'I should say it was thieves, Sir,' said Pruffle at length.
'You're a fool, and may go downstairs,' said the scientific gentleman.
'Thank you, Sir,' said Pruffle. And down he went.
But the scientific gentleman could not rest under the idea of the
ingenious treatise he had projected being lost to the world, which must
inevitably be the case if the speculation of the ingenious Mr. Pruffle
were not stifled in its birth. He put on his hat and walked quickly down
the garden, determined to investigate the matter to the very bottom.
Now, shortly before the scientific gentleman walked out into the garden,
Mr. Pickwick had run down the lane as fast as he could, to convey a
false alarm that somebody was coming that way; occasionally drawing back
the slide of the dark lantern to keep himself from the ditch. The alarm
was no sooner given, than Mr. Winkle scrambled back over the wall, and
Arabella ran into the house; the garden gate was shut, and the three
adventurers were making the best of their way down the lane, when they
were startled by the scientific gentleman unlocking his garden gate.
'Hold hard,' whispered Sam, who was, of course, the first of the party.
'Show a light for just vun second, Sir.'
Mr. Pickwick did as he was desired, and Sam, seeing a man's head peeping
out very cautiously within half a yard of his own, gave it a gentle tap
with his clenched fist, which knocked it, with a hollow sound,
against the gate. Having performed this feat with great suddenness and
dexterity, Mr. Weller caught Mr. Pickwick up on his back, and followed
Mr. Winkle down the lane at a pace which, considering the burden he
carried, was perfectly astonishing.
'Have you got your vind back agin, Sir,' inquired Sam, when they had
reached the end.
'Quite. Quite, now,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'Then come along, Sir,' said Sam, setting his master on his feet again.
'Come betveen us, sir. Not half a mile to run. Think you're vinnin' a
cup, sir. Now for it.'
Thus encouraged, Mr. Pickwick made the very best use of his legs. It may
be confidently stated that a pair of black gaiters never got over the
ground in better style than did those of Mr. Pickwick on this memorable
occasion.
The coach was waiting, the horses were fresh, the roads were good, and
the driver was willing. The whole party arrived in safety at the Bush
before Mr. Pickwick had recovered his breath.
'in with you at once, sir,' said Sam, as he helped his master out.
'Don't stop a second in the street, arter that 'ere exercise. Beg your
pardon, sir,'continued Sam, touching his hat as Mr. Winkle descended,
'hope there warn't a priory 'tachment, sir?'
Mr. Winkle grasped his humble friend by the hand, and whispered in his
ear, 'It's all right, Sam; quite right.' Upon which Mr. Weller struck
three distinct blows upon his nose in token of intelligence, smiled,
winked, and proceeded to put the steps up, with a countenance expressive
of lively satisfaction.
As to the scientific gentleman, he demonstrated, in a masterly treatise,
that these wonderful lights were the effect of electricity; and clearly
proved the same by detailing how a flash of fire danced before his eyes
when he put his head out of the gate, and how he received a shock which
stunned him for a quarter of an hour afterwards; which demonstration
delighted all the scientific associations beyond measure, and caused him
to be considered a light of science ever afterwards.
CHAPTER XL. INTRODUCES Mr. PICKWICK TO A NEW AND NOT UNINTERESTING SCENE
IN THE GREAT DRAMA OF LIFE
The remainder of the period which Mr. Pickwick had assigned as the
duration of the stay at Bath passed over without the occurrence of
anything material. Trinity term commenced. On the expiration of its
first week, Mr. Pickwick and his friends returned to London; and the
former gentleman, attended of course by Sam, straightway repaired to his
old quarters at the George and Vulture.
On the third morning after their arrival, just as all the clocks in the
city were striking nine individually, and somewhere about nine hundred
and ninety-nine collectively, Sam was taking the air in George Yard,
when a queer sort of fresh-painted vehicle drove up, out of which there
jumped with great agility, throwing the reins to a stout man who sat
beside him, a queer sort of gentleman, who seemed made for the vehicle,
and the vehicle for him.
