'With great pleasure,' replied Mr. Tupman. The stranger filled, and
emptied.
'I should very much like to go,' said Mr. Tupman, resuming the subject
of the ball, 'very much.'
'Tickets at the bar, Sir,' interposed the waiter; 'half-a-guinea each,
Sir.'
Mr. Tupman again expressed an earnest wish to be present at the
festivity; but meeting with no response in the darkened eye of Mr.
Snodgrass, or the abstracted gaze of Mr. Pickwick, he applied himself
with great interest to the port wine and dessert, which had just been
placed on the table. The waiter withdrew, and the party were left to
enjoy the cosy couple of hours succeeding dinner.
'Beg your pardon, sir,' said the stranger, 'bottle stands--pass it
round--way of the sun--through the button-hole--no heeltaps,' and he
emptied his glass, which he had filled about two minutes before, and
poured out another, with the air of a man who was used to it.
The wine was passed, and a fresh supply ordered. The visitor talked, the
Pickwickians listened. Mr. Tupman felt every moment more disposed
for the ball. Mr. Pickwick's countenance glowed with an expression
of universal philanthropy, and Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass fell fast
asleep.
'They're beginning upstairs,' said the stranger--'hear the
company--fiddles tuning--now the harp--there they go.' The various
sounds which found their way downstairs announced the commencement of
the first quadrille.
'How I should like to go,' said Mr. Tupman again.
'So should I,' said the stranger--'confounded luggage,--heavy
smacks--nothing to go in--odd, ain't it?'
Now general benevolence was one of the leading features of the
Pickwickian theory, and no one was more remarkable for the zealous
manner in which he observed so noble a principle than Mr. Tracy Tupman.
The number of instances recorded on the Transactions of the Society, in
which that excellent man referred objects of charity to the houses
of other members for left-off garments or pecuniary relief is almost
incredible. 'I should be very happy to lend you a change of apparel for
the purpose,' said Mr. Tracy Tupman, 'but you are rather slim, and I
am--'
'Rather fat--grown-up Bacchus--cut the leaves--dismounted from the tub,
and adopted kersey, eh?--not double distilled, but double milled--ha!
ha! pass the wine.'
Whether Mr. Tupman was somewhat indignant at the peremptory tone in
which he was desired to pass the wine which the stranger passed so
quickly away, or whether he felt very properly scandalised at an
influential member of the Pickwick Club being ignominiously compared
to a dismounted Bacchus, is a fact not yet completely ascertained. He
passed the wine, coughed twice, and looked at the stranger for several
seconds with a stern intensity; as that individual, however, appeared
perfectly collected, and quite calm under his searching glance, he
gradually relaxed, and reverted to the subject of the ball.
'I was about to observe, Sir,' he said, 'that though my apparel would
be too large, a suit of my friend Mr. Winkle's would, perhaps, fit you
better.'
The stranger took Mr. Winkle's measure with his eye, and that feature
glistened with satisfaction as he said, 'Just the thing.'
Mr. Tupman looked round him. The wine, which had exerted its somniferous
influence over Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle, had stolen upon the senses
of Mr. Pickwick. That gentleman had gradually passed through the
various stages which precede the lethargy produced by dinner, and its
consequences. He had undergone the ordinary transitions from the height
of conviviality to the depth of misery, and from the depth of misery to
the height of conviviality. Like a gas-lamp in the street, with the wind
in the pipe, he had exhibited for a moment an unnatural brilliancy, then
sank so low as to be scarcely discernible; after a short interval, he
had burst out again, to enlighten for a moment; then flickered with an
uncertain, staggering sort of light, and then gone out altogether. His
head was sunk upon his bosom, and perpetual snoring, with a partial
choke occasionally, were the only audible indications of the great man's
presence.
The temptation to be present at the ball, and to form his first
impressions of the beauty of the Kentish ladies, was strong upon Mr.
Tupman. The temptation to take the stranger with him was equally great.
He was wholly unacquainted with the place and its inhabitants, and the
stranger seemed to possess as great a knowledge of both as if he had
lived there from his infancy. Mr. Winkle was asleep, and Mr. Tupman had
had sufficient experience in such matters to know that the moment he
awoke he would, in the ordinary course of nature, roll heavily to
bed. He was undecided. 'Fill your glass, and pass the wine,' said the
indefatigable visitor.
