single-breasted black surtout, which was buttoned up to his chin,
appeared the usual number of pepper-and-salt coloured legs, terminating
in a pair of imperfectly polished boots. Although his coat was short in
the sleeves, it disclosed no vestige of a linen wristband; and although
there was quite enough of his face to admit of the encroachment of
a shirt collar, it was not graced by the smallest approach to that
appendage. He presented, altogether, rather a mildewy appearance, and
emitted a fragrant odour of full-flavoured Cubas.
Mr. Bob Sawyer, who was habited in a coarse, blue coat, which, without
being either a greatcoat or a surtout, partook of the nature and
qualities of both, had about him that sort of slovenly smartness, and
swaggering gait, which is peculiar to young gentlemen who smoke in the
streets by day, shout and scream in the same by night, call waiters by
their Christian names, and do various other acts and deeds of an equally
facetious description. He wore a pair of plaid trousers, and a large,
rough, double-breasted waistcoat; out of doors, he carried a thick
stick with a big top. He eschewed gloves, and looked, upon the whole,
something like a dissipated Robinson Crusoe.
Such were the two worthies to whom Mr. Pickwick was introduced, as he
took his seat at the breakfast-table on Christmas morning.
'Splendid morning, gentlemen,' said Mr. Pickwick.
Mr. Bob Sawyer slightly nodded his assent to the proposition, and asked
Mr. Benjamin Allen for the mustard.
'Have you come far this morning, gentlemen?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Blue Lion at Muggleton,' briefly responded Mr. Allen.
'You should have joined us last night,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'So we should,' replied Bob Sawyer, 'but the brandy was too good to
leave in a hurry; wasn't it, Ben?'
'Certainly,' said Mr. Benjamin Allen; 'and the cigars were not bad, or
the pork-chops either; were they, Bob?'
'Decidedly not,' said Bob. The particular friends resumed their attack
upon the breakfast, more freely than before, as if the recollection of
last night's supper had imparted a new relish to the meal.
'Peg away, Bob,' said Mr. Allen, to his companion, encouragingly.
'So I do,' replied Bob Sawyer. And so, to do him justice, he did.
'Nothing like dissecting, to give one an appetite,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer,
looking round the table.
Mr. Pickwick slightly shuddered.
'By the bye, Bob,' said Mr. Allen, 'have you finished that leg yet?'
'Nearly,' replied Sawyer, helping himself to half a fowl as he spoke.
'It's a very muscular one for a child's.' 'Is it?' inquired Mr. Allen
carelessly.
'Very,' said Bob Sawyer, with his mouth full.
'I've put my name down for an arm at our place,' said Mr. Allen. 'We're
clubbing for a subject, and the list is nearly full, only we can't get
hold of any fellow that wants a head. I wish you'd take it.'
'No,' replied 'Bob Sawyer; 'can't afford expensive luxuries.'
'Nonsense!' said Allen.
'Can't, indeed,' rejoined Bob Sawyer, 'I wouldn't mind a brain, but I
couldn't stand a whole head.' 'Hush, hush, gentlemen, pray,' said Mr.
Pickwick, 'I hear the ladies.'
As Mr. Pickwick spoke, the ladies, gallantly escorted by Messrs.
Snodgrass, Winkle, and Tupman, returned from an early walk.
'Why, Ben!' said Arabella, in a tone which expressed more surprise than
pleasure at the sight of her brother.
'Come to take you home to-morrow,' replied Benjamin.
Mr. Winkle turned pale.
'Don't you see Bob Sawyer, Arabella?' inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen,
somewhat reproachfully. Arabella gracefully held out her hand, in
acknowledgment of Bob Sawyer's presence. A thrill of hatred struck to
Mr. Winkle's heart, as Bob Sawyer inflicted on the proffered hand a
perceptible squeeze.
'Ben, dear!' said Arabella, blushing; 'have--have--you been introduced
to Mr. Winkle?'
'I have not been, but I shall be very happy to be, Arabella,' replied
her brother gravely. Here Mr. Allen bowed grimly to Mr. Winkle, while
Mr. Winkle and Mr. Bob Sawyer glanced mutual distrust out of the corners
of their eyes.
The arrival of the two new visitors, and the consequent check upon Mr.
