on public characters, was paralysed beneath the glance of the imperious
Mrs. Pott.
Mrs. Leo Hunter looked round her in triumph. Count Smorltork was busily
engaged in taking notes of the contents of the dishes; Mr. Tupman was
doing the honours of the lobster salad to several lionesses, with a
degree of grace which no brigand ever exhibited before; Mr. Snodgrass
having cut out the young gentleman who cut up the books for the
Eatanswill GAZETTE, was engaged in an impassioned argument with the
young lady who did the poetry; and Mr. Pickwick was making himself
universally agreeable. Nothing seemed wanting to render the select
circle complete, when Mr. Leo Hunter--whose department on these
occasions, was to stand about in doorways, and talk to the less
important people--suddenly called out--'My dear; here's Mr. Charles
Fitz-Marshall.'
'Oh dear,' said Mrs. Leo Hunter, 'how anxiously I have been expecting
him. Pray make room, to let Mr. Fitz-Marshall pass. Tell Mr.
Fitz-Marshall, my dear, to come up to me directly, to be scolded for
coming so late.'
'Coming, my dear ma'am,' cried a voice, 'as quick as I can--crowds of
people--full room--hard work--very.'
Mr. Pickwick's knife and fork fell from his hand. He stared across the
table at Mr. Tupman, who had dropped his knife and fork, and was looking
as if he were about to sink into the ground without further notice.
'Ah!' cried the voice, as its owner pushed his way among the last
five-and-twenty Turks, officers, cavaliers, and Charles the Seconds,
that remained between him and the table, 'regular mangle--Baker's
patent--not a crease in my coat, after all this squeezing--might have
"got up my linen" as I came along--ha! ha! not a bad idea, that--queer
thing to have it mangled when it's upon one, though--trying
process--very.'
With these broken words, a young man dressed as a naval officer made his
way up to the table, and presented to the astonished Pickwickians the
identical form and features of Mr. Alfred Jingle. The offender had
barely time to take Mrs. Leo Hunter's proffered hand, when his eyes
encountered the indignant orbs of Mr. Pickwick.
'Hollo!' said Jingle. 'Quite forgot--no directions to postillion--give
'em at once--back in a minute.'
'The servant, or Mr. Hunter will do it in a moment, Mr. Fitz-Marshall,'
said Mrs. Leo Hunter.
'No, no--I'll do it--shan't be long--back in no time,' replied Jingle.
With these words he disappeared among the crowd.
'Will you allow me to ask you, ma'am,' said the excited Mr. Pickwick,
rising from his seat, 'who that young man is, and where he resides?'
'He is a gentleman of fortune, Mr. Pickwick,' said Mrs. Leo Hunter, 'to
whom I very much want to introduce you. The count will be delighted with
him.'
'Yes, yes,' said Mr. Pickwick hastily. 'His residence--'
'Is at present at the Angel at Bury.'
'At Bury?'
'At Bury St. Edmunds, not many miles from here. But dear me, Mr.
Pickwick, you are not going to leave us; surely Mr. Pickwick you cannot
think of going so soon?'
But long before Mrs. Leo Hunter had finished speaking, Mr. Pickwick
had plunged through the throng, and reached the garden, whither he was
shortly afterwards joined by Mr. Tupman, who had followed his friend
closely.
'It's of no use,' said Mr. Tupman. 'He has gone.'
'I know it,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'and I will follow him.'
'Follow him! Where?' inquired Mr. Tupman.
'To the Angel at Bury,' replied Mr. Pickwick, speaking very quickly.
'How do we know whom he is deceiving there? He deceived a worthy man
once, and we were the innocent cause. He shall not do it again, if I can
help it; I'll expose him! Sam! Where's my servant?'
'Here you are, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, emerging from a sequestered spot,
where he had been engaged in discussing a bottle of Madeira, which he
had abstracted from the breakfast-table an hour or two before. 'Here's
your servant, Sir. Proud o' the title, as the living skellinton said,
ven they show'd him.'
'Follow me instantly,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Tupman, if I stay at Bury,
you can join me there, when I write. Till then, good-bye!'
