rose from his chair on the instant, tore and buffeted his large flat
face, with an energy peculiar to excited females, and twining her hands
in his long black hair, tore therefrom about enough to make five or six
dozen of the very largest-sized mourning-rings. Having accomplished this
feat with all the ardour which her devoted love for Mr. Muzzle inspired,
she staggered back; and being a lady of very excitable and delicate
feelings, she instantly fell under the dresser, and fainted away.
At this moment, the bell rang.
'That's for you, Job Trotter,' said Sam; and before Mr. Trotter could
offer remonstrance or reply--even before he had time to stanch the
wounds inflicted by the insensible lady--Sam seized one arm and Mr.
Muzzle the other, and one pulling before, and the other pushing behind,
they conveyed him upstairs, and into the parlour.
It was an impressive tableau. Alfred Jingle, Esquire, alias Captain
Fitz-Marshall, was standing near the door with his hat in his hand, and
a smile on his face, wholly unmoved by his very unpleasant situation.
Confronting him, stood Mr. Pickwick, who had evidently been inculcating
some high moral lesson; for his left hand was beneath his coat tail, and
his right extended in air, as was his wont when delivering himself of
an impressive address. At a little distance, stood Mr. Tupman with
indignant countenance, carefully held back by his two younger friends;
at the farther end of the room were Mr. Nupkins, Mrs. Nupkins, and Miss
Nupkins, gloomily grand and savagely vexed. 'What prevents me,' said Mr.
Nupkins, with magisterial dignity, as Job was brought in--'what prevents
me from detaining these men as rogues and impostors? It is a foolish
mercy. What prevents me?'
'Pride, old fellow, pride,' replied Jingle, quite at his ease. 'Wouldn't
do--no go--caught a captain, eh?--ha! ha! very good--husband for
daughter--biter bit--make it public--not for worlds--look stupid--very!'
'Wretch,' said Mr. Nupkins, 'we scorn your base insinuations.'
'I always hated him,' added Henrietta.
'Oh, of course,' said Jingle. 'Tall young man--old lover--Sidney
Porkenham--rich--fine fellow--not so rich as captain, though, eh?--turn
him away--off with him--anything for captain--nothing like captain
anywhere--all the girls--raving mad--eh, Job, eh?'
Here Mr. Jingle laughed very heartily; and Job, rubbing his hands with
delight, uttered the first sound he had given vent to since he entered
the house--a low, noiseless chuckle, which seemed to intimate that
he enjoyed his laugh too much, to let any of it escape in sound. 'Mr.
Nupkins,' said the elder lady,'this is not a fit conversation for the
servants to overhear. Let these wretches be removed.'
'Certainly, my dear,' Said Mr. Nupkins. 'Muzzle!'
'Your Worship.'
'Open the front door.'
'Yes, your Worship.'
'Leave the house!' said Mr. Nupkins, waving his hand emphatically.
Jingle smiled, and moved towards the door.
'Stay!' said Mr. Pickwick. Jingle stopped.
'I might,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'have taken a much greater revenge for
the treatment I have experienced at your hands, and that of your
hypocritical friend there.'
Job Trotter bowed with great politeness, and laid his hand upon his
heart.
'I say,' said Mr. Pickwick, growing gradually angry, 'that I might have
taken a greater revenge, but I content myself with exposing you, which I
consider a duty I owe to society. This is a leniency, Sir, which I hope
you will remember.'
When Mr. Pickwick arrived at this point, Job Trotter, with facetious
gravity, applied his hand to his ear, as if desirous not to lose a
syllable he uttered.
'And I have only to add, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, now thoroughly angry,
'that I consider you a rascal, and a--a--ruffian--and--and worse than
any man I ever saw, or heard of, except that pious and sanctified
vagabond in the mulberry livery.'
'Ha! ha!' said Jingle, 'good fellow, Pickwick--fine heart--stout old
boy--but must NOT be passionate--bad thing, very--bye, bye--see you
again some day--keep up your spirits--now, Job--trot!'
With these words, Mr. Jingle stuck on his hat in his old fashion, and
strode out of the room. Job Trotter paused, looked round, smiled and
then with a bow of mock solemnity to Mr. Pickwick, and a wink to Mr.
