the reverend and red-nosed gentleman became singularly incoherent, and
staggering to and fro in the excitement of his eloquence, was fain to
catch at the back of a chair to preserve his perpendicular.
Mr. Stiggins did not desire his hearers to be upon their guard against
those false prophets and wretched mockers of religion, who, without
sense to expound its first doctrines, or hearts to feel its first
principles, are more dangerous members of society than the common
criminal; imposing, as they necessarily do, upon the weakest and worst
informed, casting scorn and contempt on what should be held most
sacred, and bringing into partial disrepute large bodies of virtuous and
well-conducted persons of many excellent sects and persuasions. But
as he leaned over the back of the chair for a considerable time, and
closing one eye, winked a good deal with the other, it is presumed that
he thought all this, but kept it to himself.
During the delivery of the oration, Mrs. Weller sobbed and wept at the
end of the paragraphs; while Sam, sitting cross-legged on a chair
and resting his arms on the top rail, regarded the speaker with great
suavity and blandness of demeanour; occasionally bestowing a look of
recognition on the old gentleman, who was delighted at the beginning,
and went to sleep about half-way.
'Brayvo; wery pretty!' said Sam, when the red-nosed man having finished,
pulled his worn gloves on, thereby thrusting his fingers through the
broken tops till the knuckles were disclosed to view. 'Wery pretty.'
'I hope it may do you good, Samuel,' said Mrs. Weller solemnly.
'I think it vill, mum,' replied Sam.
'I wish I could hope that it would do your father good,' said Mrs.
Weller.
'Thank'ee, my dear,' said Mr. Weller, senior. 'How do you find yourself
arter it, my love?'
'Scoffer!' exclaimed Mrs. Weller.
'Benighted man!' said the Reverend Mr. Stiggins.
'If I don't get no better light than that 'ere moonshine o' yourn, my
worthy creetur,' said the elder Mr. Weller, 'it's wery likely as I shall
continey to be a night coach till I'm took off the road altogether. Now,
Mrs. We, if the piebald stands at livery much longer, he'll stand at
nothin' as we go back, and p'raps that 'ere harm-cheer 'ull be tipped
over into some hedge or another, with the shepherd in it.'
At this supposition, the Reverend Mr. Stiggins, in evident
consternation, gathered up his hat and umbrella, and proposed an
immediate departure, to which Mrs. Weller assented. Sam walked with them
to the lodge gate, and took a dutiful leave.
'A-do, Samivel,' said the old gentleman.
'Wot's a-do?' inquired Sammy.
'Well, good-bye, then,' said the old gentleman.
'Oh, that's wot you're aimin' at, is it?' said Sam. 'Good-bye!'
'Sammy,' whispered Mr. Weller, looking cautiously round; 'my duty to
your gov'nor, and tell him if he thinks better o' this here bis'ness,
to com-moonicate vith me. Me and a cab'net-maker has dewised a plan
for gettin' him out. A pianner, Samivel--a pianner!' said Mr. Weller,
striking his son on the chest with the back of his hand, and falling
back a step or two.
'Wot do you mean?' said Sam.
'A pianner-forty, Samivel,' rejoined Mr. Weller, in a still more
mysterious manner, 'as he can have on hire; vun as von't play, Sammy.'
'And wot 'ud be the good o' that?' said Sam.
'Let him send to my friend, the cabinet-maker, to fetch it back, Sammy,'
replied Mr. Weller. 'Are you avake, now?'
'No,' rejoined Sam.
'There ain't no vurks in it,' whispered his father. 'It 'ull hold him
easy, vith his hat and shoes on, and breathe through the legs, vich his
holler. Have a passage ready taken for 'Merriker. The 'Merrikin gov'ment
will never give him up, ven vunce they find as he's got money to spend,
Sammy. Let the gov'nor stop there, till Mrs. Bardell's dead, or Mr.
Dodson and Fogg's hung (wich last ewent I think is the most likely to
happen first, Sammy), and then let him come back and write a book about
the 'Merrikins as'll pay all his expenses and more, if he blows 'em up
enough.'
Mr. Weller delivered this hurried abstract of his plot with great
vehemence of whisper; and then, as if fearful of weakening the effect
of the tremendous communication by any further dialogue, he gave the
coachman's salute, and vanished.
