story from his mother. 'Damn that boy! He must have been asleep. It's
all imagination.'
'Traitor!' thought the spinster aunt. 'Dear Mr. Jingle was not deceiving
me. Ugh! how I hate the wretch!'
The following conversation may serve to explain to our readers this
apparently unaccountable alteration of deportment on the part of Mr.
Tracy Tupman.
The time was evening; the scene the garden. There were two figures
walking in a side path; one was rather short and stout; the other
tall and slim. They were Mr. Tupman and Mr. Jingle. The stout figure
commenced the dialogue.
'How did I do it?' he inquired.
'Splendid--capital--couldn't act better myself--you must repeat the part
to-morrow--every evening till further notice.'
'Does Rachael still wish it?'
'Of course--she don't like it--but must be done--avert suspicion--afraid
of her brother--says there's no help for it--only a few days more--when
old folks blinded--crown your happiness.'
'Any message?'
'Love--best love--kindest regards--unalterable affection. Can I say
anything for you?'
'My dear fellow,' replied the unsuspicious Mr. Tupman, fervently
grasping his 'friend's' hand--'carry my best love--say how hard I find
it to dissemble--say anything that's kind: but add how sensible I am
of the necessity of the suggestion she made to me, through you, this
morning. Say I applaud her wisdom and admire her discretion.' 'I will.
Anything more?'
'Nothing, only add how ardently I long for the time when I may call her
mine, and all dissimulation may be unnecessary.'
'Certainly, certainly. Anything more?'
'Oh, my friend!' said poor Mr. Tupman, again grasping the hand of his
companion, 'receive my warmest thanks for your disinterested kindness;
and forgive me if I have ever, even in thought, done you the injustice
of supposing that you could stand in my way. My dear friend, can I ever
repay you?'
'Don't talk of it,' replied Mr. Jingle. He stopped short, as if suddenly
recollecting something, and said--'By the bye--can't spare ten pounds,
can you?--very particular purpose--pay you in three days.'
'I dare say I can,' replied Mr. Tupman, in the fulness of his heart.
'Three days, you say?'
'Only three days--all over then--no more difficulties.' Mr. Tupman
counted the money into his companion's hand, and he dropped it piece by
piece into his pocket, as they walked towards the house.
'Be careful,' said Mr. Jingle--'not a look.'
'Not a wink,' said Mr. Tupman.
'Not a syllable.'
'Not a whisper.'
'All your attentions to the niece--rather rude, than otherwise, to the
aunt--only way of deceiving the old ones.'
'I'll take care,' said Mr. Tupman aloud.
'And I'LL take care,' said Mr. Jingle internally; and they entered the
house.
The scene of that afternoon was repeated that evening, and on the three
afternoons and evenings next ensuing. On the fourth, the host was in
high spirits, for he had satisfied himself that there was no ground for
the charge against Mr. Tupman. So was Mr. Tupman, for Mr. Jingle had
told him that his affair would soon be brought to a crisis. So was Mr.
Pickwick, for he was seldom otherwise. So was not Mr. Snodgrass, for he
had grown jealous of Mr. Tupman. So was the old lady, for she had been
winning at whist. So were Mr. Jingle and Miss Wardle, for reasons of
sufficient importance in this eventful history to be narrated in another
chapter.
CHAPTER IX. A DISCOVERY AND A CHASE
The supper was ready laid, the chairs were drawn round the table,
bottles, jugs, and glasses were arranged upon the sideboard, and
everything betokened the approach of the most convivial period in the
whole four-and-twenty hours.
'Where's Rachael?' said Mr. Wardle.
'Ay, and Jingle?' added Mr. Pickwick.
'Dear me,' said the host, 'I wonder I haven't missed him before. Why, I
don't think I've heard his voice for two hours at least. Emily, my dear,
ring the bell.'
The bell was rung, and the fat boy appeared.
'Where's Miss Rachael?' He couldn't say. 'Where's Mr. Jingle, then?'
He didn't know. Everybody looked surprised. It was late--past eleven
o'clock. Mr. Tupman laughed in his sleeve. They were loitering
somewhere, talking about him. Ha, ha! capital notion that--funny.
