to the ground.
'Gentlemen,' cried Mr. Pickwick, as Pott started up and seized
the fire-shovel--'gentlemen! Consider, for Heaven's
sake--help--Sam--here--pray, gentlemen--interfere, somebody.'
Uttering these incoherent exclamations, Mr. Pickwick rushed between the
infuriated combatants just in time to receive the carpet-bag on one
side of his body, and the fire-shovel on the other. Whether the
representatives of the public feeling of Eatanswill were blinded by
animosity, or (being both acute reasoners) saw the advantage of having a
third party between them to bear all the blows, certain it is that they
paid not the slightest attention to Mr. Pickwick, but defying each
other with great spirit, plied the carpet-bag and the fire-shovel most
fearlessly. Mr. Pickwick would unquestionably have suffered severely for
his humane interference, if Mr. Weller, attracted by his master's
cries, had not rushed in at the moment, and, snatching up a meal--sack,
effectually stopped the conflict by drawing it over the head and
shoulders of the mighty Pott, and clasping him tight round the
shoulders.
'Take away that 'ere bag from the t'other madman,' said Sam to Ben Allen
and Bob Sawyer, who had done nothing but dodge round the group, each
with a tortoise-shell lancet in his hand, ready to bleed the first man
stunned. 'Give it up, you wretched little creetur, or I'll smother you
in it.'
Awed by these threats, and quite out of breath, the INDEPENDENT suffered
himself to be disarmed; and Mr. Weller, removing the extinguisher from
Pott, set him free with a caution.
'You take yourselves off to bed quietly,' said Sam, 'or I'll put you
both in it, and let you fight it out vith the mouth tied, as I vould
a dozen sich, if they played these games. And you have the goodness to
come this here way, sir, if you please.'
Thus addressing his master, Sam took him by the arm, and led him off,
while the rival editors were severally removed to their beds by the
landlord, under the inspection of Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen;
breathing, as they went away, many sanguinary threats, and making vague
appointments for mortal combat next day. When they came to think it
over, however, it occurred to them that they could do it much better
in print, so they recommenced deadly hostilities without delay; and all
Eatanswill rung with their boldness--on paper.
They had taken themselves off in separate coaches, early next morning,
before the other travellers were stirring; and the weather having
now cleared up, the chaise companions once more turned their faces to
London.
CHAPTER LII. INVOLVING A SERIOUS CHANGE IN THE WELLER FAMILY, AND THE
UNTIMELY DOWNFALL OF Mr. STIGGINS
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!'
'Lot, 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 werry 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 hearing 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 directly 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 journey 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
