CHAPTER L. HOW MR. PICKWICK SPED UPON HIS MISSION, AND HOW HE WASREINFORCED IN THE OUTSET BY A MOST UNEXPECTED AUXILIARY
The horses were put to, punctually at a quarter before nine nextmorning, and Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller having each taken his seat, theone inside and the other out, the postillion was duly directed to repairin the first instance to Mr. Bob Sawyer's house, for the purpose oftaking up Mr. Benjamin Allen.
It was with feelings of no small astonishment, when the carriage drew upbefore the door with the red lamp, and the very legible inscription of'Sawyer, late Nockemorf,' that Mr. Pickwick saw, on popping his head outof the coach window, the boy in the gray livery very busily employed inputting up the shutters--the which, being an unusual and anunbusinesslike proceeding at that hour of the morning, at once suggestedto his mind two inferences: the one, that some good friend and patientof Mr. Bob Sawyer's was dead; the other, that Mr. Bob Sawyer himself wasbankrupt.
'What is the matter?' said Mr. Pickwick to the boy.
'Nothing's the matter, Sir,' replied the boy, expanding his mouth to thewhole breadth of his countenance.
'All right, all right!' cried Bob Sawyer, suddenly appearing at thedoor, with a small leathern knapsack, limp and dirty, in one hand, and arough coat and shawl thrown over the other arm. 'I'm going, old fellow.'
'You!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
'Yes,' replied Bob Sawyer, 'and a regular expedition we'll make of it.Here, Sam! Look out!' Thus briefly bespeaking Mr. Weller's attention,Mr. Bob Sawyer jerked the leathern knapsack into the dickey, where itwas immediately stowed away, under the seat, by Sam, who regarded theproceeding with great admiration. This done, Mr. Bob Sawyer, with theassistance of the boy, forcibly worked himself into the rough coat,which was a few sizes too small for him, and then advancing to the coachwindow, thrust in his head, and laughed boisterously.
'What a start it is, isn't it?' cried Bob, wiping the tears out of hiseyes, with one of the cuffs of the rough coat.
'My dear Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, with some embarrassment, 'I had noidea of your accompanying us.'
'No, that's just the very thing,' replied Bob, seizing Mr. Pickwick bythe lappel of his coat. 'That's the joke.'
'Oh, that's the joke, is it?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Of course,' replied Bob. 'It's the whole point of the thing, you know--that, and leaving the business to take care of itself, as it seems tohave made up its mind not to take care of me.' With this explanation ofthe phenomenon of the shutters, Mr. Bob Sawyer pointed to the shop, andrelapsed into an ecstasy of mirth.
'Bless me, you are surely not mad enough to think of leaving yourpatients without anybody to attend them!' remonstrated Mr. Pickwick in avery serious tone.
'Why not?' asked Bob, in reply. 'I shall save by it, you know. None ofthem ever pay. Besides,' said Bob, lowering his voice to a confidentialwhisper, 'they will be all the better for it; for, being nearly out ofdrugs, and not able to increase my account just now, I should have beenobliged to give them calomel all round, and it would have been certainto have disagreed with some of them. So it's all for the best.'
There was a philosophy and a strength of reasoning about this reply,which Mr. Pickwick was not prepared for. He paused a few moments, andadded, less firmly than before--
'But this chaise, my young friend, will only hold two; and I am pledgedto Mr. Allen.'
'Don't think of me for a minute,' replied Bob. 'I've arranged it all;Sam and I will share the dickey between us. Look here. This little billis to be wafered on the shop door: "Sawyer, late Nockemorf. Inquire ofMrs. Cripps over the way." Mrs. Cripps is my boy's mother. "Mr. Sawyer'svery sorry," says Mrs. Cripps, "couldn't help it--fetched away earlythis morning to a consultation of the very first surgeons in thecountry--couldn't do without him--would have him at any price--tremendous operation." The fact is,' said Bob, in conclusion, 'it'll dome more good than otherwise, I expect. If it gets into one of the localpapers, it will be the making of me. Here's Ben; now then, jump in!'
