
he had now removed a great weight from his mind, and that he felt
perfectly comfortable and happy.

Perker said nothing at all until he had emptied his snuff-box, and sent
Lowten out to fill it, when he was seized with a fit of laughing, which
lasted five minutes; at the expiration of which time he said that he
supposed he ought to be very angry, but he couldn't think of the
business seriously yet--when he could, he would be.

'Well, now,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'let me have a settlement with you.'

Of the same kind as the last?' inquired Perker, with another laugh.

'Not exactly,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, drawing out his pocket-book, and
shaking the little man heartily by the hand, 'I only mean a pecuniary
settlement. You have done me many acts of kindness that I can never
repay, and have no wish to repay, for I prefer continuing the
obligation.'

With this preface, the two friends dived into some very complicated
accounts and vouchers, which, having been duly displayed and gone
through by Perker, were at once discharged by Mr. Pickwick with many
professions of esteem and friendship.

They had no sooner arrived at this point, than a most violent and
startling knocking was heard at the door; it was not an ordinary double-
knock, but a constant and uninterrupted succession of the loudest single
raps, as if the knocker were endowed with the perpetual motion, or the
person outside had forgotten to leave off.

'Dear me, what's that?' exclaimed Perker, starting.

'I think it is a knock at the door,' said Mr. Pickwick, as if there
could be the smallest doubt of the fact.

The knocker made a more energetic reply than words could have yielded,
for it continued to hammer with surprising force and noise, without a
moment's cessation.

'Dear me!' said Perker, ringing his bell, 'we shall alarm the inn. Mr.
Lowten, don't you hear a knock?'

'I'll answer the door in one moment, Sir,' replied the clerk.

The knocker appeared to hear the response, and to assert that it was
quite impossible he could wait so long. It made a stupendous uproar.

'It's quite dreadful,' said Mr. Pickwick, stopping his ears.

'Make haste, Mr. Lowten,' Perker called out; 'we shall have the panels
beaten in.'

Mr. Lowten, who was washing his hands in a dark closet, hurried to the
door, and turning the handle, beheld the appearance which is described
in the next chapter.


The object that presented itself to the eyes of the astonished clerk,
was a boy--a wonderfully fat boy--habited as a serving lad, standing
upright on the mat, with his eyes closed as if in sleep. He had never
seen such a fat boy, in or out of a travelling caravan; and this,
coupled with the calmness and repose of his appearance, so very
different from what was reasonably to have been expected of the
inflicter of such knocks, smote him with wonder.

'What's the matter?' inquired the clerk.

The extraordinary boy replied not a word; but he nodded once, and
seemed, to the clerk's imagination, to snore feebly.

'Where do you come from?' inquired the clerk.

The boy made no sign. He breathed heavily, but in all other respects was
motionless.

The clerk repeated the question thrice, and receiving no answer,
prepared to shut the door, when the boy suddenly opened his eyes, winked
several times, sneezed once, and raised his hand as if to repeat the
knocking. Finding the door open, he stared about him with astonishment,
and at length fixed his eyes on Mr. Lowten's face.

'What the devil do you knock in that way for?' inquired the clerk
angrily.

'Which way?' said the boy, in a slow and sleepy voice.

'Why, like forty hackney-coachmen,' replied the clerk.

'Because master said, I wasn't to leave off knocking till they opened
the door, for fear I should go to sleep,' said the boy.

'Well,' said the clerk, 'what message have you brought?'

'He's downstairs,' rejoined the boy.

'Who?'

'Master. He wants to know whether you're at home.'

Mr. Lowten bethought himself, at this juncture, of looking out of the
window. Seeing an open carriage with a hearty old gentleman in it,
looking up very anxiously, he ventured to beckon him; on which, the old
gentleman jumped out directly.

'That's your master in the carriage, I suppose?' said Lowten.

The boy nodded.

All further inquiries were superseded by the appearance of old Wardle,
who, running upstairs and just recognising Lowten, passed at once into
Mr. Perker's room.

'Pickwick!' said the old gentleman. 'Your hand, my boy! Why have I never
heard until the day before yesterday of your suffering yourself to be
cooped up in jail? And why did you let him do it, Perker?'

'I couldn't help it, my dear Sir,' replied Perker, with a smile and a
pinch of snuff; 'you know how obstinate he is?'

'Of course I do; of course I do,' replied the old gentleman. 'I am
heartily glad to see him, notwithstanding. I will not lose sight of him
again, in a hurry.'

