Chapter: It was within a week of the close of the month of July, that a hackney
cabriolet, number unrecorded, was seen to proceed at a rapid pace up
Goswell Street; three people were squeezed into it besides the driver,
who sat in his own particular little dickey at the side; over the apron
were hung two shawls, belonging to two small vixenish-looking ladies
under the apron; between whom, compressed into a very small compass, was
stowed away, a gentleman of heavy and subdued demeanour, who, whenever
he ventured to make an observation, was snapped up short by one of the
vixenish ladies before-mentioned. Lastly, the two vixenish ladies and
the heavy gentleman were giving the driver contradictory directions, all
tending to the one point, that he should stop at Mrs. Bardell's door;
which the heavy gentleman, in direct opposition to, and defiance of, the
vixenish ladies, contended was a green door and not a yellow one.

'Stop at the house with a green door, driver,' said the heavy gentleman.

'Oh! You perwerse creetur!' exclaimed one of the vixenish ladies. 'Drive
to the 'ouse with the yellow door, cabmin.'

Upon this the cabman, who in a sudden effort to pull up at the house
with the green door, had pulled the horse up so high that he nearly
pulled him backward into the cabriolet, let the animal's fore-legs down
to the ground again, and paused.

'Now vere am I to pull up?' inquired the driver. 'Settle it among
yourselves. All I ask is, vere?'

Here the contest was renewed with increased violence; and the horse
being troubled with a fly on his nose, the cabman humanely employed his
leisure in lashing him about on the head, on the counter-irritation
principle.

'Most wotes carries the day!' said one of the vixenish ladies at length.
'The 'ouse with the yellow door, cabman.'

But after the cabriolet had dashed up, in splendid style, to the house
with the yellow door, 'making,' as one of the vixenish ladies
triumphantly said, 'acterrally more noise than if one had come in one's
own carriage,' and after the driver had dismounted to assist the ladies
in getting out, the small round head of Master Thomas Bardell was thrust
out of the one-pair window of a house with a red door, a few numbers
off.

'Aggrawatin' thing!' said the vixenish lady last-mentioned, darting a
withering glance at the heavy gentleman.

'My dear, it's not my fault,' said the gentleman.

'Don't talk to me, you creetur, don't,' retorted the lady. 'The house
with the red door, cabmin. Oh! If ever a woman was troubled with a
ruffinly creetur, that takes a pride and a pleasure in disgracing his
wife on every possible occasion afore strangers, I am that woman!'

'You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Raddle,' said the other little
woman, who was no other than Mrs. Cluppins.

'What have I been a-doing of?' asked Mr. Raddle.

'Don't talk to me, don't, you brute, for fear I should be perwoked to
forgit my sect and strike you!' said Mrs. Raddle.

While this dialogue was going on, the driver was most ignominiously
leading the horse, by the bridle, up to the house with the red door,
which Master Bardell had already opened. Here was a mean and low way of
arriving at a friend's house! No dashing up, with all the fire and fury
of the animal; no jumping down of the driver; no loud knocking at the
door; no opening of the apron with a crash at the very last moment, for
fear of the ladies sitting in a draught; and then the man handing the
shawls out, afterwards, as if he were a private coachman! The whole edge
of the thing had been taken off--it was flatter than walking.

'Well, Tommy,' said Mrs. Cluppins, 'how's your poor dear mother?'

'Oh, she's very well,' replied Master Bardell. 'She's in the front
parlour, all ready. I'm ready too, I am.' Here Master Bardell put his
hands in his pockets, and jumped off and on the bottom step of the door.

'Is anybody else a-goin', Tommy?' said Mrs. Cluppins, arranging her
pelerine.

'Mrs. Sanders is going, she is,' replied Tommy; 'I'm going too, I am.'

'Drat the boy,' said little Mrs. Cluppins. 'He thinks of nobody but
himself. Here, Tommy, dear.'

'Well,' said Master Bardell.

'Who else is a-goin', lovey?' said Mrs. Cluppins, in an insinuating
manner.

'Oh! Mrs. Rogers is a-goin',' replied Master Bardell, opening his eyes
very wide as he delivered the intelligence.

'What? The lady as has taken the lodgings!' ejaculated Mrs. Cluppins.

Master Bardell put his hands deeper down into his pockets, and nodded
exactly thirty-five times, to imply that it was the lady-lodger, and no
other.

'Bless us!' said Mrs. Cluppins. 'It's quite a party!'

'Ah, if you knew what was in the cupboard, you'd say so,' replied Master
Bardell.

'What is there, Tommy?' said Mrs. Cluppins coaxingly. 'You'll tell _me_,
Tommy, I know.'

No, I won't,' replied Master Bardell, shaking his head, and applying
himself to the bottom step again.

'Drat the child!' muttered Mrs. Cluppins. 'What a prowokin' little
wretch it is! Come, Tommy, tell your dear Cluppy.'

'Mother said I wasn't to,' rejoined Master Bardell, 'I'm a-goin' to have
some, I am.' Cheered by this prospect, the precocious boy applied
himself to his infantile treadmill, with increased vigour.

The above examination of a child of tender years took place while Mr.
and Mrs. Raddle and the cab-driver were having an altercation concerning
the fare, which, terminating at this point in favour of the cabman, Mrs.
Raddle came up tottering.

'Lauk, Mary Ann! what's the matter?' said Mrs. Cluppins.

'It's put me all over in such a tremble, Betsy,' replied Mrs. Raddle.
'Raddle ain't like a man; he leaves everythink to me.'