'Never mind,' said Wardle, after a short pause. 'They'll turn up
presently, I dare say. I never wait supper for anybody.'
'Excellent rule, that,' said Mr. Pickwick--'admirable.'
'Pray, sit down,' said the host.
'Certainly' said Mr. Pickwick; and down they sat.
There was a gigantic round of cold beef on the table, and Mr. Pickwick
was supplied with a plentiful portion of it. He had raised his fork
to his lips, and was on the very point of opening his mouth for the
reception of a piece of beef, when the hum of many voices suddenly arose
in the kitchen. He paused, and laid down his fork. Mr. Wardle paused
too, and insensibly released his hold of the carving-knife, which
remained inserted in the beef. He looked at Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick
looked at him.
Heavy footsteps were heard in the passage; the parlour door was suddenly
burst open; and the man who had cleaned Mr. Pickwick's boots on his
first arrival, rushed into the room, followed by the fat boy and all the
domestics. 'What the devil's the meaning of this?' exclaimed the host.
'The kitchen chimney ain't a-fire, is it, Emma?' inquired the old lady.
'Lor, grandma! No,' screamed both the young ladies.
'What's the matter?' roared the master of the house.
The man gasped for breath, and faintly ejaculated--
'They ha' gone, mas'r!--gone right clean off, Sir!' (At this juncture
Mr. Tupman was observed to lay down his knife and fork, and to turn very
pale.)
'Who's gone?' said Mr. Wardle fiercely.
'Mus'r Jingle and Miss Rachael, in a po'-chay, from Blue Lion,
Muggleton. I was there; but I couldn't stop 'em; so I run off to tell
'ee.'
'I paid his expenses!' said Mr. Tupman, jumping up frantically. 'He's
got ten pounds of mine!--stop him!--he's swindled me!--I won't bear
it!--I'll have justice, Pickwick!--I won't stand it!' and with sundry
incoherent exclamations of the like nature, the unhappy gentleman spun
round and round the apartment, in a transport of frenzy.
'Lord preserve us!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, eyeing the extraordinary
gestures of his friend with terrified surprise. 'He's gone mad! What
shall we do?' 'Do!' said the stout old host, who regarded only the last
words of the sentence. 'Put the horse in the gig! I'll get a chaise at
the Lion, and follow 'em instantly. Where?'--he exclaimed, as the man
ran out to execute the commission--'where's that villain, Joe?'
'Here I am! but I hain't a willin,' replied a voice. It was the fat
boy's.
'Let me get at him, Pickwick,' cried Wardle, as he rushed at the
ill-starred youth. 'He was bribed by that scoundrel, Jingle, to put me
on a wrong scent, by telling a cock-and-bull story of my sister and
your friend Tupman!' (Here Mr. Tupman sank into a chair.) 'Let me get at
him!'
'Don't let him!' screamed all the women, above whose exclamations the
blubbering of the fat boy was distinctly audible.
'I won't be held!' cried the old man. 'Mr. Winkle, take your hands off.
Mr. Pickwick, let me go, sir!'
It was a beautiful sight, in that moment of turmoil and confusion, to
behold the placid and philosophical expression of Mr. Pickwick's face,
albeit somewhat flushed with exertion, as he stood with his arms
firmly clasped round the extensive waist of their corpulent host,
thus restraining the impetuosity of his passion, while the fat boy
was scratched, and pulled, and pushed from the room by all the females
congregated therein. He had no sooner released his hold, than the man
entered to announce that the gig was ready.
'Don't let him go alone!' screamed the females. 'He'll kill somebody!'
'I'll go with him,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'You're a good fellow, Pickwick,' said the host, grasping his hand.
'Emma, give Mr. Pickwick a shawl to tie round his neck--make haste. Look
after your grandmother, girls; she has fainted away. Now then, are you
ready?'
Mr. Pickwick's mouth and chin having been hastily enveloped in a large
shawl, his hat having been put on his head, and his greatcoat thrown
over his arm, he replied in the affirmative.
They jumped into the gig. 'Give her her head, Tom,' cried the host;
and away they went, down the narrow lanes; jolting in and out of the
cart-ruts, and bumping up against the hedges on either side, as if they
would go to pieces every moment.
