'Did you apply that name to me, I ask of you, sir?' interrupted Mrs.
Raddle, with intense fierceness, throwing the door wide open.
'Why, of course I did,' replied Mr. Benjamin Allen.
'Yes, of course you did,' said Mrs. Raddle, backing gradually to the
door, and raising her voice to its loudest pitch, for the special behoof
of Mr. Raddle in the kitchen. 'Yes, of course you did! And everybody
knows that they may safely insult me in my own 'ouse while my husband
sits sleeping downstairs, and taking no more notice than if I was a
dog in the streets. He ought to be ashamed of himself (here Mrs. Raddle
sobbed) to allow his wife to be treated in this way by a parcel of young
cutters and carvers of live people's bodies, that disgraces the lodgings
(another sob), and leaving her exposed to all manner of abuse; a base,
faint-hearted, timorous wretch, that's afraid to come upstairs, and
face the ruffinly creatures--that's afraid--that's afraid to come!' Mrs.
Raddle paused to listen whether the repetition of the taunt had roused
her better half; and finding that it had not been successful, proceeded
to descend the stairs with sobs innumerable; when there came a loud
double knock at the street door; whereupon she burst into an hysterical
fit of weeping, accompanied with dismal moans, which was prolonged until
the knock had been repeated six times, when, in an uncontrollable burst
of mental agony, she threw down all the umbrellas, and disappeared into
the back parlour, closing the door after her with an awful crash.
'Does Mr. Sawyer live here?' said Mr. Pickwick, when the door was
opened.
'Yes,' said the girl, 'first floor. It's the door straight afore you,
when you gets to the top of the stairs.' Having given this instruction,
the handmaid, who had been brought up among the aboriginal inhabitants
of Southwark, disappeared, with the candle in her hand, down the kitchen
stairs, perfectly satisfied that she had done everything that could
possibly be required of her under the circumstances.
Mr. Snodgrass, who entered last, secured the street door, after several
ineffectual efforts, by putting up the chain; and the friends stumbled
upstairs, where they were received by Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been
afraid to go down, lest he should be waylaid by Mrs. Raddle.
'How are you?' said the discomfited student. 'Glad to see you--take care
of the glasses.' This caution was addressed to Mr. Pickwick, who had put
his hat in the tray.
'Dear me,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I beg your pardon.'
'Don't mention it, don't mention it,' said Bob Sawyer. 'I'm rather
confined for room here, but you must put up with all that, when you come
to see a young bachelor. Walk in. You've seen this gentleman before,
I think?' Mr. Pickwick shook hands with Mr. Benjamin Allen, and his
friends followed his example. They had scarcely taken their seats when
there was another double knock.
'I hope that's Jack Hopkins!' said Mr. Bob Sawyer. 'Hush. Yes, it is.
Come up, Jack; come up.'
A heavy footstep was heard upon the stairs, and Jack Hopkins presented
himself. He wore a black velvet waistcoat, with thunder-and-lightning
buttons; and a blue striped shirt, with a white false collar.
'You're late, Jack?' said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
'Been detained at Bartholomew's,' replied Hopkins.
'Anything new?'
'No, nothing particular. Rather a good accident brought into the
casualty ward.'
'What was that, sir?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Only a man fallen out of a four pair of stairs' window; but it's a very
fair case indeed.'
'Do you mean that the patient is in a fair way to recover?' inquired Mr.
Pickwick. 'No,' replied Mr. Hopkins carelessly. 'No, I should rather
say he wouldn't. There must be a splendid operation, though,
to-morrow--magnificent sight if Slasher does it.'
'You consider Mr. Slasher a good operator?' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Best
alive,' replied Hopkins. 'Took a boy's leg out of the socket last
week--boy ate five apples and a gingerbread cake--exactly two minutes
after it was all over, boy said he wouldn't lie there to be made game
of, and he'd tell his mother if they didn't begin.'
'Dear me!' said Mr. Pickwick, astonished.