The vehicle was not exactly a gig, neither was it a stanhope. It was not
what is currently denominated a dog-cart, neither was it a taxed cart,
nor a chaise-cart, nor a guillotined cabriolet; and yet it had something
of the character of each and every of these machines. It was painted a
bright yellow, with the shafts and wheels picked out in black; and the
driver sat in the orthodox sporting style, on cushions piled about two
feet above the rail. The horse was a bay, a well-looking animal
enough; but with something of a flash and dog-fighting air about him,
nevertheless, which accorded both with the vehicle and his master.
The master himself was a man of about forty, with black hair, and
carefully combed whiskers. He was dressed in a particularly gorgeous
manner, with plenty of articles of jewellery about him--all about three
sizes larger than those which are usually worn by gentlemen--and a rough
greatcoat to crown the whole. Into one pocket of this greatcoat, he
thrust his left hand the moment he dismounted, while from the other he
drew forth, with his right, a very bright and glaring silk handkerchief,
with which he whisked a speck or two of dust from his boots, and then,
crumpling it in his hand, swaggered up the court.
It had not escaped Sam's attention that, when this person dismounted, a
shabby-looking man in a brown greatcoat shorn of divers buttons, who had
been previously slinking about, on the opposite side of the way, crossed
over, and remained stationary close by. Having something more than a
suspicion of the object of the gentleman's visit, Sam preceded him to
the George and Vulture, and, turning sharp round, planted himself in the
Centre of the doorway.
'Now, my fine fellow!' said the man in the rough coat, in an imperious
tone, attempting at the same time to push his way past.
'Now, Sir, wot's the matter?' replied Sam, returning the push with
compound interest.
'Come, none of this, my man; this won't do with me,' said the owner of
the rough coat, raising his voice, and turning white. 'Here, Smouch!'
'Well, wot's amiss here?' growled the man in the brown coat, who had
been gradually sneaking up the court during this short dialogue.
'Only some insolence of this young man's,' said the principal, giving
Sam another push.
'Come, none o' this gammon,' growled Smouch, giving him another, and a
harder one.
This last push had the effect which it was intended by the experienced
Mr. Smouch to produce; for while Sam, anxious to return the compliment,
was grinding that gentleman's body against the door-post, the principal
crept past, and made his way to the bar, whither Sam, after bandying a
few epithetical remarks with Mr. Smouch, followed at once.
'Good-morning, my dear,' said the principal, addressing the young lady
at the bar, with Botany Bay ease, and New South Wales gentility; 'which
is Mr. Pickwick's room, my dear?'
'Show him up,' said the barmaid to a waiter, without deigning another
look at the exquisite, in reply to his inquiry.
The waiter led the way upstairs as he was desired, and the man in the
rough coat followed, with Sam behind him, who, in his progress up the
staircase, indulged in sundry gestures indicative of supreme contempt
and defiance, to the unspeakable gratification of the servants and other
lookers-on. Mr. Smouch, who was troubled with a hoarse cough, remained
below, and expectorated in the passage.
Mr. Pickwick was fast asleep in bed, when his early visitor, followed by
Sam, entered the room. The noise they made, in so doing, awoke him.
'Shaving-water, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, from within the curtains.
'Shave you directly, Mr. Pickwick,' said the visitor, drawing one of
them back from the bed's head. 'I've got an execution against you, at
the suit of Bardell.--Here's the warrant.--Common Pleas.--Here's my
card. I suppose you'll come over to my house.' Giving Mr. Pickwick a
friendly tap on the shoulder, the sheriff's officer (for such he was)
threw his card on the counterpane, and pulled a gold toothpick from his
waistcoat pocket.
'Namby's the name,' said the sheriff's deputy, as Mr. Pickwick took his
spectacles from under the pillow, and put them on, to read the card.
'Namby, Bell Alley, Coleman Street.'
At this point, Sam Weller, who had had his eyes fixed hitherto on Mr.
Namby's shining beaver, interfered.
'Are you a Quaker?' said Sam.
'I'll let you know I am, before I've done with you,' replied the
indignant officer. 'I'll teach you manners, my fine fellow, one of these
fine mornings.'
