know, Mr. Pickwick--nothing like caution, sir, in all legal forms--eh?'
Here Mr. Jackson cast his eye on the parchment; and, resting his hands
on the table, and looking round with a winning and persuasive smile,
said, 'Now, come; don't let's have no words about such a little matter
as this. Which of you gentlemen's name's Snodgrass?'
At this inquiry, Mr. Snodgrass gave such a very undisguised and palpable
start, that no further reply was needed.
'Ah! I thought so,' said Mr. Jackson, more affably than before. 'I've a
little something to trouble you with, Sir.'
'Me!'exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass.
'It's only a subpoena in Bardell and Pickwick on behalf of the
plaintiff,' replied Jackson, singling out one of the slips of paper, and
producing a shilling from his waistcoat pocket. 'It'll come on, in the
settens after Term: fourteenth of Febooary, we expect; we've marked it a
special jury cause, and it's only ten down the paper. That's yours, Mr.
Snodgrass.' As Jackson said this, he presented the parchment before the
eyes of Mr. Snodgrass, and slipped the paper and the shilling into his
hand.
Mr. Tupman had witnessed this process in silent astonishment, when
Jackson, turning sharply upon him, said--
'I think I ain't mistaken when I say your name's Tupman, am I?'
Mr. Tupman looked at Mr. Pickwick; but, perceiving no encouragement in
that gentleman's widely-opened eyes to deny his name, said--
'Yes, my name is Tupman, Sir.'
'And that other gentleman's Mr. Winkle, I think?' said Jackson. Mr.
Winkle faltered out a reply in the affirmative; and both gentlemen were
forthwith invested with a slip of paper, and a shilling each, by the
dexterous Mr. Jackson.
'Now,' said Jackson, 'I'm afraid you'll think me rather troublesome, but
I want somebody else, if it ain't inconvenient. I have Samuel Weller's
name here, Mr. Pickwick.'
'Send my servant here, waiter,' said Mr. Pickwick. The waiter retired,
considerably astonished, and Mr. Pickwick motioned Jackson to a seat.
There was a painful pause, which was at length broken by the innocent
defendant. 'I suppose, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, his indignation rising
while he spoke--'I suppose, Sir, that it is the intention of your
employers to seek to criminate me upon the testimony of my own friends?'
Mr. Jackson struck his forefinger several times against the left side of
his nose, to intimate that he was not there to disclose the secrets of
the prison house, and playfully rejoined--
'Not knowin', can't say.'
'For what other reason, Sir,' pursued Mr. Pickwick, 'are these subpoenas
served upon them, if not for this?'
'Very good plant, Mr. Pickwick,' replied Jackson, slowly shaking his
head. 'But it won't do. No harm in trying, but there's little to be got
out of me.'
Here Mr. Jackson smiled once more upon the company, and, applying his
left thumb to the tip of his nose, worked a visionary coffee-mill with
his right hand, thereby performing a very graceful piece of pantomime
(then much in vogue, but now, unhappily, almost obsolete) which was
familiarly denominated 'taking a grinder.'
'No, no, Mr. Pickwick,' said Jackson, in conclusion; 'Perker's people
must guess what we've served these subpoenas for. If they can't, they
must wait till the action comes on, and then they'll find out.' Mr.
Pickwick bestowed a look of excessive disgust on his unwelcome visitor,
and would probably have hurled some tremendous anathema at the heads of
Messrs. Dodson & Fogg, had not Sam's entrance at the instant interrupted
him.
'Samuel Weller?' said Mr. Jackson, inquiringly.
'Vun o' the truest things as you've said for many a long year,' replied
Sam, in a most composed manner.
'Here's a subpoena for you, Mr. Weller,' said Jackson.
'What's that in English?' inquired Sam.
'Here's the original,' said Jackson, declining the required explanation.
'Which?' said Sam.
'This,' replied Jackson, shaking the parchment.
'Oh, that's the 'rig'nal, is it?' said Sam. 'Well, I'm wery glad I've
seen the 'rig'nal, 'cos it's a gratifyin' sort o' thing, and eases vun's
mind so much.'