With these hurried words, Mr. Bob Sawyer pushed the postboy on one side,jerked his friend into the vehicle, slammed the door, put up the steps,wafered the bill on the street door, locked it, put the key in hispocket, jumped into the dickey, gave the word for starting, and did thewhole with such extraordinary precipitation, that before Mr. Pickwickhad well begun to consider whether Mr. Bob Sawyer ought to go or not,they were rolling away, with Mr. Bob Sawyer thoroughly established aspart and parcel of the equipage.
So long as their progress was confined to the streets of Bristol, thefacetious Bob kept his professional green spectacles on, and conductedhimself with becoming steadiness and gravity of demeanour; merely givingutterance to divers verbal witticisms for the exclusive behoof andentertainment of Mr. Samuel Weller. But when they emerged on the openroad, he threw off his green spectacles and his gravity together, andperformed a great variety of practical jokes, which were calculated toattract the attention of the passersby, and to render the carriage andthose it contained objects of more than ordinary curiosity; the leastconspicuous among these feats being a most vociferous imitation of akey-bugle, and the ostentatious display of a crimson silk pocket-handkerchief attached to a walking-stick, which was occasionally wavedin the air with various gestures indicative of supremacy and defiance.
'I wonder,' said Mr. Pickwick, stopping in the midst of a most sedateconversation with Ben Allen, bearing reference to the numerous goodqualities of Mr. Winkle and his sister--'I wonder what all the people wepass, can see in us to make them stare so.'
'It's a neat turn-out,' replied Ben Allen, with something of pride inhis tone. 'They're not used to see this sort of thing, every day, I daresay.'
'Possibly,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'It may be so. Perhaps it is.'
Mr. Pickwick might very probably have reasoned himself into the beliefthat it really was, had he not, just then happening to look out of thecoach window, observed that the looks of the passengers betokenedanything but respectful astonishment, and that various telegraphiccommunications appeared to be passing between them and some personsoutside the vehicle, whereupon it occurred to him that thesedemonstrations might be, in some remote degree, referable to thehumorous deportment of Mr. Robert Sawyer.
'I hope,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that our volatile friend is committing noabsurdities in that dickey behind.'
'Oh dear, no,' replied Ben Allen. 'Except when he's elevated, Bob's thequietest creature breathing.'
Here a prolonged imitation of a key-bugle broke upon the ear, succeededby cheers and screams, all of which evidently proceeded from the throatand lungs of the quietest creature breathing, or in plainer designation,of Mr. Bob Sawyer himself.
Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Ben Allen looked expressively at each other, andthe former gentleman taking off his hat, and leaning out of the coachwindow until nearly the whole of his waistcoat was outside it, was atlength enabled to catch a glimpse of his facetious friend.
Mr. Bob Sawyer was seated, not in the dickey, but on the roof of thechaise, with his legs as far asunder as they would conveniently go,wearing Mr. Samuel Weller's hat on one side of his head, and bearing, inone hand, a most enormous sandwich, while, in the other, he supported agoodly-sized case-bottle, to both of which he applied himself withintense relish, varying the monotony of the occupation by an occasionalhowl, or the interchange of some lively badinage with any passingstranger. The crimson flag was carefully tied in an erect position tothe rail of the dickey; and Mr. Samuel Weller, decorated with BobSawyer's hat, was seated in the centre thereof, discussing a twinsandwich, with an animated countenance, the expression of whichbetokened his entire and perfect approval of the whole arrangement.
This was enough to irritate a gentleman with Mr. Pickwick's sense ofpropriety, but it was not the whole extent of the aggravation, for astage-coach full, inside and out, was meeting them at the moment, andthe astonishment of the passengers was very palpably evinced. Thecongratulations of an Irish family, too, who were keeping up with thechaise, and begging all the time,
were of rather a boisterousdescription, especially those of its male head, who appeared to considerthe display as part and parcel of some political or other procession oftriumph.