With these words, Wardle shook Mr. Pickwick's hand once more, and,
having done the same by Perker, threw himself into an arm-chair, his
jolly red face shining again with smiles and health.

'Well!' said Wardle. 'Here are pretty goings on--a pinch of your snuff,
Perker, my boy--never were such times, eh?'

'What do you mean?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Mean!' replied Wardle. 'Why, I think the girls are all running mad;
that's no news, you'll say? Perhaps it's not; but it's true, for all
that.'

'You have not come up to London, of all places in the world, to tell us
that, my dear Sir, have you?' inquired Perker.

'No, not altogether,' replied Wardle; 'though it was the main cause of
my coming. How's Arabella?'

'Very well,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'and will be delighted to see you, I
am sure.'

'Black-eyed little jilt!' replied Wardle. 'I had a great idea of
marrying her myself, one of these odd days. But I am glad of it too,
very glad.'

'How did the intelligence reach you?' asked Mr. Pickwick.

'Oh, it came to my girls, of course,' replied Wardle. 'Arabella wrote,
the day before yesterday, to say she had made a stolen match without her
husband's father's consent, and so you had gone down to get it when his
refusing it couldn't prevent the match, and all the rest of it. I
thought it a very good time to say something serious to my girls; so I
said what a dreadful thing it was that children should marry without
their parents' consent, and so forth; but, bless your hearts, I couldn't
make the least impression upon them. They thought it such a much more
dreadful thing that there should have been a wedding without
bridesmaids, that I might as well have preached to Joe himself.'

Here the old gentleman stopped to laugh; and having done so to his
heart's content, presently resumed--

'But this is not the best of it, it seems. This is only half the love-
making and plotting that have been going forward. We have been walking
on mines for the last six months, and they're sprung at last.'

'What do you mean?' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, turning pale; 'no other
secret marriage, I hope?'

'No, no,' replied old Wardle; 'not so bad as that; no.'

'What then?' inquired Mr. Pickwick; 'am I interested in it?'

'Shall I answer that question, Perker?' said Wardle.

'If you don't commit yourself by doing so, my dear Sir.'

'Well then, you are,' said Wardle.

'How?' asked Mr. Pickwick anxiously. 'In what way?'

'Really,' replied Wardle, 'you're such a fiery sort of a young fellow
that I am almost afraid to tell you; but, however, if Perker will sit
between us to prevent mischief, I'll venture.'

Having closed the room door, and fortified himself with another
application to Perker's snuff-box, the old gentleman proceeded with his
great disclosure in these words--

'The fact is, that my daughter Bella--Bella, who married young Trundle,
you know.'

'Yes, yes, we know,' said Mr. Pickwick impatiently.

'Don't alarm me at the very beginning. My daughter Bella--Emily having
gone to bed with a headache after she had read Arabella's letter to me--
sat herself down by my side the other evening, and began to talk over
this marriage affair. "Well, pa," she says, "what do you think of it?"
"Why, my dear," I said, "I suppose it's all very well; I hope it's for
the best." I answered in this way because I was sitting before the fire
at the time, drinking my grog rather thoughtfully, and I knew my
throwing in an undecided word now and then, would induce her to continue
talking. Both my girls are pictures of their dear mother, and as I grow
old I like to sit with only them by me; for their voices and looks carry
me back to the happiest period of my life, and make me, for the moment,
as young as I used to be then, though not quite so light-hearted. "It's
quite a marriage of affection, pa," said Bella, after a short silence.
"Yes, my dear," said I, "but such marriages do not always turn out the
happiest."'

'I question that, mind!' interposed Mr. Pickwick warmly.

'Very good,' responded Wardle, 'question anything you like when it's
your turn to speak, but don't interrupt me.'

'I beg your pardon,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Granted,' replied Wardle. '"I am sorry to hear you express your opinion
against marriages of affection, pa," said Bella, colouring a little. "I
was wrong; I ought not to have said so, my dear, either," said I,
patting her cheek as kindly as a rough old fellow like me could pat it,
"for your mother's was one, and so was yours." "It's not that I meant,
pa," said Bella. "The fact is, pa, I wanted to speak to you about
Emily."'

Mr. Pickwick started.

'What's the matter now?' inquired Wardle, stopping in his narrative.

'Nothing,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Pray go on.'