This was scarcely fair upon the unfortunate Mr. Raddle, who had been
thrust aside by his good lady in the commencement of the dispute, and
peremptorily commanded to hold his tongue. He had no opportunity of
defending himself, however, for Mrs. Raddle gave unequivocal signs of
fainting; which, being perceived from the parlour window, Mrs. Bardell,
Mrs. Sanders, the lodger, and the lodger's servant, darted precipitately
out, and conveyed her into the house, all talking at the same time, and
giving utterance to various expressions of pity and condolence, as if
she were one of the most suffering mortals on earth. Being conveyed into
the front parlour, she was there deposited on a sofa; and the lady from
the first floor running up to the first floor, returned with a bottle of
sal-volatile, which, holding Mrs. Raddle tight round the neck, she
applied in all womanly kindness and pity to her nose, until that lady
with many plunges and struggles was fain to declare herself decidedly
better.

'Ah, poor thing!' said Mrs. Rogers, 'I know what her feelin's is, too
well.'

Ah, poor thing! so do I,' said Mrs. Sanders; and then all the ladies
moaned in unison, and said they knew what it was, and they pitied her
from their hearts, they did. Even the lodger's little servant, who was
thirteen years old and three feet high, murmured her sympathy.

'But what's been the matter?' said Mrs. Bardell.

'Ah, what has decomposed you, ma'am?' inquired Mrs. Rogers.

'I have been a good deal flurried,' replied Mrs. Raddle, in a
reproachful manner. Thereupon the ladies cast indignant glances at Mr.
Raddle.

'Why, the fact is,' said that unhappy gentleman, stepping forward, 'when
we alighted at this door, a dispute arose with the driver of the
cabrioily--' A loud scream from his wife, at the mention of this word,
rendered all further explanation inaudible.

'You'd better leave us to bring her round, Raddle,' said Mrs. Cluppins.
'She'll never get better as long as you're here.'

All the ladies concurred in this opinion; so Mr. Raddle was pushed out
of the room, and requested to give himself an airing in the back yard.
Which he did for about a quarter of an hour, when Mrs. Bardell announced
to him with a solemn face that he might come in now, but that he must be
very careful how he behaved towards his wife. She knew he didn't mean to
be unkind; but Mary Ann was very far from strong, and, if he didn't take
care, he might lose her when he least expected it, which would be a very
dreadful reflection for him afterwards; and so on. All this, Mr. Raddle
heard with great submission, and presently returned to the parlour in a
most lamb-like manner.

'Why, Mrs. Rogers, ma'am,' said Mrs. Bardell, 'you've never been
introduced, I declare! Mr. Raddle, ma'am; Mrs. Cluppins, ma'am; Mrs.
Raddle, ma'am.'

'Which is Mrs. Cluppins's sister,' suggested Mrs. Sanders.

'Oh, indeed!' said Mrs. Rogers graciously; for she was the lodger, and
her servant was in waiting, so she was more gracious than intimate, in
right of her position. 'Oh, indeed!'

Mrs. Raddle smiled sweetly, Mr. Raddle bowed, and Mrs. Cluppins said,
'she was sure she was very happy to have an opportunity of being known
to a lady which she had heerd so much in favour of, as Mrs. Rogers.' A
compliment which the last-named lady acknowledged with graceful
condescension.

'Well, Mr. Raddle,' said Mrs. Bardell; 'I'm sure you ought to feel very
much honoured at you and Tommy being the only gentlemen to escort so
many ladies all the way to the Spaniards, at Hampstead. Don't you think
he ought, Mrs. Rogers, ma'am?'

Oh, certainly, ma'am,' replied Mrs. Rogers; after whom all the other
ladies responded, 'Oh, certainly.'

'Of course I feel it, ma'am,' said Mr. Raddle, rubbing his hands, and
evincing a slight tendency to brighten up a little. 'Indeed, to tell you
the truth, I said, as we was a-coming along in the cabrioily--'

At the recapitulation of the word which awakened so many painful
recollections, Mrs. Raddle applied her handkerchief to her eyes again,
and uttered a half-suppressed scream; so that Mrs. Bardell frowned upon
Mr. Raddle, to intimate that he had better not say anything more, and
desired Mrs. Rogers's servant, with an air, to 'put the wine on.'

This was the signal for displaying the hidden treasures of the closet,
which comprised sundry plates of oranges and biscuits, and a bottle of
old crusted port--that at one-and-nine--with another of the celebrated
East India sherry at fourteen-pence, which were all produced in honour
of the lodger, and afforded unlimited satisfaction to everybody. After
great consternation had been excited in the mind of Mrs. Cluppins, by an
attempt on the part of Tommy to recount how he had been cross-examined
regarding the cupboard then in action (which was fortunately nipped in
the bud by his imbibing half a glass of the old crusted 'the wrong way,'
and thereby endangering his life for some seconds), the party walked
forth in quest of a Hampstead stage. This was soon found, and in a
couple of hours they all arrived safely in the Spaniards Tea-gardens,
where the luckless Mr. Raddle's very first act nearly occasioned his
good lady a relapse; it being neither more nor less than to order tea
for seven, whereas (as the ladies one and all remarked), what could have
been easier than for Tommy to have drank out of anybody's cup--or
everybody's, if that was all--when the waiter wasn't looking, which
would have saved one head of tea, and the tea just as good!

However, there was no help for it, and the tea-tray came, with seven
cups and saucers, and bread-and-butter on the same scale. Mrs. Bardell
was unanimously voted into the chair, and Mrs. Rogers being stationed on
her right hand, and Mrs. Raddle on her left, the meal proceeded with
great merriment and success.

'How sweet the country is, to be sure!' sighed Mrs. Rogers; 'I almost
wish I lived in it always.'

'Oh, you wouldn't like that, ma'am,' replied Mrs. Bardell, rather
hastily; for it was not at all advisable, with reference to the
lodgings, to encourage such notions; 'you wouldn't like it, ma'am.'

'Oh! I should think you was a deal too lively and sought after, to be
content with the country, ma'am,' said little Mrs. Cluppins.

'Perhaps I am, ma'am. Perhaps I am,' sighed the first-floor lodger.