Winkle and the young lady with the fur round her boots, would in all
probability have proved a very unpleasant interruption to the hilarity
of the party, had not the cheerfulness of Mr. Pickwick, and the good
humour of the host, been exerted to the very utmost for the common weal.
Mr. Winkle gradually insinuated himself into the good graces of Mr.
Benjamin Allen, and even joined in a friendly conversation with Mr.
Bob Sawyer; who, enlivened with the brandy, and the breakfast, and the
talking, gradually ripened into a state of extreme facetiousness, and
related with much glee an agreeable anecdote, about the removal of a
tumour on some gentleman's head, which he illustrated by means of an
oyster-knife and a half-quartern loaf, to the great edification of
the assembled company. Then the whole train went to church, where Mr.
Benjamin Allen fell fast asleep; while Mr. Bob Sawyer abstracted his
thoughts from worldly matters, by the ingenious process of carving his
name on the seat of the pew, in corpulent letters of four inches long.
'Now,' said Wardle, after a substantial lunch, with the agreeable items
of strong beer and cherry-brandy, had been done ample justice to, 'what
say you to an hour on the ice? We shall have plenty of time.'
'Capital!' said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
'Prime!' ejaculated Mr. Bob Sawyer.
'You skate, of course, Winkle?' said Wardle.
'Ye-yes; oh, yes,' replied Mr. Winkle. 'I--I--am RATHER out of
practice.'
'Oh, DO skate, Mr. Winkle,' said Arabella. 'I like to see it so much.'
'Oh, it is SO graceful,' said another young lady. A third young lady
said it was elegant, and a fourth expressed her opinion that it was
'swan-like.'
'I should be very happy, I'm sure,' said Mr. Winkle, reddening; 'but I
have no skates.'
This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had a couple of pair,
and the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen more downstairs;
whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite delight, and looked exquisitely
uncomfortable.
Old Wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice; and the fat
boy and Mr. Weller, having shovelled and swept away the snow which had
fallen on it during the night, Mr. Bob Sawyer adjusted his skates with
a dexterity which to Mr. Winkle was perfectly marvellous, and described
circles with his left leg, and cut figures of eight, and inscribed upon
the ice, without once stopping for breath, a great many other pleasant
and astonishing devices, to the excessive satisfaction of Mr.
Pickwick, Mr. Tupman, and the ladies; which reached a pitch of positive
enthusiasm, when old Wardle and Benjamin Allen, assisted by the
aforesaid Bob Sawyer, performed some mystic evolutions, which they
called a reel.
All this time, Mr. Winkle, with his face and hands blue with the cold,
had been forcing a gimlet into the sole of his feet, and putting his
skates on, with the points behind, and getting the straps into a very
complicated and entangled state, with the assistance of Mr. Snodgrass,
who knew rather less about skates than a Hindoo. At length, however,
with the assistance of Mr. Weller, the unfortunate skates were firmly
screwed and buckled on, and Mr. Winkle was raised to his feet.
'Now, then, Sir,' said Sam, in an encouraging tone; 'off vith you, and
show 'em how to do it.'
'Stop, Sam, stop!' said Mr. Winkle, trembling violently, and clutching
hold of Sam's arms with the grasp of a drowning man. 'How slippery it
is, Sam!'
'Not an uncommon thing upon ice, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Hold up,
Sir!'
This last observation of Mr. Weller's bore reference to a demonstration
Mr. Winkle made at the instant, of a frantic desire to throw his feet in
the air, and dash the back of his head on the ice.
'These--these--are very awkward skates; ain't they, Sam?' inquired Mr.
Winkle, staggering.
'I'm afeerd there's a orkard gen'l'm'n in 'em, Sir,' replied Sam.
'Now, Winkle,' cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious that there was
anything the matter. 'Come; the ladies are all anxiety.'
'Yes, yes,' replied Mr. Winkle, with a ghastly smile. 'I'm coming.'
'Just a-goin' to begin,' said Sam, endeavouring to disengage himself.
'Now, Sir, start off!'
'Stop an instant, Sam,' gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging most affectionately
to Mr. Weller. 'I find I've got a couple of coats at home that I don't
want, Sam. You may have them, Sam.'
'Thank'ee, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller.
'Never mind touching your hat, Sam,' said Mr. Winkle hastily. 'You
needn't take your hand away to do that. I meant to have given you five
shillings this morning for a Christmas box, Sam. I'll give it you this
afternoon, Sam.'