Mr. Tupman did as he was requested; and the additional stimulus of the
last glass settled his determination.
'Winkle's bedroom is inside mine,' said Mr. Tupman; 'I couldn't make
him understand what I wanted, if I woke him now, but I know he has a
dress-suit in a carpet bag; and supposing you wore it to the ball, and
took it off when we returned, I could replace it without troubling him
at all about the matter.'
'Capital,' said the stranger, 'famous plan--damned odd
situation--fourteen coats in the packing-cases, and obliged to wear
another man's--very good notion, that--very.'
'We must purchase our tickets,' said Mr. Tupman.
'Not worth while splitting a guinea,' said the stranger, 'toss who shall
pay for both--I call; you spin--first time--woman--woman--bewitching
woman,' and down came the sovereign with the dragon (called by courtesy
a woman) uppermost.
Mr. Tupman rang the bell, purchased the tickets, and ordered chamber
candlesticks. In another quarter of an hour the stranger was completely
arrayed in a full suit of Mr. Nathaniel Winkle's.
'It's a new coat,' said Mr. Tupman, as the stranger surveyed himself
with great complacency in a cheval glass; 'the first that's been made
with our club button,' and he called his companions' attention to the
large gilt button which displayed a bust of Mr. Pickwick in the centre,
and the letters 'P. C.' on either side.
'"P. C."' said the stranger--'queer set out--old fellow's likeness, and
"P. C."--What does "P. C." stand for--Peculiar Coat, eh?'
Mr. Tupman, with rising indignation and great importance, explained the
mystic device.
'Rather short in the waist, ain't it?' said the stranger, screwing
himself round to catch a glimpse in the glass of the waist buttons,
which were half-way up his back. 'Like a general postman's coat--queer
coats those--made by contract--no measuring--mysterious dispensations
of Providence--all the short men get long coats--all the long men short
ones.' Running on in this way, Mr. Tupman's new companion adjusted
his dress, or rather the dress of Mr. Winkle; and, accompanied by Mr.
Tupman, ascended the staircase leading to the ballroom.
'What names, sir?' said the man at the door. Mr. Tracy Tupman was
stepping forward to announce his own titles, when the stranger prevented
him.
'No names at all;' and then he whispered Mr. Tupman, 'names won't
do--not known--very good names in their way, but not great ones--capital
names for a small party, but won't make an impression in public
assemblies--incog. the thing--gentlemen from London--distinguished
foreigners--anything.' The door was thrown open, and Mr. Tracy Tupman
and the stranger entered the ballroom.
It was a long room, with crimson-covered benches, and wax candles in
glass chandeliers. The musicians were securely confined in an elevated
den, and quadrilles were being systematically got through by two or
three sets of dancers. Two card-tables were made up in the adjoining
card-room, and two pair of old ladies, and a corresponding number of
stout gentlemen, were executing whist therein.
The finale concluded, the dancers promenaded the room, and Mr. Tupman
and his companion stationed themselves in a corner to observe the
company.
'Charming women,' said Mr. Tupman.
'Wait a minute,' said the stranger, 'fun presently--nobs not come
yet--queer place--dockyard people of upper rank don't know dockyard
people of lower rank--dockyard people of lower rank don't know small
gentry--small gentry don't know tradespeople--commissioner don't know
anybody.'
'Who's that little boy with the light hair and pink eyes, in a fancy
dress?'inquired Mr. Tupman.
'Hush, pray--pink eyes--fancy dress--little boy--nonsense--ensign
97th--Honourable Wilmot Snipe--great family--Snipes--very.'
'Sir Thomas Clubber, Lady Clubber, and the Misses Clubber!' shouted the
man at the door in a stentorian voice. A great sensation was created
throughout the room by the entrance of a tall gentleman in a blue coat
and bright buttons, a large lady in blue satin, and two young ladies, on
a similar scale, in fashionably-made dresses of the same hue.