'How much are they ahead?' shouted Wardle, as they drove up to the door
of the Blue Lion, round which a little crowd had collected, late as it
was.
'Not above three-quarters of an hour,' was everybody's reply.
'Chaise-and-four directly!--out with 'em! Put up the gig afterwards.'
'Now, boys!' cried the landlord--'chaise-and-four out--make haste--look
alive there!'
Away ran the hostlers and the boys. The lanterns glimmered, as the men
ran to and fro; the horses' hoofs clattered on the uneven paving of the
yard; the chaise rumbled as it was drawn out of the coach-house; and all
was noise and bustle.
'Now then!--is that chaise coming out to-night?' cried Wardle.
'Coming down the yard now, Sir,' replied the hostler.
Out came the chaise--in went the horses--on sprang the boys--in got the
travellers.
'Mind--the seven-mile stage in less than half an hour!' shouted Wardle.
'Off with you!'
The boys applied whip and spur, the waiters shouted, the hostlers
cheered, and away they went, fast and furiously.
'Pretty situation,' thought Mr. Pickwick, when he had had a moment's
time for reflection. 'Pretty situation for the general chairman of the
Pickwick Club. Damp chaise--strange horses--fifteen miles an hour--and
twelve o'clock at night!'
For the first three or four miles, not a word was spoken by either of
the gentlemen, each being too much immersed in his own reflections to
address any observations to his companion. When they had gone over that
much ground, however, and the horses getting thoroughly warmed began
to do their work in really good style, Mr. Pickwick became too much
exhilarated with the rapidity of the motion, to remain any longer
perfectly mute.
'We're sure to catch them, I think,' said he.
'Hope so,' replied his companion.
'Fine night,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking up at the moon, which was
shining brightly.
'So much the worse,' returned Wardle; 'for they'll have had all the
advantage of the moonlight to get the start of us, and we shall lose it.
It will have gone down in another hour.'
'It will be rather unpleasant going at this rate in the dark, won't it?'
inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'I dare say it will,' replied his friend dryly.
Mr. Pickwick's temporary excitement began to sober down a little, as he
reflected upon the inconveniences and dangers of the expedition in which
he had so thoughtlessly embarked. He was roused by a loud shouting of
the post-boy on the leader.
'Yo-yo-yo-yo-yoe!' went the first boy.
'Yo-yo-yo-yoe!' went the second.
'Yo-yo-yo-yoe!' chimed in old Wardle himself, most lustily, with his
head and half his body out of the coach window.
'Yo-yo-yo-yoe!' shouted Mr. Pickwick, taking up the burden of the cry,
though he had not the slightest notion of its meaning or object. And
amidst the yo-yoing of the whole four, the chaise stopped.
'What's the matter?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'There's a gate here,' replied old Wardle. 'We shall hear something of
the fugitives.'
After a lapse of five minutes, consumed in incessant knocking and
shouting, an old man in his shirt and trousers emerged from the
turnpike-house, and opened the gate.
'How long is it since a post-chaise went through here?' inquired Mr.
Wardle.
'How long?'
'Ah!'
'Why, I don't rightly know. It worn't a long time ago, nor it worn't a
short time ago--just between the two, perhaps.'
'Has any chaise been by at all?'
'Oh, yes, there's been a Shay by.'
'How long ago, my friend,' interposed Mr. Pickwick; 'an hour?'
'Ah, I dare say it might be,' replied the man.
'Or two hours?' inquired the post--boy on the wheeler.
'Well, I shouldn't wonder if it was,' returned the old man doubtfully.
'Drive on, boys,' cried the testy old gentleman; 'don't waste any more
time with that old idiot!'
'Idiot!' exclaimed the old man with a grin, as he stood in the middle
of the road with the gate half-closed, watching the chaise which rapidly
diminished in the increasing distance. 'No--not much o' that either;
you've lost ten minutes here, and gone away as wise as you came, arter
all. If every man on the line as has a guinea give him, earns it half
as well, you won't catch t'other shay this side Mich'lmas, old
short-and-fat.' And with another prolonged grin, the old man closed the