'Pooh! That's nothing, that ain't,' said Jack Hopkins. 'Is it, Bob?'
'Nothing at all,' replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.
'By the bye, Bob,' said Hopkins, with a scarcely perceptible glance at
Mr. Pickwick's attentive face, 'we had a curious accident last night. A
child was brought in, who had swallowed a necklace.'
'Swallowed what, Sir?' interrupted Mr. Pickwick. 'A necklace,' replied
Jack Hopkins. 'Not all at once, you know, that would be too much--you
couldn't swallow that, if the child did--eh, Mr. Pickwick? ha, ha!'
Mr. Hopkins appeared highly gratified with his own pleasantry, and
continued--'No, the way was this. Child's parents were poor people
who lived in a court. Child's eldest sister bought a necklace--common
necklace, made of large black wooden beads. Child being fond of toys,
cribbed the necklace, hid it, played with it, cut the string, and
swallowed a bead. Child thought it capital fun, went back next day, and
swallowed another bead.'
'Bless my heart,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'what a dreadful thing! I beg your
pardon, Sir. Go on.'
'Next day, child swallowed two beads; the day after that, he treated
himself to three, and so on, till in a week's time he had got through
the necklace--five-and-twenty beads in all. The sister, who was an
industrious girl, and seldom treated herself to a bit of finery, cried
her eyes out, at the loss of the necklace; looked high and low for it;
but, I needn't say, didn't find it. A few days afterwards, the family
were at dinner--baked shoulder of mutton, and potatoes under it--the
child, who wasn't hungry, was playing about the room, when suddenly
there was heard a devil of a noise, like a small hailstorm. "Don't do
that, my boy," said the father. "I ain't a-doin' nothing," said the
child. "Well, don't do it again," said the father. There was a short
silence, and then the noise began again, worse than ever. "If you don't
mind what I say, my boy," said the father, "you'll find yourself in bed,
in something less than a pig's whisper." He gave the child a shake
to make him obedient, and such a rattling ensued as nobody ever heard
before. "Why, damme, it's IN the child!" said the father, "he's got
the croup in the wrong place!" "No, I haven't, father," said the child,
beginning to cry, "it's the necklace; I swallowed it, father."--The
father caught the child up, and ran with him to the hospital; the beads
in the boy's stomach rattling all the way with the jolting; and the
people looking up in the air, and down in the cellars, to see where the
unusual sound came from. He's in the hospital now,' said Jack Hopkins,
'and he makes such a devil of a noise when he walks about, that they're
obliged to muffle him in a watchman's coat, for fear he should wake the
patients.'
'That's the most extraordinary case I ever heard of,' said Mr. Pickwick,
with an emphatic blow on the table.
'Oh, that's nothing,' said Jack Hopkins. 'Is it, Bob?'
'Certainly not,' replied Bob Sawyer.
'Very singular things occur in our profession, I can assure you, Sir,'
said Hopkins.
'So I should be disposed to imagine,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
Another knock at the door announced a large-headed young man in a black
wig, who brought with him a scorbutic youth in a long stock. The next
comer was a gentleman in a shirt emblazoned with pink anchors, who was
closely followed by a pale youth with a plated watchguard. The arrival
of a prim personage in clean linen and cloth boots rendered the party
complete. The little table with the green baize cover was wheeled out;
the first instalment of punch was brought in, in a white jug; and the
succeeding three hours were devoted to VINGT-ET-UN at sixpence a
dozen, which was only once interrupted by a slight dispute between the
scorbutic youth and the gentleman with the pink anchors; in the course
of which, the scorbutic youth intimated a burning desire to pull the
nose of the gentleman with the emblems of hope; in reply to which, that
individual expressed his decided unwillingness to accept of any 'sauce'
on gratuitous terms, either from the irascible young gentleman with the
scorbutic countenance, or any other person who was ornamented with a
head.