'You're wery good, sir,' replied Mr. Weller.
'Just hold me at first, Sam; will you?' said Mr. Winkle. 'There--that's
right. I shall soon get in the way of it, Sam. Not too fast, Sam; not
too fast.'
Mr. Winkle, stooping forward, with his body half doubled up, was being
assisted over the ice by Mr. Weller, in a very singular and un-swan-like
manner, when Mr. Pickwick most innocently shouted from the opposite
bank--
'Sam!'
'Sir?'
'Here. I want you.'
'Let go, Sir,' said Sam. 'Don't you hear the governor a-callin'? Let go,
sir.'
With a violent effort, Mr. Weller disengaged himself from the grasp of
the agonised Pickwickian, and, in so doing, administered a considerable
impetus to the unhappy Mr. Winkle. With an accuracy which no degree of
dexterity or practice could have insured, that unfortunate gentleman
bore swiftly down into the centre of the reel, at the very moment when
Mr. Bob Sawyer was performing a flourish of unparalleled beauty. Mr.
Winkle struck wildly against him, and with a loud crash they both fell
heavily down. Mr. Pickwick ran to the spot. Bob Sawyer had risen to his
feet, but Mr. Winkle was far too wise to do anything of the kind, in
skates. He was seated on the ice, making spasmodic efforts to smile; but
anguish was depicted on every lineament of his countenance.
'Are you hurt?' inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, with great anxiety.
'Not much,' said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back very hard. 'I wish you'd
let me bleed you,' said Mr. Benjamin, with great eagerness.
'No, thank you,' replied Mr. Winkle hurriedly.
'I really think you had better,' said Allen.
'Thank you,' replied Mr. Winkle; 'I'd rather not.'
'What do YOU think, Mr. Pickwick?' inquired Bob Sawyer.
Mr. Pickwick was excited and indignant. He beckoned to Mr. Weller, and
said in a stern voice, 'Take his skates off.'
'No; but really I had scarcely begun,' remonstrated Mr. Winkle.
'Take his skates off,' repeated Mr. Pickwick firmly.
The command was not to be resisted. Mr. Winkle allowed Sam to obey it,
in silence.
'Lift him up,' said Mr. Pickwick. Sam assisted him to rise.
Mr. Pickwick retired a few paces apart from the bystanders; and,
beckoning his friend to approach, fixed a searching look upon him,
and uttered in a low, but distinct and emphatic tone, these remarkable
words--
'You're a humbug, sir.' 'A what?' said Mr. Winkle, starting.
'A humbug, Sir. I will speak plainer, if you wish it. An impostor, sir.'
With those words, Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on his heel, and rejoined
his friends.
While Mr. Pickwick was delivering himself of the sentiment just
recorded, Mr. Weller and the fat boy, having by their joint endeavours
cut out a slide, were exercising themselves thereupon, in a very
masterly and brilliant manner. Sam Weller, in particular, was displaying
that beautiful feat of fancy-sliding which is currently denominated
'knocking at the cobbler's door,' and which is achieved by skimming over
the ice on one foot, and occasionally giving a postman's knock upon it
with the other. It was a good long slide, and there was something in the
motion which Mr. Pickwick, who was very cold with standing still, could
not help envying.
'It looks a nice warm exercise that, doesn't it?' he inquired of Wardle,
when that gentleman was thoroughly out of breath, by reason of the
indefatigable manner in which he had converted his legs into a pair of
compasses, and drawn complicated problems on the ice.
'Ah, it does, indeed,' replied Wardle. 'Do you slide?'
'I used to do so, on the gutters, when I was a boy,' replied Mr.
Pickwick.
'Try it now,' said Wardle.
'Oh, do, please, Mr. Pickwick!' cried all the ladies.
'I should be very happy to afford you any amusement,' replied Mr.
Pickwick, 'but I haven't done such a thing these thirty years.'
'Pooh! pooh! Nonsense!' said Wardle, dragging off his skates with the
impetuosity which characterised all his proceedings. 'Here; I'll keep
you company; come along!' And away went the good-tempered old fellow
down the slide, with a rapidity which came very close upon Mr. Weller,
and beat the fat boy all to nothing.
Mr. Pickwick paused, considered, pulled off his gloves and put them in
his hat; took two or three short runs, baulked himself as often, and at