Remonstrances were useless. Mr. Pickwick was roused, and his mind was
made up. Mr. Tupman returned to his companions; and in another hour had
drowned all present recollection of Mr. Alfred Jingle, or Mr. Charles
Fitz-Marshall, in an exhilarating quadrille and a bottle of champagne.
By that time, Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller, perched on the outside of
a stage-coach, were every succeeding minute placing a less and less
distance between themselves and the good old town of Bury St. Edmunds.
CHAPTER XVI. TOO FULL OF ADVENTURE TO BE BRIEFLY DESCRIBED
There is no month in the whole year in which nature wears a more
beautiful appearance than in the month of August. Spring has many
beauties, and May is a fresh and blooming month, but the charms of this
time of year are enhanced by their contrast with the winter season.
August has no such advantage. It comes when we remember nothing
but clear skies, green fields, and sweet-smelling flowers--when the
recollection of snow, and ice, and bleak winds, has faded from our minds
as completely as they have disappeared from the earth--and yet what
a pleasant time it is! Orchards and cornfields ring with the hum of
labour; trees bend beneath the thick clusters of rich fruit which bow
their branches to the ground; and the corn, piled in graceful sheaves,
or waving in every light breath that sweeps above it, as if it wooed
the sickle, tinges the landscape with a golden hue. A mellow softness
appears to hang over the whole earth; the influence of the season
seems to extend itself to the very wagon, whose slow motion across the
well-reaped field is perceptible only to the eye, but strikes with no
harsh sound upon the ear.
As the coach rolls swiftly past the fields and orchards which skirt
the road, groups of women and children, piling the fruit in sieves, or
gathering the scattered ears of corn, pause for an instant from their
labour, and shading the sun-burned face with a still browner hand, gaze
upon the passengers with curious eyes, while some stout urchin, too
small to work, but too mischievous to be left at home, scrambles over
the side of the basket in which he has been deposited for security, and
kicks and screams with delight. The reaper stops in his work, and stands
with folded arms, looking at the vehicle as it whirls past; and the
rough cart-horses bestow a sleepy glance upon the smart coach team,
which says as plainly as a horse's glance can, 'It's all very fine to
look at, but slow going, over a heavy field, is better than warm work
like that, upon a dusty road, after all.' You cast a look behind you, as
you turn a corner of the road. The women and children have resumed their
labour; the reaper once more stoops to his work; the cart-horses have
moved on; and all are again in motion. The influence of a scene like
this, was not lost upon the well-regulated mind of Mr. Pickwick. Intent
upon the resolution he had formed, of exposing the real character of
the nefarious Jingle, in any quarter in which he might be pursuing his
fraudulent designs, he sat at first taciturn and contemplative, brooding
over the means by which his purpose could be best attained. By degrees
his attention grew more and more attracted by the objects around him;
and at last he derived as much enjoyment from the ride, as if it had
been undertaken for the pleasantest reason in the world.
'Delightful prospect, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Beats the chimbley-pots, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller, touching his hat.
'I suppose you have hardly seen anything but chimney-pots and bricks and
mortar all your life, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, smiling.
'I worn't always a boots, sir,' said Mr. Weller, with a shake of the
head. 'I wos a vaginer's boy, once.'
'When was that?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'When I wos first pitched neck and crop into the world, to play at
leap-frog with its troubles,' replied Sam. 'I wos a carrier's boy at
startin'; then a vaginer's, then a helper, then a boots. Now I'm a
gen'l'm'n's servant. I shall be a gen'l'm'n myself one of these days,
perhaps, with a pipe in my mouth, and a summer-house in the back-garden.
Who knows? I shouldn't be surprised for one.'
'You are quite a philosopher, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'It runs in the family, I b'lieve, sir,' replied Mr. Weller. 'My
father's wery much in that line now. If my mother-in-law blows him up,
he whistles. She flies in a passion, and breaks his pipe; he steps out,
and gets another. Then she screams wery loud, and falls into 'sterics;
and he smokes wery comfortably till she comes to agin. That's
philosophy, Sir, ain't it?'