'I never could spin out a story,' said Wardle abruptly. 'It must come
out, sooner or later, and it'll save us all a great deal of time if it
comes at once. The long and the short of it is, then, that Bella at last
mustered up courage to tell me that Emily was very unhappy; that she and
your young friend Snodgrass had been in constant correspondence and
communication ever since last Christmas; that she had very dutifully
made up her mind to run away with him, in laudable imitation of her old
friend and school-fellow; but that having some compunctions of
conscience on the subject, inasmuch as I had always been rather kindly
disposed to both of them, they had thought it better in the first
instance to pay me the compliment of asking whether I would have any
objection to their being married in the usual matter-of-fact manner.
There now, Mr. Pickwick, if you can make it convenient to reduce your
eyes to their usual size again, and to let me hear what you think we
ought to do, I shall feel rather obliged to you!'

The testy manner in which the hearty old gentleman uttered this last
sentence was not wholly unwarranted; for Mr. Pickwick's face had settled
down into an expression of blank amazement and perplexity, quite curious
to behold.

'Snodgrass!--since last Christmas!' were the first broken words that
issued from the lips of the confounded gentleman.

'Since last Christmas,' replied Wardle; 'that's plain enough, and very
bad spectacles we must have worn, not to have discovered it before.'

'I don't understand it,' said Mr. Pickwick, ruminating; 'I cannot really
understand it.'

'It's easy enough to understand it,' replied the choleric old gentleman.
'If you had been a younger man, you would have been in the secret long
ago; and besides,' added Wardle, after a moment's hesitation, 'the truth
is, that, knowing nothing of this matter, I have rather pressed Emily
for four or five months past, to receive favourably (if she could; I
would never attempt to force a girl's inclinations) the addresses of a
young gentleman down in our neighbourhood. I have no doubt that, girl-
like, to enhance her own value and increase the ardour of Mr. Snodgrass,
she has represented this matter in very glowing colours, and that they
have both arrived at the conclusion that they are a terribly-persecuted
pair of unfortunates, and have no resource but clandestine matrimony, or
charcoal. Now the question is, what's to be done?'

'What have _you _done?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'_I!_'

'I mean what did you do when your married daughter told you this?'

'Oh, I made a fool of myself of course,' rejoined Wardle.

'Just so,' interposed Perker, who had accompanied this dialogue with
sundry twitchings of his watch-chain, vindictive rubbings of his nose,
and other symptoms of impatience. 'That's very natural; but how?'

'I went into a great passion and frightened my mother into a fit,' said
Wardle.

'That was judicious,' remarked Perker; 'and what else?'

'I fretted and fumed all next day, and raised a great disturbance,'
rejoined the old gentleman. 'At last I got tired of rendering myself
unpleasant and making everybody miserable; so I hired a carriage at
Muggleton, and, putting my own horses in it, came up to town, under
pretence of bringing Emily to see Arabella.'

'Miss Wardle is with you, then?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'To be sure she is,' replied Wardle. 'She is at Osborne's Hotel in the
Adelphi at this moment, unless your enterprising friend has run away
with her since I came out this morning.'

'You are reconciled then?' said Perker.

'Not a bit of it,' answered Wardle; 'she has been crying and moping ever
since, except last night, between tea and supper, when she made a great
parade of writing a letter that I pretended to take no notice of.'

'You want my advice in this matter, I suppose?' said Perker, looking
from the musing face of Mr. Pickwick to the eager countenance of Wardle,
and taking several consecutive pinches of his favourite stimulant.

'I suppose so,' said Wardle, looking at Mr. Pickwick.

'Certainly,' replied that gentleman.

'Well then,' said Perker, rising and pushing his chair back, 'my advice
is, that you both walk away together, or ride away, or get away by some
means or other, for I'm tired of you, and just talk this matter over
between you. If you have not settled it by the next time I see you, I'll
tell you what to do.'

'This is satisfactory,' said Wardle, hardly knowing whether to smile or
be offended.

'Pooh, pooh, my dear Sir,' returned Perker. 'I know you both a great
deal better than you know yourselves. You have settled it already, to
all intents and purposes.'

Thus expressing himself, the little gentleman poked his snuff-box first
into the chest of Mr. Pickwick, and then into the waistcoat of Mr.
Wardle, upon which they all three laughed, especially the two last-named
gentlemen, who at once shook hands again, without any obvious or
particular reason.

'You dine with me to-day,' said Wardle to Perker, as he showed them out.

'Can't promise, my dear Sir, can't promise,' replied Perker. 'I'll look
in, in the evening, at all events.'

