'Never mind, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, with dignity. 'I know wot's o'clock,
Sir. Wen I don't, I'll ask you, Sir.'
By the time the officer arrived, Sam had made himself so extremely
popular, that the congregated gentlemen determined to see him to prison
in a body. So off they set; the plaintiff and defendant walking arm
in arm, the officer in front, and eight stout coachmen bringing up the
rear. At Serjeant's Inn Coffee-house the whole party halted to refresh,
and, the legal arrangements being completed, the procession moved on
again.
Some little commotion was occasioned in Fleet Street, by the pleasantry
of the eight gentlemen in the flank, who persevered in walking four
abreast; it was also found necessary to leave the mottled-faced
gentleman behind, to fight a ticket-porter, it being arranged that his
friends should call for him as they came back. Nothing but these little
incidents occurred on the way. When they reached the gate of the Fleet,
the cavalcade, taking the time from the plaintiff, gave three tremendous
cheers for the defendant, and, after having shaken hands all round, left
him.
Sam, having been formally delivered into the warder's custody, to the
intense astonishment of Roker, and to the evident emotion of even the
phlegmatic Neddy, passed at once into the prison, walked straight to his
master's room, and knocked at the door.
'Come in,' said Mr. Pickwick.
Sam appeared, pulled off his hat, and smiled.
'Ah, Sam, my good lad!' said Mr. Pickwick, evidently delighted to see
his humble friend again; 'I had no intention of hurting your feelings
yesterday, my faithful fellow, by what I said. Put down your hat, Sam,
and let me explain my meaning, a little more at length.'
'Won't presently do, sir?' inquired Sam.
'Certainly,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but why not now?'
'I'd rayther not now, sir,' rejoined Sam.
'Why?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
''Cause--' said Sam, hesitating.
'Because of what?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, alarmed at his follower's
manner. 'Speak out, Sam.'
''Cause,' rejoined Sam--''cause I've got a little bisness as I want to
do.'
'What business?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, surprised at Sam's confused
manner.
'Nothin' partickler, Sir,' replied Sam.
'Oh, if it's nothing particular,' said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile, 'you
can speak with me first.'
'I think I'd better see arter it at once,' said Sam, still hesitating.
Mr. Pickwick looked amazed, but said nothing.
'The fact is--' said Sam, stopping short.
'Well!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Speak out, Sam.'
'Why, the fact is,' said Sam, with a desperate effort, 'perhaps I'd
better see arter my bed afore I do anythin' else.'
'YOUR BED!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, in astonishment.
'Yes, my bed, Sir,' replied Sam, 'I'm a prisoner. I was arrested this
here wery arternoon for debt.'
'You arrested for debt!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, sinking into a chair.
'Yes, for debt, Sir,' replied Sam. 'And the man as puts me in, 'ull
never let me out till you go yourself.'
'Bless my heart and soul!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. 'What do you mean?'
'Wot I say, Sir,' rejoined Sam. 'If it's forty years to come, I shall
be a prisoner, and I'm very glad on it; and if it had been Newgate, it
would ha' been just the same. Now the murder's out, and, damme, there's
an end on it!'
With these words, which he repeated with great emphasis and violence,
Sam Weller dashed his hat upon the ground, in a most unusual state of
excitement; and then, folding his arms, looked firmly and fixedly in his
master's face.
CHAPTER LXIV. TREATS OF DIVERS LITTLE MATTERS WHICH OCCURRED IN THE
FLEET, AND OF Mr. WINKLE'S MYSTERIOUS BEHAVIOUR; AND SHOWS HOW THE POOR
CHANCERY PRISONER OBTAINED HIS RELEASE AT LAST
Mr. Pickwick felt a great deal too much touched by the warmth of
Sam's attachment, to be able to exhibit any manifestation of anger or
displeasure at the precipitate course he had adopted, in voluntarily
consigning himself to a debtor's prison for an indefinite period. The
only point on which he persevered in demanding an explanation, was, the
name of Sam's detaining creditor; but this Mr. Weller as perseveringly
withheld.