'A very good substitute for it, at all events,' replied Mr. Pickwick,
laughing. 'It must have been of great service to you, in the course of
your rambling life, Sam.'
'Service, sir,' exclaimed Sam. 'You may say that. Arter I run away from
the carrier, and afore I took up with the vaginer, I had unfurnished
lodgin's for a fortnight.'
'Unfurnished lodgings?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Yes--the dry arches of Waterloo Bridge. Fine sleeping-place--vithin ten
minutes' walk of all the public offices--only if there is any objection
to it, it is that the sitivation's rayther too airy. I see some queer
sights there.' 'Ah, I suppose you did,' said Mr. Pickwick, with an air
of considerable interest.
'Sights, sir,' resumed Mr. Weller, 'as 'ud penetrate your benevolent
heart, and come out on the other side. You don't see the reg'lar
wagrants there; trust 'em, they knows better than that. Young beggars,
male and female, as hasn't made a rise in their profession, takes
up their quarters there sometimes; but it's generally the worn-out,
starving, houseless creeturs as roll themselves in the dark corners o'
them lonesome places--poor creeturs as ain't up to the twopenny rope.'
'And pray, Sam, what is the twopenny rope?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'The twopenny rope, sir,' replied Mr. Weller, 'is just a cheap lodgin'
house, where the beds is twopence a night.'
'What do they call a bed a rope for?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Bless your innocence, sir, that ain't it,' replied Sam. 'Ven the lady
and gen'l'm'n as keeps the hot-el first begun business, they used to
make the beds on the floor; but this wouldn't do at no price, 'cos
instead o' taking a moderate twopenn'orth o' sleep, the lodgers used to
lie there half the day. So now they has two ropes, 'bout six foot apart,
and three from the floor, which goes right down the room; and the beds
are made of slips of coarse sacking, stretched across 'em.'
'Well,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Well,' said Mr. Weller, 'the adwantage o' the plan's hobvious. At six
o'clock every mornin' they let's go the ropes at one end, and down falls
the lodgers. Consequence is, that being thoroughly waked, they get up
wery quietly, and walk away! Beg your pardon, sir,' said Sam, suddenly
breaking off in his loquacious discourse. 'Is this Bury St. Edmunds?'
'It is,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
The coach rattled through the well-paved streets of a handsome little
town, of thriving and cleanly appearance, and stopped before a large inn
situated in a wide open street, nearly facing the old abbey.
'And this,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking up. 'Is the Angel! We alight
here, Sam. But some caution is necessary. Order a private room, and do
not mention my name. You understand.'
'Right as a trivet, sir,' replied Mr. Weller, with a wink of
intelligence; and having dragged Mr. Pickwick's portmanteau from the
hind boot, into which it had been hastily thrown when they joined the
coach at Eatanswill, Mr. Weller disappeared on his errand. A private
room was speedily engaged; and into it Mr. Pickwick was ushered without
delay. 'Now, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'the first thing to be done is
to--' 'Order dinner, Sir,' interposed Mr. Weller. 'It's wery late, sir.'
'Ah, so it is,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking at his watch. 'You are right,
Sam.'
'And if I might adwise, Sir,' added Mr. Weller, 'I'd just have a good
night's rest arterwards, and not begin inquiring arter this here deep
'un till the mornin'. There's nothin' so refreshen' as sleep, sir, as
the servant girl said afore she drank the egg-cupful of laudanum.'
'I think you are right, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'But I must first
ascertain that he is in the house, and not likely to go away.'
'Leave that to me, Sir,' said Sam. 'Let me order you a snug little
dinner, and make my inquiries below while it's a-getting ready; I could
worm ev'ry secret out O' the boots's heart, in five minutes, Sir.' 'Do
so,' said Mr. Pickwick; and Mr. Weller at once retired.
In half an hour, Mr. Pickwick was seated at a very satisfactory dinner;
and in three-quarters Mr. Weller returned with the intelligence that Mr.
Charles Fitz-Marshall had ordered his private room to be retained for
him, until further notice. He was going to spend the evening at some
private house in the neighbourhood, had ordered the boots to sit up
until his return, and had taken his servant with him.