'And here's the shilling,' said Jackson. 'It's from Dodson and Fogg's.'
'And it's uncommon handsome o' Dodson and Fogg, as knows so little of
me, to come down vith a present,' said Sam. 'I feel it as a wery high
compliment, sir; it's a wery honorable thing to them, as they knows how
to reward merit werever they meets it. Besides which, it's affectin' to
one's feelin's.'
As Mr. Weller said this, he inflicted a little friction on his right
eyelid, with the sleeve of his coat, after the most approved manner of
actors when they are in domestic pathetics.
Mr. Jackson seemed rather puzzled by Sam's proceedings; but, as he had
served the subpoenas, and had nothing more to say, he made a feint of
putting on the one glove which he usually carried in his hand, for the
sake of appearances; and returned to the office to report progress.
Mr. Pickwick slept little that night; his memory had received a very
disagreeable refresher on the subject of Mrs. Bardell's action. He
breakfasted betimes next morning, and, desiring Sam to accompany him,
set forth towards Gray's Inn Square.
'Sam!' said Mr. Pickwick, looking round, when they got to the end of
Cheapside.
'Sir?' said Sam, stepping up to his master.
'Which way?' 'Up Newgate Street.'
Mr. Pickwick did not turn round immediately, but looked vacantly in
Sam's face for a few seconds, and heaved a deep sigh.
'What's the matter, sir?' inquired Sam.
'This action, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'is expected to come on, on the
fourteenth of next month.' 'Remarkable coincidence that 'ere, sir,'
replied Sam.
'Why remarkable, Sam?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Walentine's day, sir,' responded Sam; 'reg'lar good day for a breach o'
promise trial.'
Mr. Weller's smile awakened no gleam of mirth in his master's
countenance. Mr. Pickwick turned abruptly round, and led the way in
silence.
They had walked some distance, Mr. Pickwick trotting on before, plunged
in profound meditation, and Sam following behind, with a countenance
expressive of the most enviable and easy defiance of everything and
everybody, when the latter, who was always especially anxious to impart
to his master any exclusive information he possessed, quickened his pace
until he was close at Mr. Pickwick's heels; and, pointing up at a house
they were passing, said--
'Wery nice pork-shop that 'ere, sir.'
'Yes, it seems so,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Celebrated sassage factory,' said Sam.
'Is it?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Is it!' reiterated Sam, with some indignation; 'I should rayther
think it was. Why, sir, bless your innocent eyebrows, that's where the
mysterious disappearance of a 'spectable tradesman took place four years
ago.'
'You don't mean to say he was burked, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick, looking
hastily round.
'No, I don't indeed, sir,' replied Mr. Weller, 'I wish I did; far worse
than that. He was the master o' that 'ere shop, sir, and the inwentor
o' the patent-never-leavin'-off sassage steam-ingin, as 'ud swaller up a
pavin' stone if you put it too near, and grind it into sassages as easy
as if it was a tender young babby. Wery proud o' that machine he was, as
it was nat'ral he should be, and he'd stand down in the celler a-lookin'
at it wen it was in full play, till he got quite melancholy with joy. A
wery happy man he'd ha' been, Sir, in the procession o' that 'ere ingin
and two more lovely hinfants besides, if it hadn't been for his wife,
who was a most owdacious wixin. She was always a-follerin' him about,
and dinnin' in his ears, till at last he couldn't stand it no longer.
"I'll tell you what it is, my dear," he says one day; "if you persewere
in this here sort of amusement," he says, "I'm blessed if I don't go
away to 'Merriker; and that's all about it." "You're a idle willin,"
says she, "and I wish the 'Merrikins joy of their bargain." Arter which
she keeps on abusin' of him for half an hour, and then runs into the
little parlour behind the shop, sets to a-screamin', says he'll be the
death on her, and falls in a fit, which lasts for three good hours--one
o' them fits wich is all screamin' and kickin'. Well, next mornin', the
husband was missin'. He hadn't taken nothin' from the till--hadn't even
put on his greatcoat--so it was quite clear he warn't gone to 'Merriker.
