not. A young fellow like you will do better one of these days, eh?'
With this conclusion, Wardle slapped Mr. Tupman on the back, and laughed
heartily.
'Well, and how are you, my fine fellows?' said the old gentleman,
shaking hands with Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass at the same time.
'I have just been telling Pickwick that we must have you all down at
Christmas. We're going to have a wedding--a real wedding this time.'
'A wedding!' exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass, turning very pale.
'Yes, a wedding. But don't be frightened,' said the good-humoured old
man; 'it's only Trundle there, and Bella.'
'Oh, is that all?' said Mr. Snodgrass, relieved from a painful doubt
which had fallen heavily on his breast. 'Give you joy, Sir. How is Joe?'
'Very well,' replied the old gentleman. 'Sleepy as ever.'
'And your mother, and the clergyman, and all of 'em?'
'Quite well.'
'Where,' said Mr. Tupman, with an effort--'where is--SHE, Sir?' and he
turned away his head, and covered his eyes with his hand. 'SHE!' said
the old gentleman, with a knowing shake of the head. 'Do you mean my
single relative--eh?'
Mr. Tupman, by a nod, intimated that his question applied to the
disappointed Rachael.
'Oh, she's gone away,' said the old gentleman. 'She's living at a
relation's, far enough off. She couldn't bear to see the girls, so I let
her go. But come! Here's the dinner. You must be hungry after your ride.
I am, without any ride at all; so let us fall to.'
Ample justice was done to the meal; and when they were seated round
the table, after it had been disposed of, Mr. Pickwick, to the intense
horror and indignation of his followers, related the adventure he had
undergone, and the success which had attended the base artifices of the
diabolical Jingle. 'And the attack of rheumatism which I caught in that
garden,' said Mr. Pickwick, in conclusion, 'renders me lame at this
moment.'
'I, too, have had something of an adventure,' said Mr. Winkle, with a
smile; and, at the request of Mr. Pickwick, he detailed the malicious
libel of the Eatanswill INDEPENDENT, and the consequent excitement of
their friend, the editor.
Mr. Pickwick's brow darkened during the recital. His friends observed
it, and, when Mr. Winkle had concluded, maintained a profound silence.
Mr. Pickwick struck the table emphatically with his clenched fist, and
spoke as follows:--
'Is it not a wonderful circumstance,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that we seem
destined to enter no man's house without involving him in some degree
of trouble? Does it not, I ask, bespeak the indiscretion, or, worse than
that, the blackness of heart--that I should say so!--of my followers,
that, beneath whatever roof they locate, they disturb the peace of mind
and happiness of some confiding female? Is it not, I say--'
Mr. Pickwick would in all probability have gone on for some time, had
not the entrance of Sam, with a letter, caused him to break off in his
eloquent discourse. He passed his handkerchief across his forehead, took
off his spectacles, wiped them, and put them on again; and his voice had
recovered its wonted softness of tone when he said--
'What have you there, Sam?'
'Called at the post-office just now, and found this here letter, as has
laid there for two days,' replied Mr. Weller. 'It's sealed vith a vafer,
and directed in round hand.'
'I don't know this hand,' said Mr. Pickwick, opening the letter. 'Mercy
on us! what's this? It must be a jest; it--it--can't be true.'
'What's the matter?' was the general inquiry.
'Nobody dead, is there?' said Wardle, alarmed at the horror in Mr.
Pickwick's countenance.
Mr. Pickwick made no reply, but, pushing the letter across the table,
and desiring Mr. Tupman to read it aloud, fell back in his chair with a
look of vacant astonishment quite alarming to behold.
Mr. Tupman, with a trembling voice, read the letter, of which the
following is a copy:--
Freeman's Court, Cornhill, August 28th, 1827.
Bardell against Pickwick.
Sir,
Having been instructed by Mrs. Martha Bardell to commence an action
against you for a breach of promise of marriage, for which the plaintiff
lays her damages at fifteen hundred pounds, we beg to inform you that
a writ has been issued against you in this suit in the Court of Common
Pleas; and request to know, by return of post, the name of your attorney
in London, who will accept service thereof.
We are, Sir, Your obedient servants, Dodson & Fogg.