Weller, the audacious slyness of which baffles all description, followed
the footsteps of his hopeful master.
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, as Mr. Weller was following.
'Sir.' 'Stay here.'
Mr. Weller seemed uncertain.
'Stay here,' repeated Mr. Pickwick.
'Mayn't I polish that 'ere Job off, in the front garden?' said Mr.
Weller. 'Certainly not,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'Mayn't I kick him out o' the gate, Sir?' said Mr. Weller.
'Not on any account,' replied his master.
For the first time since his engagement, Mr. Weller looked, for a
moment, discontented and unhappy. But his countenance immediately
cleared up; for the wily Mr. Muzzle, by concealing himself behind the
street door, and rushing violently out, at the right instant, contrived
with great dexterity to overturn both Mr. Jingle and his attendant, down
the flight of steps, into the American aloe tubs that stood beneath.
'Having discharged my duty, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick to Mr. Nupkins, 'I
will, with my friends, bid you farewell. While we thank you for such
hospitality as we have received, permit me to assure you, in our
joint names, that we should not have accepted it, or have consented to
extricate ourselves in this way, from our previous dilemma, had we not
been impelled by a strong sense of duty. We return to London to-morrow.
Your secret is safe with us.'
Having thus entered his protest against their treatment of the
morning, Mr. Pickwick bowed low to the ladies, and notwithstanding the
solicitations of the family, left the room with his friends.
'Get your hat, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'It's below stairs, Sir,' said Sam, and he ran down after it.
Now, there was nobody in the kitchen, but the pretty housemaid; and as
Sam's hat was mislaid, he had to look for it, and the pretty housemaid
lighted him. They had to look all over the place for the hat. The pretty
housemaid, in her anxiety to find it, went down on her knees, and turned
over all the things that were heaped together in a little corner by the
door. It was an awkward corner. You couldn't get at it without shutting
the door first.
'Here it is,' said the pretty housemaid. 'This is it, ain't it?'
'Let me look,' said Sam.
The pretty housemaid had stood the candle on the floor; and, as it gave
a very dim light, Sam was obliged to go down on HIS knees before he
could see whether it really was his own hat or not. It was a remarkably
small corner, and so--it was nobody's fault but the man's who built
the house--Sam and the pretty housemaid were necessarily very close
together.
'Yes, this is it,' said Sam. 'Good-bye!'
'Good-bye!' said the pretty housemaid.
'Good-bye!' said Sam; and as he said it, he dropped the hat that had
cost so much trouble in looking for.
'How awkward you are,' said the pretty housemaid. 'You'll lose it again,
if you don't take care.'
So just to prevent his losing it again, she put it on for him.
Whether it was that the pretty housemaid's face looked prettier still,
when it was raised towards Sam's, or whether it was the accidental
consequence of their being so near to each other, is matter of
uncertainty to this day; but Sam kissed her.
'You don't mean to say you did that on purpose,' said the pretty
housemaid, blushing.
'No, I didn't then,' said Sam; 'but I will now.'
So he kissed her again. 'Sam!' said Mr. Pickwick, calling over the
banisters.
'Coming, Sir,' replied Sam, running upstairs.
'How long you have been!' said Mr. Pickwick.
'There was something behind the door, Sir, which perwented our getting
it open, for ever so long, Sir,' replied Sam.
And this was the first passage of Mr. Weller's first love.
CHAPTER XXVI. WHICH CONTAINS A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF THE PROGRESS OF THE
ACTION OF BARDELL AGAINST PICKWICK
Having accomplished the main end and object of his journey, by the
exposure of Jingle, Mr. Pickwick resolved on immediately returning to
London, with the view of becoming acquainted with the proceedings which
had been taken against him, in the meantime, by Messrs. Dodson and Fogg.
Acting upon this resolution with all the energy and decision of his
character, he mounted to the back seat of the first coach which left
Ipswich on the morning after the memorable occurrences detailed at
length in the two preceding chapters; and accompanied by his three
friends, and Mr. Samuel Weller, arrived in the metropolis, in perfect
health and safety, the same evening.