'I shall expect you at five,' said Wardle. 'Now, Joe!' And Joe having
been at length awakened, the two friends departed in Mr. Wardle's
carriage, which in common humanity had a dickey behind for the fat boy,
who, if there had been a footboard instead, would have rolled off and
killed himself in his very first nap.

Driving to the George and Vulture, they found that Arabella and her maid
had sent for a hackney-coach immediately on the receipt of a short note
from Emily announcing her arrival in town, and had proceeded straight to
the Adelphi. As Wardle had business to transact in the city, they sent
the carriage and the fat boy to his hotel, with the information that he
and Mr. Pickwick would return together to dinner at five o'clock.

Charged with this message, the fat boy returned, slumbering as peaceably
in his dickey, over the stones, as if it had been a down bed on watch
springs. By some extraordinary miracle he awoke of his own accord, when
the coach stopped, and giving himself a good shake to stir up his
faculties, went upstairs to execute his commission.

Now, whether the shake had jumbled the fat boy's faculties together,
instead of arranging them in proper order, or had roused such a quantity
of new ideas within him as to render him oblivious of ordinary forms and
ceremonies, or (which is also possible) had proved unsuccessful in
preventing his falling asleep as he ascended the stairs, it is an
undoubted fact that he walked into the sitting-room without previously
knocking at the door; and so beheld a gentleman with his arms clasping
his young mistress's waist, sitting very lovingly by her side on a sofa,
while Arabella and her pretty handmaid feigned to be absorbed in looking
out of a window at the other end of the room. At the sight of this
phenomenon, the fat boy uttered an interjection, the ladies a scream,
and the gentleman an oath, almost simultaneously.

'Wretched creature, what do you want here?' said the gentleman, who it
is needless to say was Mr. Snodgrass.

To this the fat boy, considerably terrified, briefly responded,
'Missis.'

'What do you want me for,' inquired Emily, turning her head aside, 'you
stupid creature?'

'Master and Mr. Pickwick is a-going to dine here at five,' replied the
fat boy.

'Leave the room!' said Mr. Snodgrass, glaring upon the bewildered youth.

'No, no, no,' added Emily hastily. 'Bella, dear, advise me.'

Upon this, Emily and Mr. Snodgrass, and Arabella and Mary, crowded into
a corner, and conversed earnestly in whispers for some minutes, during
which the fat boy dozed.

'Joe,' said Arabella, at length, looking round with a most bewitching
smile, 'how do you do, Joe?'

'Joe,' said Emily, 'you're a very good boy; I won't forget you, Joe.'

'Joe,' said Mr. Snodgrass, advancing to the astonished youth, and
seizing his hand, 'I didn't know you before. There's five shillings for
you, Joe!"

'I'll owe you five, Joe,' said Arabella, 'for old acquaintance sake, you
know;' and another most captivating smile was bestowed upon the
corpulent intruder.

The fat boy's perception being slow, he looked rather puzzled at first
to account for this sudden prepossession in his favour, and stared about
him in a very alarming manner. At length his broad face began to show
symptoms of a grin of proportionately broad dimensions; and then,
thrusting half-a-crown into each of his pockets, and a hand and wrist
after it, he burst into a horse laugh: being for the first and only time
in his existence.

'He understands us, I see,' said Arabella.

'He had better have something to eat, immediately,' remarked Emily.

The fat boy almost laughed again when he heard this suggestion. Mary,
after a little more whispering, tripped forth from the group and said--


'I am going to dine with you to-day, sir, if you have no objection.'

'This way,' said the fat boy eagerly. 'There is such a jolly meat-pie!'

With these words, the fat boy led the way downstairs; his pretty
companion captivating all the waiters and angering all the chambermaids
as she followed him to the eating-room.

There was the meat-pie of which the youth had spoken so feelingly, and
there were, moreover, a steak, and a dish of potatoes, and a pot of
porter.

'Sit down,' said the fat boy. 'Oh, my eye, how prime! I am _so_ hungry.'

Having apostrophised his eye, in a species of rapture, five or six
times, the youth took the head of the little table, and Mary seated
herself at the bottom.

'Will you have some of this?' said the fat boy, plunging into the pie up
to the very ferules of the knife and fork.

'A little, if you please,' replied Mary.

The fat boy assisted Mary to a little, and himself to a great deal, and
was just going to begin eating when he suddenly laid down his knife and
fork, leaned forward in his chair, and letting his hands, with the knife
and fork in them, fall on his knees, said, very slowly--

'I say! How nice you look!'