'Mr. Sawyer!' cried Mr. Pickwick, in a state of great excitement, 'Mr.Sawyer, Sir!'
'Hollo!' responded that gentleman, looking over the side of the chaisewith all the coolness in life.
'Are you mad, sir?' demanded Mr. Pickwick.
'Not a bit of it,' replied Bob; 'only cheerful.'
'Cheerful, sir!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. 'Take down that scandalous redhandkerchief, I beg. I insist, Sir. Sam, take it down.'
Before Sam could interpose, Mr. Bob Sawyer gracefully struck hiscolours, and having put them in his pocket, nodded in a courteous mannerto Mr. Pickwick, wiped the mouth of the case-bottle, and applied it tohis own, thereby informing him, without any unnecessary waste of words,that he devoted that draught to wishing him all manner of happiness andprosperity. Having done this, Bob replaced the cork with great care, andlooking benignantly down on Mr. Pickwick, took a large bite out of thesandwich, and smiled.
'Come,' said Mr. Pickwick, whose momentary anger was not quite proofagainst Bob's immovable self-possession, 'pray let us have no more ofthis absurdity.'
'No, no,' replied Bob, once more exchanging hats with Mr. Weller; 'Ididn't mean to do it, only I got so enlivened with the ride that Icouldn't help it.'
'Think of the look of the thing,' expostulated Mr. Pickwick; 'have someregard to appearances.'
'Oh, certainly,' said Bob, 'it's not the sort of thing at all. All over,governor.'
Satisfied with this assurance, Mr. Pickwick once more drew his head intothe chaise and pulled up the glass; but he had scarcely resumed theconversation which Mr. Bob Sawyer had interrupted, when he was somewhatstartled by the apparition of a small dark body, of an oblong form, onthe outside of the window, which gave sundry taps against it, as ifimpatient of admission.
'What's this?'exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
'It looks like a case-bottle;' remarked Ben Allen, eyeing the object inquestion through his spectacles with some interest; 'I rather think itbelongs to Bob.'
The impression was perfectly accurate; for Mr. Bob Sawyer, havingattached the case-bottle to the end of the walking-stick, was batteringthe window with it, in token of his wish, that his friends inside wouldpartake of its contents, in all good-fellowship and harmony.
'What's to be done?' said Mr. Pickwick, looking at the bottle. 'Thisproceeding is more absurd than the other.'
'I think it would be best to take it in,' replied Mr. Ben Allen; 'itwould serve him right to take it in and keep it, wouldn't it?'
'It would,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'shall I?'
'I think it the most proper course we could possibly adopt,' repliedBen.
This advice quite coinciding with his own opinion, Mr. Pickwick gentlylet down the window and disengaged the bottle from the stick; upon whichthe latter was drawn up, and Mr. Bob Sawyer was heard to laugh heartily.
'What a merry dog it is!' said Mr. Pickwick, looking round at hiscompanion, with the bottle in his hand.
'He is,' said Mr. Allen.
'You cannot possibly be angry with him,' remarked Mr. Pickwick.
'Quite out of the question,' observed Benjamin Allen.
During this short interchange of sentiments, Mr. Pickwick had, in anabstracted mood, uncorked the bottle.
'What is it?' inquired Ben Allen carelessly.
'I don't know,' replied Mr. Pickwick, with equal carelessness. 'Itsmells, I think, like milk-punch.'
Oh, indeed?' said Ben.
'I _think _so,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, very properly guarding himselfagainst the possibility of stating an untruth; 'mind, I could notundertake to say certainly, without tasting it.'
'You had better do so,' said Ben; 'we may as well know what it is.'
'Do you think so?' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Well; if you are curious toknow, of course I have no objection.'
Ever willing to sacrifice his own feelings to the wishes of his friend,Mr. Pickwick at once took a pretty long taste.
'What is it?' inquired Ben Allen, interrupting him with some impatience.