'It ain't o' no use, sir,' said Sam, again and again; 'he's a malicious,
bad-disposed, vorldly-minded, spiteful, windictive creetur, with a hard
heart as there ain't no soft'nin', as the wirtuous clergyman remarked of
the old gen'l'm'n with the dropsy, ven he said, that upon the whole he
thought he'd rayther leave his property to his vife than build a chapel
vith it.'
'But consider, Sam,' Mr. Pickwick remonstrated, 'the sum is so small
that it can very easily be paid; and having made up My mind that you
shall stop with me, you should recollect how much more useful you would
be, if you could go outside the walls.' 'Wery much obliged to you, sir,'
replied Mr. Weller gravely; 'but I'd rayther not.'
'Rather not do what, Sam?'
'Wy, I'd rayther not let myself down to ask a favour o' this here
unremorseful enemy.'
'But it is no favour asking him to take his money, Sam,' reasoned Mr.
Pickwick.
'Beg your pardon, sir,' rejoined Sam, 'but it 'ud be a wery great favour
to pay it, and he don't deserve none; that's where it is, sir.'
Here Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his nose with an air of some vexation, Mr.
Weller thought it prudent to change the theme of the discourse.
'I takes my determination on principle, Sir,' remarked Sam, 'and you
takes yours on the same ground; wich puts me in mind o' the man as
killed his-self on principle, wich o' course you've heerd on, Sir.' Mr.
Weller paused when he arrived at this point, and cast a comical look at
his master out of the corners of his eyes.
'There is no "of course" in the case, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, gradually
breaking into a smile, in spite of the uneasiness which Sam's obstinacy
had given him. 'The fame of the gentleman in question, never reached my
ears.'
'No, sir!' exclaimed Mr. Weller. 'You astonish me, Sir; he wos a clerk
in a gov'ment office, sir.'
'Was he?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Yes, he wos, Sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller; 'and a wery pleasant gen'l'm'n
too--one o' the precise and tidy sort, as puts their feet in little
India-rubber fire-buckets wen it's wet weather, and never has no other
bosom friends but hare-skins; he saved up his money on principle, wore a
clean shirt ev'ry day on principle; never spoke to none of his relations
on principle, 'fear they shou'd want to borrow money of him; and wos
altogether, in fact, an uncommon agreeable character. He had his hair
cut on principle vunce a fortnight, and contracted for his clothes on
the economic principle--three suits a year, and send back the old uns.
Being a wery reg'lar gen'l'm'n, he din'd ev'ry day at the same place,
where it was one-and-nine to cut off the joint, and a wery good
one-and-nine's worth he used to cut, as the landlord often said, with
the tears a-tricklin' down his face, let alone the way he used to
poke the fire in the vinter time, which wos a dead loss o' four-pence
ha'penny a day, to say nothin' at all o' the aggrawation o' seein' him
do it. So uncommon grand with it too! "POST arter the next gen'l'm'n,"
he sings out ev'ry day ven he comes in. "See arter the TIMES, Thomas;
let me look at the MORNIN' HERALD, when it's out o' hand; don't forget
to bespeak the CHRONICLE; and just bring the 'TIZER, vill you:" and then
he'd set vith his eyes fixed on the clock, and rush out, just a quarter
of a minit 'fore the time to waylay the boy as wos a-comin' in with
the evenin' paper, which he'd read with sich intense interest and
persewerance as worked the other customers up to the wery confines o'
desperation and insanity, 'specially one i-rascible old gen'l'm'n as the
vaiter wos always obliged to keep a sharp eye on, at sich times, fear he
should be tempted to commit some rash act with the carving-knife. Vell,
Sir, here he'd stop, occupyin' the best place for three hours, and never
takin' nothin' arter his dinner, but sleep, and then he'd go away to a
coffee-house a few streets off, and have a small pot o' coffee and four
crumpets, arter wich he'd walk home to Kensington and go to bed. One
night he wos took very ill; sends for a doctor; doctor comes in a green
fly, with a kind o' Robinson Crusoe set o' steps, as he could let down
wen he got out, and pull up arter him wen he got in, to perwent the
necessity o' the coachman's gettin' down, and thereby undeceivin' the
public by lettin' 'em see that it wos only a livery coat as he'd got
on, and not the trousers to match. "Wot's the matter?" says the doctor.