This was said in an admiring manner, and was, so far, gratifying; but
still there was enough of the cannibal in the young gentleman's eyes to
render the compliment a double one.

'Dear me, Joseph,' said Mary, affecting to blush, 'what do you mean?'

The fat boy, gradually recovering his former position, replied with a
heavy sigh, and, remaining thoughtful for a few moments, drank a long
draught of the porter. Having achieved this feat, he sighed again, and
applied himself assiduously to the pie.

'What a nice young lady Miss Emily is!' said Mary, after a long silence.

The fat boy had by this time finished the pie. He fixed his eyes on
Mary, and replied--

'I knows a nicerer.'

'Indeed!' said Mary.

'Yes, indeed!' replied the fat boy, with unwonted vivacity.

'What's her name?' inquired Mary.

'What's yours?'

'Mary.'

'So's hers,' said the fat boy. 'You're her.' The boy grinned to add
point to the compliment, and put his eyes into something between a
squint and a cast, which there is reason to believe he intended for an
ogle.

'You mustn't talk to me in that way,' said Mary; 'you don't mean it.'

'Don't I, though?' replied the fat boy. 'I say?'

'Well?'

'Are you going to come here regular?'

'No,' rejoined Mary, shaking her head, 'I'm going away again to-night.
Why?'

'Oh,' said the fat boy, in a tone of strong feeling; 'how we should have
enjoyed ourselves at meals, if you had been!'

'I might come here sometimes, perhaps, to see you,' said Mary, plaiting
the table-cloth in assumed coyness, 'if you would do me a favour.'

The fat boy looked from the pie-dish to the steak, as if he thought a
favour must be in a manner connected with something to eat; and then
took out one of the half-crowns and glanced at it nervously.

'Don't you understand me?' said Mary, looking slily in his fat face.

Again he looked at the half-crown, and said faintly, 'No.'

'The ladies want you not to say anything to the old gentleman about the
young gentleman having been upstairs; and I want you too.'

'Is that all?' said the fat boy, evidently very much relieved, as he
pocketed the half-crown again. 'Of course I ain't a-going to.'

'You see,' said Mary, 'Mr. Snodgrass is very fond of Miss Emily, and
Miss Emily's very fond of him, and if you were to tell about it, the old
gentleman would carry you all away miles into the country, where you'd
see nobody.'

'No, no, I won't tell,' said the fat boy stoutly.

'That's a dear,' said Mary. 'Now it's time I went upstairs, and got my
lady ready for dinner.'

'Don't go yet,' urged the fat boy.

'I must,' replied Mary. 'Good-bye, for the present.'

The fat boy, with elephantine playfulness, stretched out his arms to
ravish a kiss; but as it required no great agility to elude him, his
fair enslaver had vanished before he closed them again; upon which the
apathetic youth ate a pound or so of steak with a sentimental
countenance, and fell fast asleep.

There was so much to say upstairs, and there were so many plans to
concert for elopement and matrimony in the event of old Wardle
continuing to be cruel, that it wanted only half an hour of dinner when
Mr. Snodgrass took his final adieu. The ladies ran to Emily's bedroom to
dress, and the lover, taking up his hat, walked out of the room. He had
scarcely got outside the door, when he heard Wardle's voice talking
loudly, and looking over the banisters beheld him, followed by some
other gentlemen, coming straight upstairs. Knowing nothing of the house,
Mr. Snodgrass in his confusion stepped hastily back into the room he had
just quitted, and passing thence into an inner apartment (Mr. Wardle's
bedchamber), closed the door softly, just as the persons he had caught a
glimpse of entered the sitting-room. These were Mr. Wardle, Mr.
Pickwick, Mr. Nathaniel Winkle, and Mr. Benjamin Allen, whom he had no
difficulty in recognising by their voices.

'Very lucky I had the presence of mind to avoid them,' thought Mr.
Snodgrass with a smile, and walking on tiptoe to another door near the
bedside; 'this opens into the same passage, and I can walk quietly and
comfortably away.'

There was only one obstacle to his walking quietly and comfortably away,
which was that the door was locked and the key gone.

'Let us have some of your best wine to-day, waiter,' said old Wardle,
rubbing his hands.

'You shall have some of the very best, sir,' replied the waiter.

'Let the ladies know we have come in.'

'Yes, Sir.'