When the last 'natural' had been declared, and the profit and loss
account of fish and sixpences adjusted, to the satisfaction of all
parties, Mr. Bob Sawyer rang for supper, and the visitors squeezed
themselves into corners while it was getting ready.
it was not so easily got ready as some people may imagine. First of all,
it was necessary to awaken the girl, who had fallen asleep with her face
on the kitchen table; this took a little time, and, even when she did
answer the bell, another quarter of an hour was consumed in fruitless
endeavours to impart to her a faint and distant glimmering of reason.
The man to whom the order for the oysters had been sent, had not been
told to open them; it is a very difficult thing to open an oyster with a
limp knife and a two-pronged fork; and very little was done in this way.
Very little of the beef was done either; and the ham (which was
also from the German-sausage shop round the corner) was in a similar
predicament. However, there was plenty of porter in a tin can; and the
cheese went a great way, for it was very strong. So upon the whole,
perhaps, the supper was quite as good as such matters usually are.
After supper, another jug of punch was put upon the table, together with
a paper of cigars, and a couple of bottles of spirits. Then there was
an awful pause; and this awful pause was occasioned by a very
common occurrence in this sort of place, but a very embarrassing one
notwithstanding.
The fact is, the girl was washing the glasses. The establishment boasted
four: we do not record the circumstance as at all derogatory to Mrs.
Raddle, for there never was a lodging-house yet, that was not short of
glasses. The landlady's glasses were little, thin, blown-glass tumblers,
and those which had been borrowed from the public-house were great,
dropsical, bloated articles, each supported on a huge gouty leg. This
would have been in itself sufficient to have possessed the company with
the real state of affairs; but the young woman of all work had prevented
the possibility of any misconception arising in the mind of any
gentleman upon the subject, by forcibly dragging every man's glass away,
long before he had finished his beer, and audibly stating, despite the
winks and interruptions of Mr. Bob Sawyer, that it was to be conveyed
downstairs, and washed forthwith.
It is a very ill wind that blows nobody any good. The prim man in the
cloth boots, who had been unsuccessfully attempting to make a joke
during the whole time the round game lasted, saw his opportunity, and
availed himself of it. The instant the glasses disappeared, he
commenced a long story about a great public character, whose name he
had forgotten, making a particularly happy reply to another eminent
and illustrious individual whom he had never been able to identify. He
enlarged at some length and with great minuteness upon divers collateral
circumstances, distantly connected with the anecdote in hand, but for
the life of him he couldn't recollect at that precise moment what the
anecdote was, although he had been in the habit of telling the story
with great applause for the last ten years.
'Dear me,' said the prim man in the cloth boots, 'it is a very
extraordinary circumstance.'
'I am sorry you have forgotten it,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer, glancing
eagerly at the door, as he thought he heard the noise of glasses
jingling; 'very sorry.'
'So am I,' responded the prim man, 'because I know it would have
afforded so much amusement. Never mind; I dare say I shall manage to
recollect it, in the course of half an hour or so.'
The prim man arrived at this point just as the glasses came back, when
Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been absorbed in attention during the whole
time, said he should very much like to hear the end of it, for, so far
as it went, it was, without exception, the very best story he had ever
heard. The sight of the tumblers restored Bob Sawyer to a degree of
equanimity which he had not possessed since his interview with his
landlady. His face brightened up, and he began to feel quite convivial.
'Now, Betsy,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with great suavity, and dispersing,
at the same time, the tumultuous little mob of glasses the girl had
collected in the centre of the table--'now, Betsy, the warm water; be
brisk, there's a good girl.'
'You can't have no warm water,' replied Betsy.
'No warm water!' exclaimed Mr. Bob Sawyer.
'No,' said the girl, with a shake of the head which expressed a more
decided negative than the most copious language could have conveyed.
'Missis Raddle said you warn't to have none.'
The surprise depicted on the countenances of his guests imparted new
courage to the host.
'Bring up the warm water instantly--instantly!' said Mr. Bob Sawyer,
with desperate sternness.
'No. I can't,' replied the girl; 'Missis Raddle raked out the kitchen
fire afore she went to bed, and locked up the kittle.'
