Weller shook his head with legal solemnity.
'Wot a perwerse old file it is!' exclaimed Sam. 'always a-goin' on about
werdicks and alleybis and that. Who said anything about the werdick?'
Mr. Weller made no reply, but once more shook his head most learnedly.
'Leave off rattlin' that 'ere nob o' yourn, if you don't want it to
come off the springs altogether,' said Sam impatiently, 'and behave
reasonable. I vent all the vay down to the Markis o' Granby, arter you,
last night.'
'Did you see the Marchioness o' Granby, Sammy?' inquired Mr. Weller,
with a sigh.
'Yes, I did,' replied Sam.
'How wos the dear creetur a-lookin'?'
'Wery queer,' said Sam. 'I think she's a-injurin' herself gradivally
vith too much o' that 'ere pine-apple rum, and other strong medicines of
the same natur.'
'You don't mean that, Sammy?' said the senior earnestly.
'I do, indeed,' replied the junior. Mr. Weller seized his son's hand,
clasped it, and let it fall. There was an expression on his countenance
in doing so--not of dismay or apprehension, but partaking more of the
sweet and gentle character of hope. A gleam of resignation, and even
of cheerfulness, passed over his face too, as he slowly said, 'I ain't
quite certain, Sammy; I wouldn't like to say I wos altogether positive,
in case of any subsekent disappointment, but I rayther think, my boy, I
rayther think, that the shepherd's got the liver complaint!'
'Does he look bad?' inquired Sam.
'He's uncommon pale,' replied his father, ''cept about the nose,
which is redder than ever. His appetite is wery so-so, but he imbibes
wonderful.'
Some thoughts of the rum appeared to obtrude themselves on Mr. Weller's
mind, as he said this; for he looked gloomy and thoughtful; but he very
shortly recovered, as was testified by a perfect alphabet of winks, in
which he was only wont to indulge when particularly pleased.
'Vell, now,' said Sam, 'about my affair. Just open them ears o' yourn,
and don't say nothin' till I've done.' With this preface, Sam related,
as succinctly as he could, the last memorable conversation he had had
with Mr. Pickwick.
'Stop there by himself, poor creetur!' exclaimed the elder Mr. Weller,
'without nobody to take his part! It can't be done, Samivel, it can't be
done.'
'O' course it can't,' asserted Sam: 'I know'd that, afore I came.' 'Why,
they'll eat him up alive, Sammy,'exclaimed Mr. Weller.
Sam nodded his concurrence in the opinion.
'He goes in rayther raw, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller metaphorically, 'and
he'll come out, done so ex-ceedin' brown, that his most formiliar
friends won't know him. Roast pigeon's nothin' to it, Sammy.'
Again Sam Weller nodded.
'It oughtn't to be, Samivel,' said Mr. Weller gravely.
'It mustn't be,' said Sam.
'Cert'nly not,' said Mr. Weller.
'Vell now,' said Sam, 'you've been a-prophecyin' away, wery fine, like a
red-faced Nixon, as the sixpenny books gives picters on.'
'Who wos he, Sammy?' inquired Mr. Weller.
'Never mind who he was,' retorted Sam; 'he warn't a coachman; that's
enough for you.' 'I know'd a ostler o' that name,' said Mr. Weller,
musing.
'It warn't him,' said Sam. 'This here gen'l'm'n was a prophet.'
'Wot's a prophet?' inquired Mr. Weller, looking sternly on his son.
'Wy, a man as tells what's a-goin' to happen,' replied Sam.
'I wish I'd know'd him, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller. 'P'raps he might ha'
throw'd a small light on that 'ere liver complaint as we wos a-speakin'
on, just now. Hows'ever, if he's dead, and ain't left the bisness to
nobody, there's an end on it. Go on, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, with a
sigh.
'Well,' said Sam, 'you've been a-prophecyin' avay about wot'll happen to
the gov'ner if he's left alone. Don't you see any way o' takin' care on
him?'
'No, I don't, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, with a reflective visage.
'No vay at all?' inquired Sam.