Here the friends, for a short time, separated. Messrs. Tupman, Winkle,
and Snodgrass repaired to their several homes to make such preparations
as might be requisite for their forthcoming visit to Dingley Dell;
and Mr. Pickwick and Sam took up their present abode in very good,
old-fashioned, and comfortable quarters, to wit, the George and Vulture
Tavern and Hotel, George Yard, Lombard Street.
Mr. Pickwick had dined, finished his second pint of particular port,
pulled his silk handkerchief over his head, put his feet on the fender,
and thrown himself back in an easy-chair, when the entrance of Mr.
Weller with his carpet-bag, aroused him from his tranquil meditation.
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Sir,' said Mr. Weller.
'I have just been thinking, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that having left
a good many things at Mrs. Bardell's, in Goswell Street, I ought to
arrange for taking them away, before I leave town again.'
'Wery good, sir,' replied Mr. Weller.
'I could send them to Mr. Tupman's, for the present, Sam,' continued
Mr. Pickwick, 'but before we take them away, it is necessary that they
should be looked up, and put together. I wish you would step up to
Goswell Street, Sam, and arrange about it.'
'At once, Sir?' inquired Mr. Weller.
'At once,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'And stay, Sam,' added Mr. Pickwick,
pulling out his purse, 'there is some rent to pay. The quarter is not
due till Christmas, but you may pay it, and have done with it. A month's
notice terminates my tenancy. Here it is, written out. Give it, and tell
Mrs. Bardell she may put a bill up, as soon as she likes.'
'Wery good, sir,' replied Mr. Weller; 'anythin' more, sir?'
'Nothing more, Sam.'
Mr. Weller stepped slowly to the door, as if he expected something more;
slowly opened it, slowly stepped out, and had slowly closed it within a
couple of inches, when Mr. Pickwick called out--
'Sam.'
'Yes, sir,' said Mr. Weller, stepping quickly back, and closing the door
behind him. 'I have no objection, Sam, to your endeavouring to ascertain
how Mrs. Bardell herself seems disposed towards me, and whether it is
really probable that this vile and groundless action is to be carried
to extremity. I say I do not object to you doing this, if you wish it,
Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
Sam gave a short nod of intelligence, and left the room. Mr. Pickwick
drew the silk handkerchief once more over his head, And composed himself
for a nap. Mr. Weller promptly walked forth, to execute his commission.
It was nearly nine o'clock when he reached Goswell Street. A couple of
candles were burning in the little front parlour, and a couple of caps
were reflected on the window-blind. Mrs. Bardell had got company.
Mr. Weller knocked at the door, and after a pretty long
interval--occupied by the party without, in whistling a tune, and by the
party within, in persuading a refractory flat candle to allow itself
to be lighted--a pair of small boots pattered over the floor-cloth, and
Master Bardell presented himself.
'Well, young townskip,' said Sam, 'how's mother?'
'She's pretty well,' replied Master Bardell, 'so am I.'
'Well, that's a mercy,' said Sam; 'tell her I want to speak to her, will
you, my hinfant fernomenon?'
Master Bardell, thus adjured, placed the refractory flat candle on the
bottom stair, and vanished into the front parlour with his message.
The two caps, reflected on the window-blind, were the respective
head-dresses of a couple of Mrs. Bardell's most particular acquaintance,
who had just stepped in, to have a quiet cup of tea, and a little warm
supper of a couple of sets of pettitoes and some toasted cheese. The
cheese was simmering and browning away, most delightfully, in a little
Dutch oven before the fire; the pettitoes were getting on deliciously in
a little tin saucepan on the hob; and Mrs. Bardell and her two friends
were getting on very well, also, in a little quiet conversation about
and concerning all their particular friends and acquaintance; when
Master Bardell came back from answering the door, and delivered the
message intrusted to him by Mr. Samuel Weller.
'Mr. Pickwick's servant!' said Mrs. Bardell, turning pale.
'Bless my soul!' said Mrs. Cluppins.
'Well, I raly would not ha' believed it, unless I had ha' happened to
ha' been here!' said Mrs. Sanders.
Mrs. Cluppins was a little, brisk, busy-looking woman; Mrs. Sanders was
a big, fat, heavy-faced personage; and the two were the company.
Mrs. Bardell felt it proper to be agitated; and as none of the three
exactly knew whether under existing circumstances, any communication,