'For lone people as have got nobody to care for them, or take care of
them, or as have been hurt in their mind, or that kind of thing,'
observed Mr. Raddle, plucking up a little cheerfulness, and looking
round, 'the country is all very well. The country for a wounded spirit,
they say.'

Now, of all things in the world that the unfortunate man could have
said, any would have been preferable to this. Of course Mrs. Bardell
burst into tears, and requested to be led from the table instantly; upon
which the affectionate child began to cry too, most dismally.

'Would anybody believe, ma'am,' exclaimed Mrs. Raddle, turning fiercely
to the first-floor lodger, 'that a woman could be married to such a
unmanly creetur, which can tamper with a woman's feelings as he does,
every hour in the day, ma'am?'

'My dear,' remonstrated Mr. Raddle, 'I didn't mean anything, my dear.'

'You didn't mean!' repeated Mrs. Raddle, with great scorn and contempt.
'Go away. I can't bear the sight on you, you brute.'

'You must not flurry yourself, Mary Ann,' interposed Mrs. Cluppins. 'You
really must consider yourself, my dear, which you never do. Now go away,
Raddle, there's a good soul, or you'll only aggravate her.'

'You had better take your tea by yourself, Sir, indeed,' said Mrs.
Rogers, again applying the smelling-bottle.

Mrs. Sanders, who, according to custom, was very busy with the bread-
and-butter, expressed the same opinion, and Mr. Raddle quietly retired.

After this, there was a great hoisting up of Master Bardell, who was
rather a large size for hugging, into his mother's arms, in which
operation he got his boots in the tea-board, and occasioned some
confusion among the cups and saucers. But that description of fainting
fits, which is contagious among ladies, seldom lasts long; so when he
had been well kissed, and a little cried over, Mrs. Bardell recovered,
set him down again, wondering how she could have been so foolish, and
poured out some more tea.

It was at this moment, that the sound of approaching wheels was heard,
and that the ladies, looking up, saw a hackney-coach stop at the garden
gate.

'More company!' said Mrs. Sanders.

'It's a gentleman,' said Mrs. Raddle.

'Well, if it ain't Mr. Jackson, the young man from Dodson and Fogg's!'
cried Mrs. Bardell. 'Why, gracious! Surely Mr. Pickwick can't have paid
the damages.'

'Or hoffered marriage!' said Mrs. Cluppins.

'Dear me, how slow the gentleman is,' exclaimed Mrs. Rogers. 'Why
doesn't he make haste!'

As the lady spoke these words, Mr. Jackson turned from the coach where
he had been addressing some observations to a shabby man in black
leggings, who had just emerged from the vehicle with a thick ash stick
in his hand, and made his way to the place where the ladies were seated;
winding his hair round the brim of his hat, as he came along.

'Is anything the matter? Has anything taken place, Mr. Jackson?' said
Mrs. Bardell eagerly.

'Nothing whatever, ma'am,' replied Mr. Jackson. 'How de do, ladies? I
have to ask pardon, ladies, for intruding--but the law, ladies--the
law.' With this apology Mr. Jackson smiled, made a comprehensive bow,
and gave his hair another wind. Mrs. Rogers whispered Mrs. Raddle that
he was really an elegant young man.

'I called in Goswell Street,' resumed Mr. Jackson, 'and hearing that you
were here, from the slavey, took a coach and came on. Our people want
you down in the city directly, Mrs. Bardell.'

'Lor!' ejaculated that lady, starting at the sudden nature of the
communication.

'Yes,' said Mr. Jackson, biting his lip. 'It's very important and
pressing business, which can't be postponed on any account. Indeed,
Dodson expressly said so to me, and so did Fogg. I've kept the coach on
purpose for you to go back in.'

'How very strange!' exclaimed Mrs. Bardell.

The ladies agreed that it _was _ very strange, but were unanimously of
opinion that it must be very important, or Dodson & Fogg would never
have sent; and further, that the business being urgent, she ought to
repair to Dodson & Fogg's without any delay.

There was a certain degree of pride and importance about being wanted by
one's lawyers in such a monstrous hurry, that was by no means
displeasing to Mrs. Bardell, especially as it might be reasonably
supposed to enhance her consequence in the eyes of the first-floor
lodger. She simpered a little, affected extreme vexation and hesitation,
and at last arrived at the conclusion that she supposed she must go.

'But won't you refresh yourself after your walk, Mr. Jackson?' said Mrs.
Bardell persuasively.

'Why, really there ain't much time to lose,' replied Jackson; 'and I've
got a friend here,' he continued, looking towards the man with the ash
stick.

'Oh, ask your friend to come here, Sir,' said Mrs. Bardell. 'Pray ask
your friend here, Sir.'

'Why, thank'ee, I'd rather not,' said Mr. Jackson, with some
embarrassment of manner. 'He's not much used to ladies' society, and it
makes him bashful. If you'll order the waiter to deliver him anything
short, he won't drink it off at once, won't he!--only try him!' Mr.
Jackson's fingers wandered playfully round his nose at this portion of
his discourse, to warn his hearers that he was speaking ironically.

The waiter was at once despatched to the bashful gentleman, and the
bashful gentleman took something; Mr. Jackson also took something, and
the ladies took something, for hospitality's sake. Mr. Jackson then said
he was afraid it was time to go; upon which, Mrs. Sanders, Mrs.
Cluppins, and Tommy (who it was arranged should accompany Mrs. Bardell,
leaving the others to Mr. Raddle's protection), got into the coach.

'Isaac,' said Jackson, as Mrs. Bardell prepared to get in, looking up at
the man with the ash stick, who was seated on the box, smoking a cigar.

'Well?'

'This is Mrs. Bardell.'

'Oh, I know'd that long ago,' said the man.

Mrs. Bardell got in, Mr. Jackson got in after her, and away they drove.
Mrs. Bardell could not help ruminating on what Mr. Jackson's friend had
said. Shrewd creatures, those lawyers. Lord bless us, how they find
people out!