Mr. Samuel Pickwick.
There was something so impressive in the mute astonishment with which
each man regarded his neighbour, and every man regarded Mr. Pickwick,
that all seemed afraid to speak. The silence was at length broken by Mr.
Tupman.
'Dodson and Fogg,' he repeated mechanically.
'Bardell and Pickwick,' said Mr. Snodgrass, musing.
'Peace of mind and happiness of confiding females,' murmured Mr. Winkle,
with an air of abstraction.
'It's a conspiracy,' said Mr. Pickwick, at length recovering the power
of speech; 'a base conspiracy between these two grasping attorneys,
Dodson and Fogg. Mrs. Bardell would never do it;--she hasn't the heart
to do it;--she hasn't the case to do it. Ridiculous--ridiculous.' 'Of
her heart,' said Wardle, with a smile, 'you should certainly be the best
judge. I don't wish to discourage you, but I should certainly say that,
of her case, Dodson and Fogg are far better judges than any of us can
be.'
'It's a vile attempt to extort money,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'I hope it is,' said Wardle, with a short, dry cough.
'Who ever heard me address her in any way but that in which a lodger
would address his landlady?' continued Mr. Pickwick, with great
vehemence. 'Who ever saw me with her? Not even my friends here--'
'Except on one occasion,' said Mr. Tupman.
Mr. Pickwick changed colour. 'Ah,' said Mr. Wardle. 'Well, that's
important. There was nothing suspicious then, I suppose?'
Mr. Tupman glanced timidly at his leader. 'Why,' said he, 'there
was nothing suspicious; but--I don't know how it happened, mind--she
certainly was reclining in his arms.'
'Gracious powers!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, as the recollection of the
scene in question struck forcibly upon him; 'what a dreadful instance of
the force of circumstances! So she was--so she was.'
'And our friend was soothing her anguish,' said Mr. Winkle, rather
maliciously.
'So I was,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'I don't deny it. So I was.'
'Hollo!' said Wardle; 'for a case in which there's nothing suspicious,
this looks rather queer--eh, Pickwick? Ah, sly dog--sly dog!' and he
laughed till the glasses on the sideboard rang again.
'What a dreadful conjunction of appearances!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick,
resting his chin upon his hands. 'Winkle--Tupman--I beg your pardon
for the observations I made just now. We are all the victims of
circumstances, and I the greatest.' With this apology Mr. Pickwick
buried his head in his hands, and ruminated; while Wardle measured out a
regular circle of nods and winks, addressed to the other members of the
company.
'I'll have it explained, though,' said Mr. Pickwick, raising his head
and hammering the table. 'I'll see this Dodson and Fogg! I'll go to
London to-morrow.'
'Not to-morrow,' said Wardle; 'you're too lame.'
'Well, then, next day.'
'Next day is the first of September, and you're pledged to ride out with
us, as far as Sir Geoffrey Manning's grounds at all events, and to meet
us at lunch, if you don't take the field.'
'Well, then, the day after,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'Thursday.--Sam!'
'Sir,' replied Mr. Weller.
'Take two places outside to London, on Thursday morning, for yourself
and me.'
'Wery well, Sir.'
Mr. Weller left the room, and departed slowly on his errand, with his
hands in his pocket and his eyes fixed on the ground.
'Rum feller, the hemperor,' said Mr. Weller, as he walked slowly up the
street. 'Think o' his makin' up to that 'ere Mrs. Bardell--vith a little
boy, too! Always the vay vith these here old 'uns howsoever, as is such
steady goers to look at. I didn't think he'd ha' done it, though--I
didn't think he'd ha' done it!' Moralising in this strain, Mr. Samuel
Weller bent his steps towards the booking-office.
CHAPTER XIX. A PLEASANT DAY WITH AN UNPLEASANT TERMINATION
The birds, who, happily for their own peace of mind and personal
comfort, were in blissful ignorance of the preparations which had been
making to astonish them, on the first of September, hailed it, no doubt,
as one of the pleasantest mornings they had seen that season. Many a
young partridge who strutted complacently among the stubble, with all
the finicking coxcombry of youth, and many an older one who watched his
levity out of his little round eye, with the contemptuous air of a bird
of wisdom and experience, alike unconscious of their approaching doom,
basked in the fresh morning air with lively and blithesome feelings,
and a few hours afterwards were laid low upon the earth. But we grow
affecting: let us proceed.