'No vay,' said Mr. Weller, 'unless'--and a gleam of intelligence lighted
up his countenance as he sank his voice to a whisper, and applied his
mouth to the ear of his offspring--'unless it is getting him out in a
turn-up bedstead, unbeknown to the turnkeys, Sammy, or dressin' him up
like a old 'ooman vith a green wail.'
Sam Weller received both of these suggestions with unexpected contempt,
and again propounded his question.
'No,' said the old gentleman; 'if he von't let you stop there, I see no
vay at all. It's no thoroughfare, Sammy, no thoroughfare.'
'Well, then, I'll tell you wot it is,' said Sam, 'I'll trouble you for
the loan of five-and-twenty pound.'
'Wot good'll that do?' inquired Mr. Weller.
'Never mind,' replied Sam. 'P'raps you may ask for it five minits
arterwards; p'raps I may say I von't pay, and cut up rough. You von't
think o' arrestin' your own son for the money, and sendin' him off to
the Fleet, will you, you unnat'ral wagabone?'
At this reply of Sam's, the father and son exchanged a complete code
of telegraph nods and gestures, after which, the elder Mr. Weller sat
himself down on a stone step and laughed till he was purple.
'Wot a old image it is!' exclaimed Sam, indignant at this loss of time.
'What are you a-settin' down there for, con-wertin' your face into a
street-door knocker, wen there's so much to be done. Where's the money?'
'In the boot, Sammy, in the boot,' replied Mr. Weller, composing his
features. 'Hold my hat, Sammy.'
Having divested himself of this encumbrance, Mr. Weller gave his body
a sudden wrench to one side, and by a dexterous twist, contrived to get
his right hand into a most capacious pocket, from whence, after a great
deal of panting and exertion, he extricated a pocket-book of the large
octavo size, fastened by a huge leathern strap. From this ledger he drew
forth a couple of whiplashes, three or four buckles, a little sample-bag
of corn, and, finally, a small roll of very dirty bank-notes, from which
he selected the required amount, which he handed over to Sam.
'And now, Sammy,' said the old gentleman, when the whip-lashes, and the
buckles, and the samples, had been all put back, and the book once
more deposited at the bottom of the same pocket, 'now, Sammy, I know a
gen'l'm'n here, as'll do the rest o' the bisness for us, in no time--a
limb o' the law, Sammy, as has got brains like the frogs, dispersed all
over his body, and reachin' to the wery tips of his fingers; a friend
of the Lord Chancellorship's, Sammy, who'd only have to tell him what he
wanted, and he'd lock you up for life, if that wos all.'
'I say,' said Sam, 'none o' that.'
'None o' wot?' inquired Mr. Weller.
'Wy, none o' them unconstitootional ways o' doin' it,' retorted Sam.
'The have-his-carcass, next to the perpetual motion, is vun of
the blessedest things as wos ever made. I've read that 'ere in the
newspapers wery of'en.'
'Well, wot's that got to do vith it?' inquired Mr. Weller.
'Just this here,' said Sam, 'that I'll patronise the inwention, and
go in, that vay. No visperin's to the Chancellorship--I don't like the
notion. It mayn't be altogether safe, vith reference to gettin' out
agin.'
Deferring to his son's feeling upon this point, Mr. Weller at once
sought the erudite Solomon Pell, and acquainted him with his desire to
issue a writ, instantly, for the SUM of twenty-five pounds, and costs
of process; to be executed without delay upon the body of one Samuel
Weller; the charges thereby incurred, to be paid in advance to Solomon
Pell.
The attorney was in high glee, for the embarrassed coach-horser
was ordered to be discharged forthwith. He highly approved of Sam's
attachment to his master; declared that it strongly reminded him of his
own feelings of devotion to his friend, the Chancellor; and at once led
the elder Mr. Weller down to the Temple, to swear the affidavit of debt,
which the boy, with the assistance of the blue bag, had drawn up on the
spot.
Meanwhile, Sam, having been formally introduced to the whitewashed
gentleman and his friends, as the offspring of Mr. Weller, of the Belle
Savage, was treated with marked distinction, and invited to regale
himself with them in honour of the occasion--an invitation which he was
by no means backward in accepting.