'Sad thing about these costs of our people's, ain't it,' said Jackson,
when Mrs. Cluppins and Mrs. Sanders had fallen asleep; 'your bill of
costs, I mean.'

'I'm very sorry they can't get them,' replied Mrs. Bardell. 'But if you
law gentlemen do these things on speculation, why you must get a loss
now and then, you know.'

'You gave them a _cognovit _for the amount of your costs, after the
trial, I'm told!' said Jackson.

'Yes. Just as a matter of form,' replied Mrs. Bardell.

'Certainly,' replied Jackson drily. 'Quite a matter of form. Quite.'

On they drove, and Mrs. Bardell fell asleep. She was awakened, after
some time, by the stopping of the coach.

'Bless us!' said the lady. 'Are we at Freeman's Court?'

'We're not going quite so far,' replied Jackson. 'Have the goodness to
step out.'

Mrs. Bardell, not yet thoroughly awake, complied. It was a curious
place: a large wall, with a gate in the middle, and a gas-light burning
inside.


'Now, ladies,' cried the man with the ash stick, looking into the coach,
and shaking Mrs. Sanders to wake her, 'Come!' Rousing her friend, Mrs.
Sanders alighted. Mrs. Bardell, leaning on Jackson's arm, and leading
Tommy by the hand, had already entered the porch. They followed.

The room they turned into was even more odd-looking than the porch. Such
a number of men standing about! And they stared so!

'What place is this?' inquired Mrs. Bardell, pausing.

'Only one of our public offices,' replied Jackson, hurrying her through
a door, and looking round to see that the other women were following.
'Look sharp, Isaac!'

'Safe and sound,' replied the man with the ash stick. The door swung
heavily after them, and they descended a small flight of steps.

'Here we are at last. All right and tight, Mrs. Bardell!' said Jackson,
looking exultingly round.

'What do you mean?' said Mrs. Bardell, with a palpitating heart.

'Just this,' replied Jackson, drawing her a little on one side; 'don't
be frightened, Mrs. Bardell. There never was a more delicate man than
Dodson, ma'am, or a more humane man than Fogg. It was their duty in the
way of business, to take you in execution for them costs; but they were
anxious to spare your feelings as much as they could. What a comfort it
must be, to you, to think how it's been done! This is the Fleet, ma'am.
Wish you good-night, Mrs. Bardell. Good-night, Tommy!'

As Jackson hurried away in company with the man with the ash stick
another man, with a key in his hand, who had been looking on, led the
bewildered female to a second short flight of steps leading to a
doorway. Mrs. Bardell screamed violently; Tommy roared; Mrs. Cluppins
shrunk within herself; and Mrs. Sanders made off, without more ado. For
there stood the injured Mr. Pickwick, taking his nightly allowance of
air; and beside him leant Samuel Weller, who, seeing Mrs. Bardell, took
his hat off with mock reverence, while his master turned indignantly on
his heel.

'Don't bother the woman,' said the turnkey to Weller; 'she's just come
in.'

'A prisoner!' said Sam, quickly replacing his hat. 'Who's the
plaintives? What for? Speak up, old feller.'

'Dodson and Fogg,' replied the man; 'execution on _cognovit _for costs.'

'Here, Job, Job!' shouted Sam, dashing into the passage. 'Run to Mr.
Perker's, Job. I want him directly. I see some good in this. Here's a
game. Hooray! vere's the gov'nor?'

But there was no reply to these inquiries, for Job had started furiously
off, the instant he received his commission, and Mrs. Bardell had
fainted in real downright earnest.


Job Trotter, abating nothing of his speed, ran up Holborn, sometimes in
the middle of the road, sometimes on the pavement, sometimes in the
gutter, as the chances of getting along varied with the press of men,
women, children, and coaches, in each division of the thoroughfare, and,
regardless of all obstacles stopped not for an instant until he reached
the gate of Gray's Inn. Notwithstanding all the expedition he had used,
however, the gate had been closed a good half-hour when he reached it,
and by the time he had discovered Mr. Perker's laundress, who lived with
a married daughter, who had bestowed her hand upon a non-resident
waiter, who occupied the one-pair of some number in some street closely
adjoining to some brewery somewhere behind Gray's Inn Lane, it was
within fifteen minutes of closing the prison for the night. Mr. Lowten
had still to be ferreted out from the back parlour of the Magpie and
Stump; and Job had scarcely accomplished this object, and communicated
Sam Weller's message, when the clock struck ten.

'There,' said Lowten, 'it's too late now. You can't get in to-night;
you've got the key of the street, my friend.'

'Never mind me,' replied Job. 'I can sleep anywhere. But won't it be
better to see Mr. Perker to-night, so that we may be there, the first
thing in the morning?'

'Why,' responded Lowten, after a little consideration, 'if it was in
anybody else's case, Perker wouldn't be best pleased at my going up to
his house; but as it's Mr. Pickwick's, I think I may venture to take a
cab and charge it to the office.' Deciding on this line of conduct, Mr.
Lowten took up his hat, and begging the assembled company to appoint a
deputy-chairman during his temporary absence, led the way to the nearest
coach-stand. Summoning the cab of most promising appearance, he directed
the driver to repair to Montague Place, Russell Square.

Mr. Perker had had a dinner-party that day, as was testified by the
appearance of lights in the drawing-room windows, the sound of an
improved grand piano, and an improvable cabinet voice issuing therefrom,
and a rather overpowering smell of meat which pervaded the steps and
entry. In fact, a couple of very good country agencies happening to come
up to town, at the same time, an agreeable little party had been got
together to meet them, comprising Mr. Snicks, the Life Office Secretary,
Mr. Prosee, the eminent counsel, three solicitors, one commissioner of
bankrupts, a special pleader from the Temple, a small-eyed peremptory
young gentleman, his pupil, who had written a lively book about the law
of demises, with a vast quantity of marginal notes and references; and
several other eminent and distinguished personages. From this society,
little Mr. Perker detached himself, on his clerk being announced in a
whisper; and repairing to the dining-room, there found Mr. Lowten and
Job Trotter looking very dim and shadowy by the light of a kitchen
candle, which the gentleman who condescended to appear in plush shorts
and cottons for a quarterly stipend, had, with a becoming contempt for
the clerk and all things appertaining to 'the office,' placed upon the
table.

