of course the boy (who thought his companion one of the most dashing
fellows alive) laughed also.
'You'd hardly think, would you now,' said Price, turning towards Mr.
Pickwick, 'that that chap's been here a week yesterday, and never once
shaved himself yet, because he feels so certain he's going out in half
an hour's time, thinks he may as well put it off till he gets home?'
'Poor man!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Are his chances of getting out of his
difficulties really so great?'
'Chances be d--d,' replied Price; 'he hasn't half the ghost of one. I
wouldn't give THAT for his chance of walking about the streets this time
ten years.' With this, Mr. Price snapped his fingers contemptuously, and
rang the bell.
'Give me a sheet of paper, Crookey,' said Mr. Price to the attendant,
who in dress and general appearance looked something between a bankrupt
glazier, and a drover in a state of insolvency; 'and a glass of
brandy-and-water, Crookey, d'ye hear? I'm going to write to my father,
and I must have a stimulant, or I shan't be able to pitch it strong
enough into the old boy.' At this facetious speech, the young boy, it is
almost needless to say, was fairly convulsed.
'That's right,' said Mr. Price. 'Never say die. All fun, ain't it?'
'Prime!' said the young gentleman.
'You've got some spirit about you, you have,' said Price. 'You've seen
something of life.'
'I rather think I have!' replied the boy. He had looked at it through
the dirty panes of glass in a bar door.
Mr. Pickwick, feeling not a little disgusted with this dialogue, as well
as with the air and manner of the two beings by whom it had been carried
on, was about to inquire whether he could not be accommodated with a
private sitting-room, when two or three strangers of genteel appearance
entered, at sight of whom the boy threw his cigar into the fire, and
whispering to Mr. Price that they had come to 'make it all right' for
him, joined them at a table in the farther end of the room.
It would appear, however, that matters were not going to be made all
right quite so speedily as the young gentleman anticipated; for a very
long conversation ensued, of which Mr. Pickwick could not avoid hearing
certain angry fragments regarding dissolute conduct, and repeated
forgiveness. At last, there were very distinct allusions made by the
oldest gentleman of the party to one Whitecross Street, at which the
young gentleman, notwithstanding his primeness and his spirit, and his
knowledge of life into the bargain, reclined his head upon the table,
and howled dismally.
Very much satisfied with this sudden bringing down of the youth's
valour, and this effectual lowering of his tone, Mr. Pickwick rang the
bell, and was shown, at his own request, into a private room furnished
with a carpet, table, chairs, sideboard and sofa, and ornamented with
a looking-glass, and various old prints. Here he had the advantage of
hearing Mrs. Namby's performance on a square piano overhead, while the
breakfast was getting ready; when it came, Mr. Perker came too.
'Aha, my dear sir,' said the little man, 'nailed at last, eh? Come,
come, I'm not sorry for it either, because now you'll see the absurdity
of this conduct. I've noted down the amount of the taxed costs and
damages for which the ca-sa was issued, and we had better settle at once
and lose no time. Namby is come home by this time, I dare say. What say
you, my dear sir? Shall I draw a cheque, or will you?' The little
man rubbed his hands with affected cheerfulness as he said this, but
glancing at Mr. Pickwick's countenance, could not forbear at the same
time casting a desponding look towards Sam Weller.
'Perker,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'let me hear no more of this, I beg. I see
no advantage in staying here, so I Shall go to prison to-night.'
'You can't go to Whitecross Street, my dear Sir,' said Perker.
'Impossible! There are sixty beds in a ward; and the bolt's on, sixteen
hours out of the four-and-twenty.'
'I would rather go to some other place of confinement if I can,' said
Mr. Pickwick. 'If not, I must make the best I can of that.'
'You can go to the Fleet, my dear Sir, if you're determined to go
somewhere,' said Perker.
'That'll do,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'I'll go there directly I have finished
my breakfast.'