'Commissioner--head of the yard--great man--remarkably great man,'
whispered the stranger in Mr. Tupman's ear, as the charitable committee
ushered Sir Thomas Clubber and family to the top of the room. The
Honourable Wilmot Snipe, and other distinguished gentlemen crowded to
render homage to the Misses Clubber; and Sir Thomas Clubber stood
bolt upright, and looked majestically over his black kerchief at the
assembled company.
'Mr. Smithie, Mrs. Smithie, and the Misses Smithie,' was the next
announcement.
'What's Mr. Smithie?' inquired Mr. Tracy Tupman.
'Something in the yard,' replied the stranger. Mr. Smithie bowed
deferentially to Sir Thomas Clubber; and Sir Thomas Clubber acknowledged
the salute with conscious condescension. Lady Clubber took a telescopic
view of Mrs. Smithie and family through her eye-glass and Mrs. Smithie
stared in her turn at Mrs. Somebody-else, whose husband was not in the
dockyard at all.
'Colonel Bulder, Mrs. Colonel Bulder, and Miss Bulder,' were the next
arrivals.
'Head of the garrison,' said the stranger, in reply to Mr. Tupman's
inquiring look.
Miss Bulder was warmly welcomed by the Misses Clubber; the greeting
between Mrs. Colonel Bulder and Lady Clubber was of the most
affectionate description; Colonel Bulder and Sir Thomas Clubber
exchanged snuff-boxes, and looked very much like a pair of Alexander
Selkirks--'Monarchs of all they surveyed.'
While the aristocracy of the place--the Bulders, and Clubbers, and
Snipes--were thus preserving their dignity at the upper end of the room,
the other classes of society were imitating their example in other parts
of it. The less aristocratic officers of the 97th devoted themselves to
the families of the less important functionaries from the dockyard. The
solicitors' wives, and the wine-merchant's wife, headed another grade
(the brewer's wife visited the Bulders); and Mrs. Tomlinson, the
post-office keeper, seemed by mutual consent to have been chosen the
leader of the trade party.
One of the most popular personages, in his own circle, present, was a
little fat man, with a ring of upright black hair round his head, and
an extensive bald plain on the top of it--Doctor Slammer, surgeon to
the 97th. The doctor took snuff with everybody, chatted with everybody,
laughed, danced, made jokes, played whist, did everything, and was
everywhere. To these pursuits, multifarious as they were, the little
doctor added a more important one than any--he was indefatigable in
paying the most unremitting and devoted attention to a little old widow,
whose rich dress and profusion of ornament bespoke her a most desirable
addition to a limited income.
Upon the doctor, and the widow, the eyes of both Mr. Tupman and his
companion had been fixed for some time, when the stranger broke silence.
'Lots of money--old girl--pompous doctor--not a bad idea--good fun,'
were the intelligible sentences which issued from his lips. Mr. Tupman
looked inquisitively in his face. 'I'll dance with the widow,' said the
stranger.
'Who is she?' inquired Mr. Tupman.
'Don't know--never saw her in all my life--cut out the doctor--here
goes.' And the stranger forthwith crossed the room; and, leaning
against a mantel-piece, commenced gazing with an air of respectful and
melancholy admiration on the fat countenance of the little old lady. Mr.
Tupman looked on, in mute astonishment. The stranger progressed rapidly;
the little doctor danced with another lady; the widow dropped her
fan; the stranger picked it up, and presented it--a smile--a bow--a
curtsey--a few words of conversation. The stranger walked boldly up to,
and returned with, the master of the ceremonies; a little introductory
pantomime; and the stranger and Mrs. Budger took their places in a
quadrille.
The surprise of Mr. Tupman at this summary proceeding, great as it
was, was immeasurably exceeded by the astonishment of the doctor. The
stranger was young, and the widow was flattered. The doctor's attentions
were unheeded by the widow; and the doctor's indignation was wholly lost
on his imperturbable rival. Doctor Slammer was paralysed. He, Doctor
Slammer, of the 97th, to be extinguished in a moment, by a man whom
nobody had ever seen before, and whom nobody knew even now! Doctor
Slammer--Doctor Slammer of the 97th rejected! Impossible! It could not
be! Yes, it was; there they were. What! introducing his friend! Could he
believe his eyes! He looked again, and was under the painful necessity
of admitting the veracity of his optics; Mrs. Budger was dancing with