Devoutly and ardently did Mr. Snodgrass wish that the ladies could know
he had come in. He ventured once to whisper, 'Waiter!' through the
keyhole, but the probability of the wrong waiter coming to his relief,
flashed upon his mind, together with a sense of the strong resemblance
between his own situation and that in which another gentleman had been
recently found in a neighbouring hotel (an account of whose misfortunes
had appeared under the head of 'Police' in that morning's paper), he sat
himself on a portmanteau, and trembled violently.

'We won't wait a minute for Perker,' said Wardle, looking at his watch;
'he is always exact. He will be here, in time, if he means to come; and
if he does not, it's of no use waiting. Ha! Arabella!'

'My sister!' exclaimed Mr. Benjamin Allen, folding her in a most
romantic embrace.

'Oh, Ben, dear, how you do smell of tobacco,' said Arabella, rather
overcome by this mark of affection.

'Do I?' said Mr. Benjamin Allen. 'Do I, Bella? Well, perhaps I do.'

Perhaps he did, having just left a pleasant little smoking-party of
twelve medical students, in a small back parlour with a large fire.

'But I am delighted to see you,' said Mr. Ben Allen. 'Bless you, Bella!'

'There,' said Arabella, bending forward to kiss her brother; 'don't take
hold of me again, Ben, dear, because you tumble me so.'

At this point of the reconciliation, Mr. Ben Allen allowed his feelings
and the cigars and porter to overcome him, and looked round upon the
beholders with damp spectacles.

'Is nothing to be said to me?' cried Wardle, with open arms.

'A great deal,' whispered Arabella, as she received the old gentleman's
hearty caress and congratulation. 'You are a hard-hearted, unfeeling,
cruel monster.'

'You are a little rebel,' replied Wardle, in the same tone, 'and I am
afraid I shall be obliged to forbid you the house. People like you, who
get married in spite of everybody, ought not to be let loose on society.
But come!' added the old gentleman aloud, 'here's the dinner; you shall
sit by me. Joe; why, damn the boy, he's awake!'

To the great distress of his master, the fat boy was indeed in a state
of remarkable vigilance, his eyes being wide open, and looking as if
they intended to remain so. There was an alacrity in his manner, too,
which was equally unaccountable; every time his eyes met those of Emily
or Arabella, he smirked and grinned; once, Wardle could have sworn, he
saw him wink.

This alteration in the fat boy's demeanour originated in his increased
sense of his own importance, and the dignity he acquired from having
been taken into the confidence of the young ladies; and the smirks, and
grins, and winks were so many condescending assurances that they might
depend upon his fidelity. As these tokens were rather calculated to
awaken suspicion than allay it, and were somewhat embarrassing besides,
they were occasionally answered by a frown or shake of the head from
Arabella, which the fat boy, considering as hints to be on his guard,
expressed his perfect understanding of, by smirking, grinning, and
winking, with redoubled assiduity.

'Joe,' said Mr. Wardle, after an unsuccessful search in all his pockets,
'is my snuff-box on the sofa?'

'No, sir,' replied the fat boy.

'Oh, I recollect; I left it on my dressing-table this morning,' said
Wardle. 'Run into the next room and fetch it.'

The fat boy went into the next room; and, having been absent about a
minute, returned with the snuff-box, and the palest face that ever a fat
boy wore.

'What's the matter with the boy?' exclaimed Wardle.

'Nothen's the matter with me,' replied Joe nervously.

'Have you been seeing any spirits?' inquired the old gentleman.

'Or taking any?' added Ben Allen.

'I think you're right,' whispered Wardle across the table. 'He is
intoxicated, I'm sure.'

Ben Allen replied that he thought he was; and, as that gentleman had
seen a vast deal of the disease in question, Wardle was confirmed in an
impression which had been hovering about his mind for half an hour, and
at once arrived at the conclusion that the fat boy was drunk.

'Just keep your eye upon him for a few minutes,' murmured Wardle. 'We
shall soon find out whether he is or not.'

The unfortunate youth had only interchanged a dozen words with Mr.
Snodgrass, that gentleman having implored him to make a private appeal
to some friend to release him, and then pushed him out with the snuff-
box, lest his prolonged absence should lead to a discovery. He ruminated
a little with a most disturbed expression of face, and left the room in
search of Mary.

But Mary had gone home after dressing her mistress, and the fat boy came
back again more disturbed than before.

Wardle and Mr. Ben Allen exchanged glances.