In plain commonplace matter-of-fact, then, it was a fine morning--so
fine that you would scarcely have believed that the few months of an
English summer had yet flown by. Hedges, fields, and trees, hill and
moorland, presented to the eye their ever-varying shades of deep rich
green; scarce a leaf had fallen, scarce a sprinkle of yellow mingled
with the hues of summer, warned you that autumn had begun. The sky was
cloudless; the sun shone out bright and warm; the songs of birds,
the hum of myriads of summer insects, filled the air; and the cottage
gardens, crowded with flowers of every rich and beautiful tint,
sparkled, in the heavy dew, like beds of glittering jewels. Everything
bore the stamp of summer, and none of its beautiful colour had yet faded
from the die.
Such was the morning, when an open carriage, in which were three
Pickwickians (Mr. Snodgrass having preferred to remain at home), Mr.
Wardle, and Mr. Trundle, with Sam Weller on the box beside the driver,
pulled up by a gate at the roadside, before which stood a tall,
raw-boned gamekeeper, and a half-booted, leather-legginged boy, each
bearing a bag of capacious dimensions, and accompanied by a brace of
pointers.
'I say,' whispered Mr. Winkle to Wardle, as the man let down the steps,
'they don't suppose we're going to kill game enough to fill those bags,
do they?'
'Fill them!' exclaimed old Wardle. 'Bless you, yes! You shall fill
one, and I the other; and when we've done with them, the pockets of our
shooting-jackets will hold as much more.'
Mr. Winkle dismounted without saying anything in reply to this
observation; but he thought within himself, that if the party remained
in the open air, till he had filled one of the bags, they stood a
considerable chance of catching colds in their heads.
'Hi, Juno, lass-hi, old girl; down, Daph, down,' said Wardle, caressing
the dogs. 'Sir Geoffrey still in Scotland, of course, Martin?'
The tall gamekeeper replied in the affirmative, and looked with some
surprise from Mr. Winkle, who was holding his gun as if he wished his
coat pocket to save him the trouble of pulling the trigger, to Mr.
Tupman, who was holding his as if he was afraid of it--as there is no
earthly reason to doubt he really was.
'My friends are not much in the way of this sort of thing yet, Martin,'
said Wardle, noticing the look. 'Live and learn, you know. They'll be
good shots one of these days. I beg my friend Winkle's pardon, though;
he has had some practice.'
Mr. Winkle smiled feebly over his blue neckerchief in acknowledgment of
the compliment, and got himself so mysteriously entangled with his gun,
in his modest confusion, that if the piece had been loaded, he must
inevitably have shot himself dead upon the spot.
'You mustn't handle your piece in that 'ere way, when you come to have
the charge in it, Sir,' said the tall gamekeeper gruffly; 'or I'm damned
if you won't make cold meat of some on us.'
Mr. Winkle, thus admonished, abruptly altered his position, and in so
doing, contrived to bring the barrel into pretty smart contact with Mr.
Weller's head.
'Hollo!' said Sam, picking up his hat, which had been knocked off, and
rubbing his temple. 'Hollo, sir! if you comes it this vay, you'll fill
one o' them bags, and something to spare, at one fire.'
Here the leather-legginged boy laughed very heartily, and then tried
to look as if it was somebody else, whereat Mr. Winkle frowned
majestically.
'Where did you tell the boy to meet us with the snack, Martin?' inquired
Wardle.
'Side of One-tree Hill, at twelve o'clock, Sir.'
'That's not Sir Geoffrey's land, is it?'
'No, Sir; but it's close by it. It's Captain Boldwig's land; but
there'll be nobody to interrupt us, and there's a fine bit of turf
there.'
'Very well,' said old Wardle. 'Now the sooner we're off the better. Will
you join us at twelve, then, Pickwick?'
Mr. Pickwick was particularly desirous to view the sport, the more
especially as he was rather anxious in respect of Mr. Winkle's life and
limbs. On so inviting a morning, too, it was very tantalising to turn