'Now, Lowten,' said little Mr. Perker, shutting the door, 'what's the
matter? No important letter come in a parcel, is there?'

'No, Sir,' replied Lowten. 'This is a messenger from Mr. Pickwick, Sir.'

'From Pickwick, eh?' said the little man, turning quickly to Job. 'Well,
what is it?'

'Dodson and Fogg have taken Mrs. Bardell in execution for her costs,
Sir,' said Job.

'No!' exclaimed Perker, putting his hands in his pockets, and reclining
against the sideboard.

'Yes,' said Job. 'It seems they got a cognovit out of her, for the
amount of 'em, directly after the trial.'

'By Jove!' said Perker, taking both hands out of his pockets, and
striking the knuckles of his right against the palm of his left,
emphatically, 'those are the cleverest scamps I ever had anything to do
with!'

'The sharpest practitioners I ever knew, Sir,' observed Lowten.

'Sharp!' echoed Perker. 'There's no knowing where to have them.'

'Very true, Sir, there is not,' replied Lowten; and then, both master
and man pondered for a few seconds, with animated countenances, as if
they were reflecting upon one of the most beautiful and ingenious
discoveries that the intellect of man had ever made. When they had in
some measure recovered from their trance of admiration, Job Trotter
discharged himself of the rest of his commission. Perker nodded his head
thoughtfully, and pulled out his watch.

'At ten precisely, I will be there,' said the little man. 'Sam is quite
right. Tell him so. Will you take a glass of wine, Lowten?'

No, thank you, Sir.'

'You mean yes, I think,' said the little man, turning to the sideboard
for a decanter and glasses.

As Lowten _did _mean yes, he said no more on the subject, but inquired
of Job, in an audible whisper, whether the portrait of Perker, which
hung opposite the fireplace, wasn't a wonderful likeness, to which Job
of course replied that it was. The wine being by this time poured out,
Lowten drank to Mrs. Perker and the children, and Job to Perker. The
gentleman in the plush shorts and cottons considering it no part of his
duty to show the people from the office out, consistently declined to
answer the bell, and they showed themselves out. The attorney betook
himself to his drawing-room, the clerk to the Magpie and Stump, and Job
to Covent Garden Market to spend the night in a vegetable basket.

Punctually at the appointed hour next morning, the good-humoured little
attorney tapped at Mr. Pickwick's door, which was opened with great
alacrity by Sam Weller.

'Mr. Perker, sir,' said Sam, announcing the visitor to Mr. Pickwick, who
was sitting at the window in a thoughtful attitude. 'Wery glad you've
looked in accidentally, Sir. I rather think the gov'nor wants to have a
word and a half with you, Sir.'

Perker bestowed a look of intelligence on Sam, intimating that he
understood he was not to say he had been sent for; and beckoning him to
approach, whispered briefly in his ear.

'You don't mean that 'ere, Sir?' said Sam, starting back in excessive
surprise.

Perker nodded and smiled.

Mr. Samuel Weller looked at the little lawyer, then at Mr. Pickwick,
then at the ceiling, then at Perker again; grinned, laughed outright,
and finally, catching up his hat from the carpet, without further
explanation, disappeared.

'What does this mean?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, looking at Perker with
astonishment. 'What has put Sam into this extraordinary state?'

'Oh, nothing, nothing,' replied Perker. 'Come, my dear Sir, draw up your
chair to the table. I have a good deal to say to you.'

'What papers are those?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, as the little man
deposited on the table a small bundle of documents tied with red tape.

'The papers in Bardell and Pickwick,' replied Perker, undoing the knot
with his teeth.

Mr. Pickwick grated the legs of his chair against the ground; and
throwing himself into it, folded his hands and looked sternly--if Mr.
Pickwick ever could look sternly--at his legal friend.

'You don't like to hear the name of the cause?' said the little man,
still busying himself with the knot.

'No, I do not indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'Sorry for that,' resumed Perker, 'because it will form the subject of
our conversation.'

'I would rather that the subject should be never mentioned between us,
Perker,' interposed Mr. Pickwick hastily.

'Pooh, pooh, my dear Sir,' said the little man, untying the bundle, and
glancing eagerly at Mr. Pickwick out of the corners of his eyes. 'It
must be mentioned. I have come here on purpose. Now, are you ready to
hear what I have to say, my dear Sir? No hurry; if you are not, I can
wait. I have this morning's paper here. Your time shall be mine. There!'
Hereupon, the little man threw one leg over the other, and made a show
of beginning to read with great composure and application.

'Well, well,' said Mr. Pickwick, with a sigh, but softening into a smile
at the same time. 'Say what you have to say; it's the old story, I
suppose?'

'With a difference, my dear Sir; with a difference,' rejoined Perker,
deliberately folding up the paper and putting it into his pocket again.
'Mrs. Bardell, the plaintiff in the action, is within these walls, Sir.'

'I know it,' was Mr. Pickwick's reply.

'Very good,' retorted Perker. 'And you know how she comes here, I
suppose; I mean on what grounds, and at whose suit?'

'Yes; at least I have heard Sam's account of the matter,' said Mr.
Pickwick, with affected carelessness.

'Sam's account of the matter,' replied Perker, 'is, I will venture to
say, a perfectly correct one. Well now, my dear Sir, the first question
I have to ask, is, whether this woman is to remain here?'