'Joe!' said Wardle.

'Yes, sir.'

'What did you go away for?'

The fat boy looked hopelessly in the face of everybody at table, and
stammered out that he didn't know.

'Oh,' said Wardle, 'you don't know, eh? Take this cheese to Mr.
Pickwick.'

Now, Mr. Pickwick being in the very best health and spirits, had been
making himself perfectly delightful all dinner-time, and was at this
moment engaged in an energetic conversation with Emily and Mr. Winkle;
bowing his head, courteously, in the emphasis of his discourse, gently
waving his left hand to lend force to his observations, and all glowing
with placid smiles. He took a piece of cheese from the plate, and was on
the point of turning round to renew the conversation, when the fat boy,
stooping so as to bring his head on a level with that of Mr. Pickwick,
pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, and made the most horrible and
hideous face that was ever seen out of a Christmas pantomime.

'Dear me!' said Mr. Pickwick, starting, 'what a very--Eh?' He stopped,
for the fat boy had drawn himself up, and was, or pretended to be, fast
asleep.

'What's the matter?' inquired Wardle.

'This is such an extremely singular lad!' replied Mr. Pickwick, looking
uneasily at the boy. 'It seems an odd thing to say, but upon my word I
am afraid that, at times, he is a little deranged.'

'Oh! Mr. Pickwick, pray don't say so,' cried Emily and Arabella, both at
once.

'I am not certain, of course,' said Mr. Pickwick, amidst profound
silence and looks of general dismay; 'but his manner to me this moment
really was very alarming. Oh!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, suddenly jumping
up with a short scream. 'I beg your pardon, ladies, but at that moment
he ran some sharp instrument into my leg. Really, he is not safe.'

'He's drunk,' roared old Wardle passionately. 'Ring the bell! Call the
waiters! He's drunk.'

'I ain't,' said the fat boy, falling on his knees as his master seized
him by the collar. 'I ain't drunk.'

'Then you're mad; that's worse. Call the waiters,' said the old
gentleman.

'I ain't mad; I'm sensible,' rejoined the fat boy, beginning to cry.

'Then, what the devil did you run sharp instruments into Mr. Pickwick's
legs for?' inquired Wardle angrily.

'He wouldn't look at me,' replied the boy. 'I wanted to speak to him.'

'What did you want to say?' asked half a dozen voices at once.

The fat boy gasped, looked at the bedroom door, gasped again, and wiped
two tears away with the knuckle of each of his forefingers.

'What did you want to say?' demanded Wardle, shaking him.

'Stop!' said Mr. Pickwick; 'allow me. What did you wish to communicate
to me, my poor boy?'

'I want to whisper to you,' replied the fat boy.

'You want to bite his ear off, I suppose,' said Wardle. 'Don't come near
him; he's vicious; ring the bell, and let him be taken downstairs.'

Just as Mr. Winkle caught the bell-rope in his hand, it was arrested by
a general expression of astonishment; the captive lover, his face
burning with confusion, suddenly walked in from the bedroom, and made a
comprehensive bow to the company.

'Hollo!' cried Wardle, releasing the fat boy's collar, and staggering
back. 'What's this?'

'I have been concealed in the next room, sir, since you returned,'
explained Mr. Snodgrass.

'Emily, my girl,' said Wardle reproachfully, 'I detest meanness and
deceit; this is unjustifiable and indelicate in the highest degree. I
don't deserve this at your hands, Emily, indeed!'

'Dear papa,' said Emily, 'Arabella knows--everybody here knows--Joe
knows--that I was no party to this concealment. Augustus, for Heaven's
sake, explain it!'

Mr. Snodgrass, who had only waited for a hearing, at once recounted how
he had been placed in his then distressing predicament; how the fear of
giving rise to domestic dissensions had alone prompted him to avoid Mr.
Wardle on his entrance; how he merely meant to depart by another door,
but, finding it locked, had been compelled to stay against his will. It
was a painful situation to be placed in; but he now regretted it the
less, inasmuch as it afforded him an opportunity of acknowledging,
before their mutual friends, that he loved Mr. Wardle's daughter deeply
and sincerely; that he was proud to avow that the feeling was mutual;
and that if thousands of miles were placed between them, or oceans
rolled their waters, he could never for an instant forget those happy
days, when first--et cetera, et cetera.

Having delivered himself to this effect, Mr. Snodgrass bowed again,
looked into the crown of his hat, and stepped towards the door.