'Stop, stop, my dear Sir; not the least occasion for being in such a
violent hurry to get into a place that most other men are as eager to
get out of,' said the good-natured little attorney. 'We must have a
habeas-corpus. There'll be no judge at chambers till four o'clock this
afternoon. You must wait till then.'
'Very good,' said Mr. Pickwick, with unmoved patience. 'Then we will
have a chop here, at two. See about it, Sam, and tell them to be
punctual.'
Mr. Pickwick remaining firm, despite all the remonstrances and arguments
of Perker, the chops appeared and disappeared in due course; he was then
put into another hackney coach, and carried off to Chancery Lane, after
waiting half an hour or so for Mr. Namby, who had a select dinner-party
and could on no account be disturbed before.
There were two judges in attendance at Serjeant's Inn--one King's
Bench, and one Common Pleas--and a great deal of business appeared to
be transacting before them, if the number of lawyer's clerks who were
hurrying in and out with bundles of papers, afforded any test. When they
reached the low archway which forms the entrance to the inn, Perker was
detained a few moments parlaying with the coachman about the fare and
the change; and Mr. Pickwick, stepping to one side to be out of the way
of the stream of people that were pouring in and out, looked about him
with some curiosity.
The people that attracted his attention most, were three or four men
of shabby-genteel appearance, who touched their hats to many of the
attorneys who passed, and seemed to have some business there, the
nature of which Mr. Pickwick could not divine. They were curious-looking
fellows. One was a slim and rather lame man in rusty black, and a white
neckerchief; another was a stout, burly person, dressed in the same
apparel, with a great reddish-black cloth round his neck; a third was
a little weazen, drunken-looking body, with a pimply face. They were
loitering about, with their hands behind them, and now and then with
an anxious countenance whispered something in the ear of some of the
gentlemen with papers, as they hurried by. Mr. Pickwick remembered to
have very often observed them lounging under the archway when he had
been walking past; and his curiosity was quite excited to know to what
branch of the profession these dingy-looking loungers could possibly
belong.
He was about to propound the question to Namby, who kept close beside
him, sucking a large gold ring on his little finger, when Perker bustled
up, and observing that there was no time to lose, led the way into
the inn. As Mr. Pickwick followed, the lame man stepped up to him, and
civilly touching his hat, held out a written card, which Mr. Pickwick,
not wishing to hurt the man's feelings by refusing, courteously accepted
and deposited in his waistcoat pocket.
'Now,' said Perker, turning round before he entered one of the offices,
to see that his companions were close behind him. 'In here, my dear sir.
Hallo, what do you want?'
This last question was addressed to the lame man, who, unobserved by Mr.
Pickwick, made one of the party. In reply to it, the lame man touched
his hat again, with all imaginable politeness, and motioned towards Mr.
Pickwick.
'No, no,' said Perker, with a smile. 'We don't want you, my dear friend,
we don't want you.'
'I beg your pardon, sir,' said the lame man. 'The gentleman took my
card. I hope you will employ me, sir. The gentleman nodded to me. I'll
be judged by the gentleman himself. You nodded to me, sir?'
'Pooh, pooh, nonsense. You didn't nod to anybody, Pickwick? A mistake, a
mistake,' said Perker.
'The gentleman handed me his card,' replied Mr. Pickwick, producing it
from his waistcoat pocket. 'I accepted it, as the gentleman seemed to
wish it--in fact I had some curiosity to look at it when I should be at
leisure. I--'
The little attorney burst into a loud laugh, and returning the card
to the lame man, informing him it was all a mistake, whispered to Mr.
Pickwick as the man turned away in dudgeon, that he was only a bail.
'A what!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
'A bail,' replied Perker.
'A bail!' 'Yes, my dear sir--half a dozen of 'em here. Bail you to any
amount, and only charge half a crown. Curious trade, isn't it?' said
Perker, regaling himself with a pinch of snuff.
'What! Am I to understand that these men earn a livelihood by waiting
about here, to perjure themselves before the judges of the land, at the
rate of half a crown a crime?' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite aghast at
the disclosure.