Didn't come back next day; didn't come back next week; missis had
bills printed, sayin' that, if he'd come back, he should be forgiven
everythin' (which was very liberal, seein' that he hadn't done nothin'
at all); the canals was dragged, and for two months arterwards, wenever
a body turned up, it was carried, as a reg'lar thing, straight off to
the sassage shop. Hows'ever, none on 'em answered; so they gave out
that he'd run away, and she kep' on the bis'ness. One Saturday night, a
little, thin, old gen'l'm'n comes into the shop in a great passion and
says, "Are you the missis o' this here shop?" "Yes, I am," says she.
"Well, ma'am," says he, "then I've just looked in to say that me and
my family ain't a-goin' to be choked for nothin'; and more than that,
ma'am," he says, "you'll allow me to observe that as you don't use the
primest parts of the meat in the manafacter o' sassages, I'd think you'd
find beef come nearly as cheap as buttons." "As buttons, Sir!" says she.
"Buttons, ma'am," says the little, old gentleman, unfolding a bit of
paper, and showin' twenty or thirty halves o' buttons. "Nice seasonin'
for sassages, is trousers' buttons, ma'am." "They're my husband's
buttons!" says the widder beginnin' to faint, "What!" screams the little
old gen'l'm'n, turnin' wery pale. "I see it all," says the widder; "in
a fit of temporary insanity he rashly converted hisself into sassages!"
And so he had, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, looking steadily into Mr.
Pickwick's horror-stricken countenance, 'or else he'd been draw'd into
the ingin; but however that might ha' been, the little, old gen'l'm'n,
who had been remarkably partial to sassages all his life, rushed out o'
the shop in a wild state, and was never heerd on arterwards!'
The relation of this affecting incident of private life brought master
and man to Mr. Perker's chambers. Lowten, holding the door half open,
was in conversation with a rustily-clad, miserable-looking man, in boots
without toes and gloves without fingers. There were traces of privation
and suffering--almost of despair--in his lank and care-worn countenance;
he felt his poverty, for he shrank to the dark side of the staircase as
Mr. Pickwick approached.
'It's very unfortunate,' said the stranger, with a sigh.
'Very,' said Lowten, scribbling his name on the doorpost with his pen,
and rubbing it out again with the feather. 'Will you leave a message for
him?'
'When do you think he'll be back?' inquired the stranger.
'Quite uncertain,' replied Lowten, winking at Mr. Pickwick, as the
stranger cast his eyes towards the ground.
'You don't think it would be of any use my waiting for him?' said the
stranger, looking wistfully into the office.
'Oh, no, I'm sure it wouldn't,' replied the clerk, moving a little more
into the centre of the doorway. 'He's certain not to be back this week,
and it's a chance whether he will be next; for when Perker once gets out
of town, he's never in a hurry to come back again.'
'Out of town!' said Mr. Pickwick; 'dear me, how unfortunate!'
'Don't go away, Mr. Pickwick,' said Lowten, 'I've got a letter for you.'
The stranger, seeming to hesitate, once more looked towards the ground,
and the clerk winked slyly at Mr. PickwiCK, as if to intimate that some
exquisite piece of humour was going forward, though what it was Mr.
Pickwick could not for the life of him divine. 'Step in, Mr. Pickwick,'
said Lowten. 'Well, will you leave a message, Mr. Watty, or will you
call again?'
'Ask him to be so kind as to leave out word what has been done in my
business,' said the man; 'for God's sake don't neglect it, Mr. Lowten.'
'No, no; I won't forget it,' replied the clerk. 'Walk in, Mr. Pickwick.
Good-morning, Mr. Watty; it's a fine day for walking, isn't it?' Seeing
that the stranger still lingered, he beckoned Sam Weller to follow his
master in, and shut the door in his face.
'There never was such a pestering bankrupt as that since the world
began, I do believe!' said Lowten, throwing down his pen with the air of
an injured man. 'His affairs haven't been in Chancery quite four years
yet, and I'm d--d if he don't come worrying here twice a week. Step this