The mirth of gentlemen of this class is of a grave and quiet character,
usually; but the present instance was one of peculiar festivity, and
they relaxed in proportion. After some rather tumultuous toasting of the
Chief Commissioner and Mr. Solomon Pell, who had that day displayed
such transcendent abilities, a mottled-faced gentleman in a blue shawl
proposed that somebody should sing a song. The obvious suggestion was,
that the mottled-faced gentleman, being anxious for a song, should sing
it himself; but this the mottled-faced gentleman sturdily, and somewhat
offensively, declined to do. Upon which, as is not unusual in such
cases, a rather angry colloquy ensued.
'Gentlemen,' said the coach-horser, 'rather than disturb the harmony
of this delightful occasion, perhaps Mr. Samuel Weller will oblige the
company.'
'Raly, gentlemen,' said Sam, 'I'm not wery much in the habit o' singin'
without the instrument; but anythin' for a quiet life, as the man said
wen he took the sitivation at the lighthouse.'
With this prelude, Mr. Samuel Weller burst at once into the following
wild and beautiful legend, which, under the impression that it is not
generally known, we take the liberty of quoting. We would beg to call
particular attention to the monosyllable at the end of the second and
fourth lines, which not only enables the singer to take breath at those
points, but greatly assists the metre.
ROMANCE
I
Bold Turpin vunce, on Hounslow Heath,
His bold mare Bess bestrode-er;
Ven there he see'd the Bishop's coach
A-coming along the road-er.
So he gallops close to the 'orse's legs,
And he claps his head vithin;
And the Bishop says, 'Sure as eggs is eggs,
This here's the bold Turpin!'
CHORUS
And the Bishop says, 'Sure as eggs is eggs,
This here's the bold Turpin!'
II
Says Turpin, 'You shall eat your words,
With a sarse of leaden bul-let;'
So he puts a pistol to his mouth,
And he fires it down his gul-let.
The coachman he not likin' the job,
Set off at full gal-lop,
But Dick put a couple of balls in his nob,
And perwailed on him to stop.
CHORUS (sarcastically)
But Dick put a couple of balls in his nob,
And perwailed on him to stop.
'I maintain that that 'ere song's personal to the cloth,' said the
mottled-faced gentleman, interrupting it at this point. 'I demand the
name o' that coachman.'
'Nobody know'd,' replied Sam. 'He hadn't got his card in his pocket.'
'I object to the introduction o' politics,' said the mottled-faced
gentleman. 'I submit that, in the present company, that 'ere song's
political; and, wot's much the same, that it ain't true. I say that that
coachman did not run away; but that he died game--game as pheasants; and
I won't hear nothin' said to the contrairey.'
As the mottled-faced gentleman spoke with great energy and
determination, and as the opinions of the company seemed divided on
the subject, it threatened to give rise to fresh altercation, when Mr.
Weller and Mr. Pell most opportunely arrived.
'All right, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller.
'The officer will be here at four o'clock,' said Mr. Pell. 'I suppose
you won't run away meanwhile, eh? Ha! ha!'
'P'raps my cruel pa 'ull relent afore then,' replied Sam, with a broad
grin.
'Not I,' said the elder Mr. Weller.
'Do,' said Sam.
'Not on no account,' replied the inexorable creditor.
'I'll give bills for the amount, at sixpence a month,' said Sam.
'I won't take 'em,' said Mr. Weller.
'Ha, ha, ha! very good, very good,' said Mr. Solomon Pell, who was
making out his little bill of costs; 'a very amusing incident indeed!
Benjamin, copy that.' And Mr. Pell smiled again, as he called Mr.
Weller's attention to the amount.
'Thank you, thank you,' said the professional gentleman, taking up
another of the greasy notes as Mr. Weller took it from the pocket-book.
'Three ten and one ten is five. Much obliged to you, Mr. Weller. Your
son is a most deserving young man, very much so indeed, Sir. It's a
very pleasant trait in a young man's character, very much so,' added Mr.
Pell, smiling smoothly round, as he buttoned up the money.
'Wot a game it is!' said the elder Mr. Weller, with a chuckle. 'A
reg'lar prodigy son!'
'Prodigal--prodigal son, Sir,' suggested Mr. Pell, mildly.