'To remain here!' echoed Mr. Pickwick.

'To remain here, my dear Sir,' rejoined Perker, leaning back in his
chair and looking steadily at his client.

'How can you ask me?' said that gentleman. 'It rests with Dodson and
Fogg; you know that very well.'

'I know nothing of the kind,' retorted Perker firmly. 'It does _not
_rest with Dodson and Fogg; you know the men, my dear Sir, as well as I
do. It rests solely, wholly, and entirely with you.'

'With me!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, rising nervously from his chair, and
reseating himself directly afterwards.

The little man gave a double-knock on the lid of his snuff-box, opened
it, took a great pinch, shut it up again, and repeated the words, 'With
you.'

'I say, my dear Sir,' resumed the little man, who seemed to gather
confidence from the snuff--'I say, that her speedy liberation or
perpetual imprisonment rests with you, and with you alone. Hear me out,
my dear Sir, if you please, and do not be so very energetic, for it will
only put you into a perspiration and do no good whatever. I say,'
continued Perker, checking off each position on a different finger, as
he laid it down--'I say that nobody but you can rescue her from this den
of wretchedness; and that you can only do that, by paying the costs of
this suit--both of plaintive and defendant--into the hands of these
Freeman Court sharks. Now pray be quiet, my dear sir.'

Mr. Pickwick, whose face had been undergoing most surprising changes
during this speech, and was evidently on the verge of a strong burst of
indignation, calmed his wrath as well as he could. Perker, strengthening
his argumentative powers with another pinch of snuff, proceeded--

'I have seen the woman, this morning. By paying the costs, you can
obtain a full release and discharge from the damages; and further--this
I know is a far greater object of consideration with you, my dear sir--a
voluntary statement, under her hand, in the form of a letter to me, that
this business was, from the very first, fomented, and encouraged, and
brought about, by these men, Dodson and Fogg; that she deeply regrets
ever having been the instrument of annoyance or injury to you; and that
she entreats me to intercede with you, and implore your pardon.'

'If I pay her costs for her,' said Mr. Pickwick indignantly. 'A valuable
document, indeed!'

'No "if" in the case, my dear Sir,' said Perker triumphantly. 'There is
the very letter I speak of. Brought to my office by another woman at
nine o'clock this morning, before I had set foot in this place, or held
any communication with Mrs. Bardell, upon my honour.' Selecting the
letter from the bundle, the little lawyer laid it at Mr. Pickwick's
elbow, and took snuff for two consecutive minutes, without winking.

'Is this all you have to say to me?' inquired Mr. Pickwick mildly.

'Not quite,' replied Perker. 'I cannot undertake to say, at this moment,
whether the wording of the cognovit, the nature of the ostensible
consideration, and the proof we can get together about the whole conduct
of the suit, will be sufficient to justify an indictment for conspiracy.
I fear not, my dear Sir; they are too clever for that, I doubt. I do
mean to say, however, that the whole facts, taken together, will be
sufficient to justify you, in the minds of all reasonable men. And now,
my dear Sir, I put it to you. This one hundred and fifty pounds, or
whatever it may be--take it in round numbers--is nothing to you. A jury
had decided against you; well, their verdict is wrong, but still they
decided as they thought right, and it _is_ against you. You have now an
opportunity, on easy terms, of placing yourself in a much higher
position than you ever could, by remaining here; which would only be
imputed, by people who didn't know you, to sheer dogged, wrongheaded,
brutal obstinacy; nothing else, my dear Sir, believe me. Can you
hesitate to avail yourself of it, when it restores you to your friends,
your old pursuits, your health and amusements; when it liberates your
faithful and attached servant, whom you otherwise doom to imprisonment
for the whole of your life; and above all, when it enables you to take
the very magnanimous revenge--which I know, my dear sir, is one after
your own heart--of releasing this woman from a scene of misery and
debauchery, to which no man should ever be consigned, if I had my will,
but the infliction of which on any woman, is even more frightful and
barbarous. Now I ask you, my dear sir, not only as your legal adviser,
but as your very true friend, will you let slip the occasion of
attaining all these objects, and doing all this good, for the paltry
consideration of a few pounds finding their way into the pockets of a
couple of rascals, to whom it makes no manner of difference, except that
the more they gain, the more they'll seek, and so the sooner be led into
some piece of knavery that must end in a crash? I have put these
considerations to you, my dear Sir, very feebly and imperfectly, but I
ask you to think of them. Turn them over in your mind as long as you
please. I wait here most patiently for your answer.'


Before Mr. Pickwick could reply, before Mr. Perker had taken one
twentieth part of the snuff with which so unusually long an address
imperatively required to be followed up, there was a low murmuring of
voices outside, and then a hesitating knock at the door.

'Dear, dear,' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who had been evidently roused by
his friend's appeal; 'what an annoyance that door is! Who is that?'

'Me, Sir,' replied Sam Weller, putting in his head.

'I can't speak to you just now, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'I am engaged
at this moment, Sam.'

'Beg your pardon, Sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller. 'But here's a lady here,
Sir, as says she's somethin' wery partickler to disclose.'

'I can't see any lady,' replied Mr. Pickwick, whose mind was filled with
visions of Mrs. Bardell.

'I wouldn't make too sure o' that, Sir,' urged Mr. Weller, shaking his
head. 'If you know'd who was near, sir, I rayther think you'd change
your note; as the hawk remarked to himself vith a cheerful laugh, ven he
heerd the robin-redbreast a-singin' round the corner.'

'Who is it?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Will you see her, Sir?' asked Mr. Weller, holding the door in his hand
as if he had some curious live animal on the other side.

'I suppose I must,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking at Perker.

'Well then, all in to begin!' cried Sam. 'Sound the gong, draw up the
curtain, and enter the two conspiraytors.'