Sam had scarcely recovered his usual composure of countenance, which
had been greatly disturbed by the secret communication of his respected
relative, when Mr. Pickwick accosted him.
'Sam,' said that gentleman.
'Sir,' replied Mr. Weller.
'I am going for a walk round the prison, and I wish you to attend me.
I see a prisoner we know coming this way, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick,
smiling.
'Wich, Sir?' inquired Mr. Weller; 'the gen'l'm'n vith the head o' hair,
or the interestin' captive in the stockin's?'
'Neither,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick. 'He is an older friend of yours, Sam.'
'O' mine, Sir?' exclaimed Mr. Weller.
'You recollect the gentleman very well, I dare say, Sam,' replied Mr.
Pickwick, 'or else you are more unmindful of your old acquaintances than
I think you are. Hush! not a word, Sam; not a syllable. Here he is.'
As Mr. Pickwick spoke, Jingle walked up. He looked less miserable than
before, being clad in a half-worn suit of clothes, which, with Mr.
Pickwick's assistance, had been released from the pawnbroker's. He wore
clean linen too, and had had his hair cut. He was very pale and thin,
however; and as he crept slowly up, leaning on a stick, it was easy to
see that he had suffered severely from illness and want, and was still
very weak. He took off his hat as Mr. Pickwick saluted him, and seemed
much humbled and abashed at the sight of Sam Weller.
Following close at his heels, came Mr. Job Trotter, in the catalogue of
whose vices, want of faith and attachment to his companion could at all
events find no place. He was still ragged and squalid, but his face was
not quite so hollow as on his first meeting with Mr. Pickwick, a few
days before. As he took off his hat to our benevolent old friend, he
murmured some broken expressions of gratitude, and muttered something
about having been saved from starving.
'Well, well,' said Mr. Pickwick, impatiently interrupting him, 'you
can follow with Sam. I want to speak to you, Mr. Jingle. Can you walk
without his arm?'
'Certainly, sir--all ready--not too fast--legs shaky--head queer--round
and round--earthquaky sort of feeling--very.'
'Here, give me your arm,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'No, no,' replied Jingle; 'won't indeed--rather not.'
'Nonsense,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'lean upon me, I desire, Sir.'
Seeing that he was confused and agitated, and uncertain what to do, Mr.
Pickwick cut the matter short by drawing the invalided stroller's arm
through his, and leading him away, without saying another word about it.
During the whole of this time the countenance of Mr. Samuel Weller
had exhibited an expression of the most overwhelming and absorbing
astonishment that the imagination can portray. After looking from Job to
Jingle, and from Jingle to Job in profound silence, he softly ejaculated
the words, 'Well, I AM damn'd!' which he repeated at least a score of
times; after which exertion, he appeared wholly bereft of speech, and
again cast his eyes, first upon the one and then upon the other, in mute
perplexity and bewilderment.
'Now, Sam!' said Mr. Pickwick, looking back.
'I'm a-comin', sir,' replied Mr. Weller, mechanically following his
master; and still he lifted not his eyes from Mr. Job Trotter, who
walked at his side in silence. Job kept his eyes fixed on the ground for
some time. Sam, with his glued to Job's countenance, ran up against
the people who were walking about, and fell over little children, and
stumbled against steps and railings, without appearing at all sensible
of it, until Job, looking stealthily up, said--
'How do you do, Mr. Weller?'
'It IS him!' exclaimed Sam; and having established Job's identity beyond
all doubt, he smote his leg, and vented his feelings in a long, shrill
whistle.
'Things has altered with me, sir,' said Job.
'I should think they had,' exclaimed Mr. Weller, surveying his
companion's rags with undisguised wonder. 'This is rayther a change for
the worse, Mr. Trotter, as the gen'l'm'n said, wen he got two doubtful
shillin's and sixpenn'orth o' pocket-pieces for a good half-crown.'
'It is indeed,' replied Job, shaking his head. 'There is no
deception now, Mr. Weller. Tears,' said Job, with a look of momentary
slyness--'tears are not the only proofs of distress, nor the best ones.'
'No, they ain't,' replied Sam expressively.