'Stop!' shouted Wardle. 'Why, in the name of all that's--'

'Inflammable,' mildly suggested Mr. Pickwick, who thought something
worse was coming.

'Well--that's inflammable,' said Wardle, adopting the substitute;
'couldn't you say all this to me in the first instance?'

'Or confide in me?' added Mr. Pickwick.

'Dear, dear,' said Arabella, taking up the defence, 'what is the use of
asking all that now, especially when you know you had set your covetous
old heart on a richer son-in-law, and are so wild and fierce besides,
that everybody is afraid of you, except me? Shake hands with him, and
order him some dinner, for goodness gracious' sake, for he looks half
starved; and pray have your wine up at once, for you'll not be tolerable
until you have taken two bottles at least.'

The worthy old gentleman pulled Arabella's ear, kissed her without the
smallest scruple, kissed his daughter also with great affection, and
shook Mr. Snodgrass warmly by the hand.

'She is right on one point at all events,' said the old gentleman
cheerfully. 'Ring for the wine!'

The wine came, and Perker came upstairs at the same moment. Mr.
Snodgrass had dinner at a side table, and, when he had despatched it,
drew his chair next Emily, without the smallest opposition on the old
gentleman's part.

The evening was excellent. Little Mr. Perker came out wonderfully, told
various comic stories, and sang a serious song which was almost as funny
as the anecdotes. Arabella was very charming, Mr. Wardle very jovial,
Mr. Pickwick very harmonious, Mr. Ben Allen very uproarious, the lovers
very silent, Mr. Winkle very talkative, and all of them very happy.

 Back in London, Sam's sweetheart, Mary, who has become the Winkles' maid, tells Sam that there is a letter for him. After kissing and flirting with Mary, Sam reads that his stepmother has died and that Tony wants him to visit. Sam takes a leave of absence from Mr. Pickwick and goes to Dorking, where he finds his father in a melancholy state because of his wife's death. Sam learns that the Dorking spinsters and widows are already trying to catch Tony. Before her death Susan Weller repented of her attachment to the wrong kind of religion. She also left Sam 200 pounds to be invested in funds, and she left Tony the bulk of her estate. While Sam is visiting, the Reverend Stiggins enters to find out if Mrs. Weller bequeathed anything to him. As he helps himself to the rum, Tony Weller jumps up and starts kicking him violently into the street. Mr. Pickwick tells Arabella of his unsuccessful encounter with Mr. Winkle. He comforts her by telling her that Mr. Winkle may change his mind in time, and that even if he doesn't, Winkle will be helped by Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick then goes to Mr. Perker's office to take care of a number of things. He has arranged for Jingle's and Job Trotter's releases from prison and has gotten them positions in the West Indies. Jingle seems rather confused and abashed, but both men are appreciative. After they leave, Mr. Pickwick talks to Perker of the possibility of Mr. Winkle's relenting, and Mr. Perker tells him to leave that to Arabella, who could charm anyone. Finally, Dodson and Fogg arrive to be paid. They are self-assured and oily, obviously pleased at receiving the money. As they leave, Mr. Pickwick calls them "a well-matched pair of mean, rascally, pettifogging robbers," shouting the words after them. Mr. Perker breaks out laughing; and Pickwick, relieved by the outburst, becomes placidly benevolent again. Then there is a furious knocking at the door. It is Joe the Fat Boy, who announces Mr. Wardle. Wardle enters the office delighted to see his two friends. He says he has brought Emily to see Arabella and that Emily is considering an elopement with Snodgrass. When he first heard of it, he made a great fuss, but he is evidently more or less reconciled to their match despite his irascible manner. The men agree to have dinner together that evening, and Mr. Wardle sends Joe the Fat Boy back to the hotel to report these arrangements. Joe surprises Emily with Snodgrass and has to be bribed to keep quiet. Joe also becomes infatuated with Sam's sweetheart, Mary. Later that day Snodgrass retreats to the bedroom when he hears Wardle enter. The Wardles, Winkle and his wife, Ben Allen, and Mr. Pickwick assemble for dinner. Snodgrass sends the stupid Joe for help, but the fat boy succeeds only in arousing everyone's suspicion. Finally, Snodgrass makes an appearance -- to Mr. Wardle's angry amazement and Mr. Pickwick's astonishment. However, Snodgrass declares his undying love and devotion to Emily, and when Wardle shows his gratification the gathering becomes happy and spirited.