As Sam Weller spoke, he threw the door open, and there rushed
tumultuously into the room, Mr. Nathaniel Winkle, leading after him by
the hand, the identical young lady who at Dingley Dell had worn the
boots with the fur round the tops, and who, now a very pleasing compound
of blushes and confusion, and lilac silk, and a smart bonnet, and a rich
lace veil, looked prettier than ever.

'Miss Arabella Allen!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, rising from his chair.

'No,' replied Mr. Winkle, dropping on his knees. 'Mrs. Winkle. Pardon,
my dear friend, pardon!'

Mr. Pickwick could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses, and
perhaps would not have done so, but for the corroborative testimony
afforded by the smiling countenance of Perker, and the bodily presence,
in the background, of Sam and the pretty housemaid; who appeared to
contemplate the proceedings with the liveliest satisfaction.

'Oh, Mr. Pickwick!' said Arabella, in a low voice, as if alarmed at the
silence. 'Can you forgive my imprudence?'

Mr. Pickwick returned no verbal response to this appeal; but he took off
his spectacles in great haste, and seizing both the young lady's hands
in his, kissed her a great number of times--perhaps a greater number
than was absolutely necessary--and then, still retaining one of her
hands, told Mr. Winkle he was an audacious young dog, and bade him get
up. This, Mr. Winkle, who had been for some seconds scratching his nose
with the brim of his hat, in a penitent manner, did; whereupon Mr.
Pickwick slapped him on the back several times, and then shook hands
heartily with Perker, who, not to be behind-hand in the compliments of
the occasion, saluted both the bride and the pretty housemaid with right
good-will, and, having wrung Mr. Winkle's hand most cordially, wound up
his demonstrations of joy by taking snuff enough to set any half-dozen
men with ordinarily-constructed noses, a-sneezing for life.

'Why, my dear girl,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'how has all this come about?
Come! Sit down, and let me hear it all. How well she looks, doesn't she,
Perker?' added Mr. Pickwick, surveying Arabella's face with a look of as
much pride and exultation, as if she had been his daughter.

'Delightful, my dear Sir,' replied the little man. 'If I were not a
married man myself, I should be disposed to envy you, you dog.' Thus
expressing himself, the little lawyer gave Mr. Winkle a poke in the
chest, which that gentleman reciprocated; after which they both laughed
very loudly, but not so loudly as Mr. Samuel Weller, who had just
relieved his feelings by kissing the pretty housemaid under cover of the
cupboard door.

'I can never be grateful enough to you, Sam, I am sure,' said Arabella,
with the sweetest smile imaginable. 'I shall not forget your exertions
in the garden at Clifton.'

'Don't say nothin' wotever about it, ma'am,' replied Sam. 'I only
assisted natur, ma'am; as the doctor said to the boy's mother, after
he'd bled him to death.'

'Mary, my dear, sit down,' said Mr. Pickwick, cutting short these
compliments. 'Now then; how long have you been married, eh?'

Arabella looked bashfully at her lord and master, who replied, 'Only
three days.'

'Only three days, eh?' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Why, what have you been doing
these three months?'

'Ah, to be sure!' interposed Perker; 'come, account for this idleness.
You see Mr. Pickwick's only astonishment is, that it wasn't all over,
months ago.'

'Why the fact is,' replied Mr. Winkle, looking at his blushing young
wife, 'that I could not persuade Bella to run away, for a long time. And
when I had persuaded her, it was a long time more before we could find
an opportunity. Mary had to give a month's warning, too, before she
could leave her place next door, and we couldn't possibly have done it
without her assistance.'

Upon my word,' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who by this time had resumed his
spectacles, and was looking from Arabella to Winkle, and from Winkle to
Arabella, with as much delight depicted in his countenance as
warmheartedness and kindly feeling can communicate to the human face--
'upon my word! you seem to have been very systematic in your
proceedings. And is your brother acquainted with all this, my dear?'

'Oh, no, no,' replied Arabella, changing colour. 'Dear Mr. Pickwick, he
must only know it from you--from your lips alone. He is so violent, so
prejudiced, and has been so--so anxious in behalf of his friend, Mr.
Sawyer,' added Arabella, looking down, 'that I fear the consequences
dreadfully.'

'Ah, to be sure,' said Perker gravely. 'You must take this matter in
hand for them, my dear sir. These young men will respect you, when they
would listen to nobody else. You must prevent mischief, my dear Sir. Hot
blood, hot blood.' And the little man took a warning pinch, and shook
his head doubtfully.

'You forget, my love,' said Mr. Pickwick gently, 'you forget that I am a
prisoner.'

'No, indeed I do not, my dear Sir,' replied Arabella. 'I never have
forgotten it. I have never ceased to think how great your sufferings
must have been in this shocking place. But I hoped that what no
consideration for yourself would induce you to do, a regard to our
happiness might. If my brother hears of this, first, from you, I feel
certain we shall be reconciled. He is my only relation in the world, Mr.
Pickwick, and unless you plead for me, I fear I have lost even him. I
have done wrong, very, very wrong, I know.' Here poor Arabella hid her
face in her handkerchief, and wept bitterly.

Mr. Pickwick's nature was a good deal worked upon, by these same tears;
but when Mrs. Winkle, drying her eyes, took to coaxing and entreating in
the sweetest tones of a very sweet voice, he became particularly
restless, and evidently undecided how to act, as was evinced by sundry
nervous rubbings of his spectacle-glasses, nose, tights, head, and
gaiters.

Taking advantage of these symptoms of indecision, Mr. Perker (to whom,
it appeared, the young couple had driven straight that morning) urged
with legal point and shrewdness that Mr. Winkle, senior, was still
unacquainted with the important rise in life's flight of steps which his
son had taken; that the future expectations of the said son depended
entirely upon the said Winkle, senior, continuing to regard him with
undiminished feelings of affection and attachment, which it was very
unlikely he would, if this great event were long kept a secret from him;
that Mr. Pickwick, repairing to Bristol to seek Mr. Allen, might, with
equal reason, repair to Birmingham to seek Mr. Winkle, senior; lastly,
that Mr. Winkle, senior, had good right and title to consider Mr.
Pickwick as in some degree the guardian and adviser of his son, and that
it consequently behoved that gentleman, and was indeed due to his
personal character, to acquaint the aforesaid Winkle, senior,
personally, and by word of mouth, with the whole circumstances of the
case, and with the share he had taken in the transaction.

Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass arrived, most opportunely, in this stage of
the pleadings, and as it was necessary to explain to them all that had
occurred, together with the various reasons pro and con, the whole of
the arguments were gone over again, after which everybody urged every
argument in his own way, and at his own length. And, at last, Mr.
Pickwick, fairly argued and remonstrated out of all his resolutions, and
being in imminent danger of being argued and remonstrated out of his
wits, caught Arabella in his arms, and declaring that she was a very
amiable creature, and that he didn't know how it was, but he had always
been very fond of her from the first, said he could never find it in his
heart to stand in the way of young people's happiness, and they might do
with him as they pleased.

Mr. Weller's first act, on hearing this concession, was to despatch Job
Trotter to the illustrious Mr. Pell, with an authority to deliver to the
bearer the formal discharge which his prudent parent had had the
foresight to leave in the hands of that learned gentleman, in case it
should be, at any time, required on an emergency; his next proceeding
was, to invest his whole stock of ready-money in the purchase of five-
and-twenty gallons of mild porter, which he himself dispensed on the
racket-ground to everybody who would partake of it; this done, he
hurra'd in divers parts of the building until he lost his voice, and
then quietly relapsed into his usual collected and philosophical
condition.

At three o'clock that afternoon, Mr. Pickwick took a last look at his
little room, and made his way, as well as he could, through the throng
of debtors who pressed eagerly forward to shake him by the hand, until
he reached the lodge steps. He turned here, to look about him, and his
eye lightened as he did so. In all the crowd of wan, emaciated faces, he
saw not one which was not happier for his sympathy and charity.

'Perker,' said Mr. Pickwick, beckoning one young man towards him, 'this
is Mr. Jingle, whom I spoke to you about.'

'Very good, my dear Sir,' replied Perker, looking hard at Jingle. 'You
will see me again, young man, to-morrow. I hope you may live to remember
and feel deeply, what I shall have to communicate, Sir.'

Jingle bowed respectfully, trembled very much as he took Mr. Pickwick's
proffered hand, and withdrew.

'Job you know, I think?' said Mr. Pickwick, presenting that gentleman.

'I know the rascal,' replied Perker good-humouredly. 'See after your
friend, and be in the way to-morrow at one. Do you hear? Now, is there
anything more?'

'Nothing,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick. 'You have delivered the little parcel
I gave you for your old landlord, Sam?'

'I have, Sir,' replied Sam. 'He bust out a-cryin', Sir, and said you wos
wery gen'rous and thoughtful, and he only wished you could have him
innockilated for a gallopin' consumption, for his old friend as had
lived here so long wos dead, and he'd noweres to look for another.'

Poor fellow, poor fellow!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'God bless you, my
friends!'

As Mr. Pickwick uttered this adieu, the crowd raised a loud shout. Many
among them were pressing forward to shake him by the hand again, when he
drew his arm through Perker's, and hurried from the prison, far more sad
and melancholy, for the moment, than when he had first entered it. Alas!
how many sad and unhappy beings had he left behind!

A happy evening was that for at least one party in the George and
Vulture; and light and cheerful were two of the hearts that emerged from
its hospitable door next morning. The owners thereof were Mr. Pickwick
and Sam Weller, the former of whom was speedily deposited inside a
comfortable post-coach, with a little dickey behind, in which the latter
mounted with great agility.

'Sir,' called out Mr. Weller to his master.

'Well, Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick, thrusting his head out of the window.

'I wish them horses had been three months and better in the Fleet, Sir.'

'Why, Sam?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Wy, Sir,' exclaimed Mr. Weller, rubbing his hands, 'how they would go
if they had been!'

 The vixenish Mrs. Raddle, her browbeaten husband, and Mrs. Cluppins arrive at Mrs. Bardell's to go for an outing. Mrs. Bardell and her son and her group of friends take the coach to Hampstead, where they take tea. And poor Mr. Raddle is badgered all the way. As they dine, Mr. Jackson of Dodson and Fogg's comes to take Mrs. Bardell back to the city. She, her son, and two friends accompany him back, each ignorant of Mr. Jackson's purpose. He intimates that it has to do with a cognovit that Mrs. Bardell signed after the trial. Much to Mrs. Bardell's humiliation, she is imprisoned in Fleet Prison, where Mr. Pickwick is taking his evening walk. On seeing the woman, Sam Weller has a bright idea and sends Job Trotter to fetch Mr. Perker, the lawyer. Mr. Perker arrives at the Fleet the next morning and proceeds to argue with Mr. Pickwick about why he should pay. Prison is no place for a woman, and Mrs. Bardell has agreed to forgo damages if Mr. Pick-wick will pay her lawyers' fee. In addition, she has signed a paper saying that Dodson and Fogg egged her on. Besides this, Sam will remain in prison as long as Mr. Pickwick does. So if he chooses not to pay, public opinion will regard his obstinacy as reprehensible. Having set this forth, Mr. Perker is interrupted by Winkle and his new bride, Arabella. After congratulations, the pair ask Mr. Pickwick to break the news to her brother, Ben Allen, and his father, Mr. Winkle. The newlyweds think that Mr. Pickwick can reconcile these relatives to the marriage. Mr. Pickwick relents and obtains his release and Mrs. Bardell's. He also agrees to see the Winkles' relatives. Sam then obtains his own release, and after a day of celebration Sam and Mr. Pickwick leave the Fleet the next morning.