'Thank'ee,' said Sam. 'I'll do the same to you. Take your hat off.' With
this, Mr. Weller, in the most dexterous manner, knocked Mr. Namby's
hat to the other side of the room, with such violence, that he had very
nearly caused him to swallow the gold toothpick into the bargain.
'Observe this, Mr. Pickwick,' said the disconcerted officer, gasping
for breath. 'I've been assaulted in the execution of my dooty by your
servant in your chamber. I'm in bodily fear. I call you to witness
this.'
'Don't witness nothin', Sir,' interposed Sam. 'Shut your eyes up tight,
Sir. I'd pitch him out o' winder, only he couldn't fall far enough,
'cause o' the leads outside.'
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, in an angry voice, as his attendant made
various demonstrations of hostilities, 'if you say another word, or
offer the slightest interference with this person, I discharge you that
instant.'
'But, Sir!' said Sam.
'Hold your tongue,' interposed Mr. Pickwick. 'Take that hat up again.'
But this Sam flatly and positively refused to do; and, after he had
been severely reprimanded by his master, the officer, being in a hurry,
condescended to pick it up himself, venting a great variety of threats
against Sam meanwhile, which that gentleman received with perfect
composure, merely observing that if Mr. Namby would have the goodness
to put his hat on again, he would knock it into the latter end of
next week. Mr. Namby, perhaps thinking that such a process might
be productive of inconvenience to himself, declined to offer the
temptation, and, soon after, called up Smouch. Having informed him that
the capture was made, and that he was to wait for the prisoner until he
should have finished dressing, Namby then swaggered out, and drove away.
Smouch, requesting Mr. Pickwick in a surly manner 'to be as alive as
he could, for it was a busy time,' drew up a chair by the door and sat
there, until he had finished dressing. Sam was then despatched for a
hackney-coach, and in it the triumvirate proceeded to Coleman Street. It
was fortunate the distance was short; for Mr. Smouch, besides possessing
no very enchanting conversational powers, was rendered a decidedly
unpleasant companion in a limited space, by the physical weakness to
which we have elsewhere adverted.
The coach having turned into a very narrow and dark street, stopped
before a house with iron bars to all the windows; the door-posts of
which were graced by the name and title of 'Namby, Officer to the
Sheriffs of London'; the inner gate having been opened by a gentleman
who might have passed for a neglected twin-brother of Mr. Smouch, and
who was endowed with a large key for the purpose, Mr. Pickwick was shown
into the 'coffee-room.'
This coffee-room was a front parlour, the principal features of which
were fresh sand and stale tobacco smoke. Mr. Pickwick bowed to the three
persons who were seated in it when he entered; and having despatched Sam
for Perker, withdrew into an obscure corner, and looked thence with some
curiosity upon his new companions.
One of these was a mere boy of nineteen or twenty, who, though it
was yet barely ten o'clock, was drinking gin-and-water, and smoking a
cigar--amusements to which, judging from his inflamed countenance, he
had devoted himself pretty constantly for the last year or two of his
life. Opposite him, engaged in stirring the fire with the toe of his
right boot, was a coarse, vulgar young man of about thirty, with a
sallow face and harsh voice; evidently possessed of that knowledge of
the world, and captivating freedom of manner, which is to be acquired in
public-house parlours, and at low billiard tables. The third tenant of
the apartment was a middle-aged man in a very old suit of black, who
looked pale and haggard, and paced up and down the room incessantly;
stopping, now and then, to look with great anxiety out of the window as
if he expected somebody, and then resuming his walk.
'You'd better have the loan of my razor this morning, Mr. Ayresleigh,'
said the man who was stirring the fire, tipping the wink to his friend
the boy.
'Thank you, no, I shan't want it; I expect I shall be out, in the course
of an hour or so,' replied the other in a hurried manner. Then, walking
again up to the window, and once more returning disappointed, he sighed
deeply, and left the room; upon which the other two burst into a loud
laugh.
'Well, I never saw such a game as that,' said the gentleman who had
offered the razor, whose name appeared to be Price. 'Never!' Mr. Price
confirmed the assertion with an oath, and then laughed again, when