"Wery ill," says the patient. "Wot have you been a-eatin' on?" says
the doctor. "Roast weal," says the patient. "Wot's the last thing you
dewoured?" says the doctor. "Crumpets," says the patient. "That's it!"
says the doctor. "I'll send you a box of pills directly, and don't
you never take no more of 'em," he says. "No more o' wot?" says the
patient--"pills?" "No; crumpets," says the doctor. "Wy?" says the
patient, starting up in bed; "I've eat four crumpets, ev'ry night for
fifteen year, on principle." "Well, then, you'd better leave 'em off, on
principle," says the doctor. "Crumpets is NOT wholesome, Sir," says the
doctor, wery fierce. "But they're so cheap," says the patient, comin'
down a little, "and so wery fillin' at the price." "They'd be dear to
you, at any price; dear if you wos paid to eat 'em," says the doctor.
"Four crumpets a night," he says, "vill do your business in six months!"
The patient looks him full in the face, and turns it over in his mind
for a long time, and at last he says, "Are you sure o' that 'ere, Sir?"
"I'll stake my professional reputation on it," says the doctor. "How
many crumpets, at a sittin', do you think 'ud kill me off at once?"
says the patient. "I don't know," says the doctor. "Do you think
half-a-crown's wurth 'ud do it?" says the patient. "I think it might,"
says the doctor. "Three shillins' wurth 'ud be sure to do it, I s'pose?"
says the patient. "Certainly," says the doctor. "Wery good," says the
patient; "good-night." Next mornin' he gets up, has a fire lit, orders
in three shillins' wurth o' crumpets, toasts 'em all, eats 'em all, and
blows his brains out.'
'What did he do that for?' inquired Mr. Pickwick abruptly; for he was
considerably startled by this tragical termination of the narrative.
'Wot did he do it for, Sir?' reiterated Sam. 'Wy, in support of his
great principle that crumpets wos wholesome, and to show that he
wouldn't be put out of his way for nobody!' With such like shiftings and
changings of the discourse, did Mr. Weller meet his master's questioning
on the night of his taking up his residence in the Fleet. Finding all
gentle remonstrance useless, Mr. Pickwick at length yielded a reluctant
consent to his taking lodgings by the week, of a bald-headed cobbler,
who rented a small slip room in one of the upper galleries. To this
humble apartment Mr. Weller moved a mattress and bedding, which he hired
of Mr. Roker; and, by the time he lay down upon it at night, was as much
at home as if he had been bred in the prison, and his whole family had
vegetated therein for three generations.
'Do you always smoke arter you goes to bed, old cock?' inquired Mr.
Weller of his landlord, when they had both retired for the night.
'Yes, I does, young bantam,' replied the cobbler.
'Will you allow me to in-quire wy you make up your bed under that 'ere
deal table?' said Sam.
''Cause I was always used to a four-poster afore I came here, and I find
the legs of the table answer just as well,' replied the cobbler.
'You're a character, sir,' said Sam.
'I haven't got anything of the kind belonging to me,' rejoined the
cobbler, shaking his head; 'and if you want to meet with a good one, I'm
afraid you'll find some difficulty in suiting yourself at this register
office.'
The above short dialogue took place as Mr. Weller lay extended on his
mattress at one end of the room, and the cobbler on his, at the other;
the apartment being illumined by the light of a rush-candle, and the
cobbler's pipe, which was glowing below the table, like a red-hot coal.
The conversation, brief as it was, predisposed Mr. Weller strongly in
his landlord's favour; and, raising himself on his elbow, he took a more
lengthened survey of his appearance than he had yet had either time or
inclination to make.
He was a sallow man--all cobblers are; and had a strong bristly
beard--all cobblers have. His face was a queer, good-tempered,
crooked-featured piece of workmanship, ornamented with a couple of