'Why, I don't exactly know about perjury, my dear sir,' replied the
little gentleman. 'Harsh word, my dear sir, very harsh word indeed. It's
a legal fiction, my dear sir, nothing more.' Saying which, the attorney
shrugged his shoulders, smiled, took a second pinch of snuff, and led
the way into the office of the judge's clerk.
This was a room of specially dirty appearance, with a very low ceiling
and old panelled walls; and so badly lighted, that although it was broad
day outside, great tallow candles were burning on the desks. At one end,
was a door leading to the judge's private apartment, round which were
congregated a crowd of attorneys and managing clerks, who were called
in, in the order in which their respective appointments stood upon the
file. Every time this door was opened to let a party out, the next
party made a violent rush to get in; and, as in addition to the numerous
dialogues which passed between the gentlemen who were waiting to see the
judge, a variety of personal squabbles ensued between the greater part
of those who had seen him, there was as much noise as could well be
raised in an apartment of such confined dimensions.
Nor were the conversations of these gentlemen the only sounds that broke
upon the ear. Standing on a box behind a wooden bar at another end of
the room was a clerk in spectacles who was 'taking the affidavits';
large batches of which were, from time to time, carried into the private
room by another clerk for the judge's signature. There were a
large number of attorneys' clerks to be sworn, and it being a moral
impossibility to swear them all at once, the struggles of these
gentlemen to reach the clerk in spectacles, were like those of a crowd
to get in at the pit door of a theatre when Gracious Majesty honours it
with its presence. Another functionary, from time to time, exercised
his lungs in calling over the names of those who had been sworn, for the
purpose of restoring to them their affidavits after they had been signed
by the judge, which gave rise to a few more scuffles; and all these
things going on at the same time, occasioned as much bustle as the
most active and excitable person could desire to behold. There were yet
another class of persons--those who were waiting to attend summonses
their employers had taken out, which it was optional to the attorney on
the opposite side to attend or not--and whose business it was, from time
to time, to cry out the opposite attorney's name; to make certain that
he was not in attendance without their knowledge.
For example. Leaning against the wall, close beside the seat Mr.
Pickwick had taken, was an office-lad of fourteen, with a tenor voice;
near him a common-law clerk with a bass one.
A clerk hurried in with a bundle of papers, and stared about him.
'Sniggle and Blink,' cried the tenor.
'Porkin and Snob,' growled the bass. 'Stumpy and Deacon,' said the
new-comer.
Nobody answered; the next man who came in, was bailed by the whole
three; and he in his turn shouted for another firm; and then somebody
else roared in a loud voice for another; and so forth.
All this time, the man in the spectacles was hard at work, swearing the
clerks; the oath being invariably administered, without any effort at
punctuation, and usually in the following terms:--
'Take the book in your right hand this is your name and hand-writing you
swear that the contents of this your affidavit are true so help you God
a shilling you must get change I haven't got it.'
'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I suppose they are getting the
HABEAS-CORPUS ready?'
'Yes,' said Sam, 'and I vish they'd bring out the have-his-carcase.
It's wery unpleasant keepin' us vaitin' here. I'd ha' got half a dozen
have-his-carcases ready, pack'd up and all, by this time.'
What sort of cumbrous and unmanageable machine, Sam Weller imagined a
habeas-corpus to be, does not appear; for Perker, at that moment, walked
up and took Mr. Pickwick away.
The usual forms having been gone through, the body of Samuel Pickwick
was soon afterwards confided to the custody of the tipstaff, to be by
him taken to the warden of the Fleet Prison, and there detained until
the amount of the damages and costs in the action of Bardell against
Pickwick was fully paid and satisfied.
'And that,' said Mr. Pickwick, laughing, 'will be a very long time. Sam,
call another hackney-coach. Perker, my dear friend, good-bye.'
'I shall go with you, and see you safe there,' said Perker.
'Indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'I would rather go without any other