'They may be put on, Mr. Weller,' said Job.
'I know they may,' said Sam; 'some people, indeed, has 'em always ready
laid on, and can pull out the plug wenever they likes.'
'Yes,' replied Job; 'but these sort of things are not so easily
counterfeited, Mr. Weller, and it is a more painful process to get them
up.' As he spoke, he pointed to his sallow, sunken cheeks, and, drawing
up his coat sleeve, disclosed an arm which looked as if the bone could
be broken at a touch, so sharp and brittle did it appear, beneath its
thin covering of flesh.
'Wot have you been a-doin' to yourself?' said Sam, recoiling.
'Nothing,' replied Job.
'Nothin'!' echoed Sam.
'I have been doin' nothing for many weeks past,' said Job; and eating
and drinking almost as little.'
Sam took one comprehensive glance at Mr. Trotter's thin face and
wretched apparel; and then, seizing him by the arm, commenced dragging
him away with great violence.
'Where are you going, Mr. Weller?' said Job, vainly struggling in the
powerful grasp of his old enemy. 'Come on,' said Sam; 'come on!' He
deigned no further explanation till they reached the tap, and then
called for a pot of porter, which was speedily produced.
'Now,' said Sam, 'drink that up, ev'ry drop on it, and then turn the pot
upside down, to let me see as you've took the medicine.'
'But, my dear Mr. Weller,' remonstrated Job.
'Down vith it!' said Sam peremptorily.
Thus admonished, Mr. Trotter raised the pot to his lips, and, by gentle
and almost imperceptible degrees, tilted it into the air. He paused
once, and only once, to draw a long breath, but without raising his
face from the vessel, which, in a few moments thereafter, he held out
at arm's length, bottom upward. Nothing fell upon the ground but a few
particles of froth, which slowly detached themselves from the rim, and
trickled lazily down.
'Well done!' said Sam. 'How do you find yourself arter it?'
'Better, Sir. I think I am better,' responded Job.
'O' course you air,' said Sam argumentatively. 'It's like puttin' gas in
a balloon. I can see with the naked eye that you gets stouter under the
operation. Wot do you say to another o' the same dimensions?'
'I would rather not, I am much obliged to you, Sir,' replied Job--'much
rather not.'
'Vell, then, wot do you say to some wittles?' inquired Sam.
'Thanks to your worthy governor, Sir,' said Mr. Trotter, 'we have half a
leg of mutton, baked, at a quarter before three, with the potatoes under
it to save boiling.'
'Wot! Has HE been a-purwidin' for you?' asked Sam emphatically.
'He has, Sir,' replied Job. 'More than that, Mr. Weller; my master being
very ill, he got us a room--we were in a kennel before--and paid for
it, Sir; and come to look at us, at night, when nobody should know. Mr.
Weller,' said Job, with real tears in his eyes, for once, 'I could serve
that gentleman till I fell down dead at his feet.'
'I say!' said Sam, 'I'll trouble you, my friend! None o' that!'
Job Trotter looked amazed.
'None o' that, I say, young feller,' repeated Sam firmly. 'No man serves
him but me. And now we're upon it, I'll let you into another secret
besides that,' said Sam, as he paid for the beer. 'I never heerd, mind
you, or read of in story-books, nor see in picters, any angel in tights
and gaiters--not even in spectacles, as I remember, though that may ha'
been done for anythin' I know to the contrairey--but mark my vords, Job
Trotter, he's a reg'lar thoroughbred angel for all that; and let me
see the man as wenturs to tell me he knows a better vun.' With this
defiance, Mr. Weller buttoned up his change in a side pocket, and, with
many confirmatory nods and gestures by the way, proceeded in search of
the subject of discourse.
They found Mr. Pickwick, in company with Jingle, talking very earnestly,
and not bestowing a look on the groups who were congregated on the
racket-ground; they were very motley groups too, and worth the looking
at, if it were only in idle curiosity.
'Well,' said Mr. Pickwick, as Sam and his companion drew nigh, 'you
will see how your health becomes, and think about it meanwhile. Make
the statement out for me when you feel yourself equal to the task, and I
will discuss the subject with you when I have considered it. Now, go to
your room. You are tired, and not strong enough to be out long.'