'Curious,' said Mr. Pickwick, smacking his lips, 'I hardly know, now.Oh, yes!' said Mr. Pickwick, after a second taste. 'It _is_ punch.'
Mr. Ben Allen looked at Mr. Pickwick; Mr. Pickwick looked at Mr. BenAllen; Mr. Ben Allen smiled; Mr. Pickwick did not.
'It would serve him right,' said the last-named gentleman, with someseverity--'it would serve him right to drink it every drop.'
'The very thing that occurred to me,' said Ben Allen.
'Is it, indeed?' rejoined Mr. Pickwick. 'Then here's his health!' Withthese words, that excellent person took a most energetic pull at thebottle, and handed it to Ben Allen, who was not slow to imitate hisexample. The smiles became mutual, and the milk-punch was gradually andcheerfully disposed of.
'After all,' said Mr. Pickwick, as he drained the last drop, 'his pranksare really very amusing; very entertaining indeed.'
'You may say that,' rejoined Mr. Ben Allen. In proof of Bob Sawyer'sbeing one of the funniest fellows alive, he proceeded to entertain Mr.Pickwick with a long and circumstantial account how that gentleman oncedrank himself into a fever and got his head shaved; the relation ofwhich pleasant and agreeable history was only stopped by the stoppage ofthe chaise at the Bell at Berkeley Heath, to change horses.
'I say! We're going to dine here, aren't we?' said Bob, looking in atthe window.
'Dine!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Why, we have only come nineteen miles, andhave eighty-seven and a half to go.'
'Just the reason why we should take something to enable us to bear upagainst the fatigue,' remonstrated Mr. Bob Sawyer.
'Oh, it's quite impossible to dine at half-past eleven o'clock in theday,' replied Mr. Pickwick, looking at his watch.
'So it is,' rejoined Bob, 'lunch is the very thing. Hollo, you sir!Lunch for three, directly; and keep the horses back for a quarter of anhour. Tell them to put everything they have cold, on the table, and somebottled ale, and let us taste your very best Madeira.' Issuing theseorders with monstrous importance and bustle, Mr. Bob Sawyer at oncehurried into the house to superintend the arrangements; in less thanfive minutes he returned and declared them to be excellent.
The quality of the lunch fully justified the eulogium which Bob hadpronounced, and very great justice was done to it, not only by thatgentleman, but Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Pickwick also. Under the auspicesof the three, the bottled ale and the Madeira were promptly disposed of;and when (the horses being once more put to) they resumed their seats,with the case-bottle full of the best substitute for milk-punch thatcould be procured on so short a notice, the key-bugle sounded, and thered flag waved, without the slightest opposition on Mr. Pickwick's part.
At the Hop Pole at Tewkesbury, they stopped to dine; upon which occasionthere was more bottled ale, with some more Madeira, and some portbesides; and here the case-bottle was replenished for the fourth time.Under the influence of these combined stimulants, Mr. Pickwick and Mr.Ben Allen fell fast asleep for thirty miles, while Bob and Mr. Wellersang duets in the dickey.
It was quite dark when Mr. Pickwick roused himself sufficiently to lookout of the window. The straggling cottages by the road-side, the dingyhue of every object visible, the murky atmosphere, the paths of cindersand brick-dust, the deep-red glow of furnace fires in the distance, thevolumes of dense smoke issuing heavily forth from high topplingchimneys, blackening and obscuring everything around; the glare ofdistant lights, the ponderous wagons which toiled along the road, ladenwith clashing rods of iron, or piled with heavy goods--all betokenedtheir rapid approach to the great working town of Birmingham.
As they rattled through the narrow thoroughfares leading to the heart ofthe turmoil, the sights and sounds of earnest occupation struck moreforcibly on the senses. The streets were thronged with working people.The hum of labour resounded from every house; lights gleamed from thelong casement windows in the attic
storeys, and the whirl of wheels andnoise of machinery shook the trembling walls. The fires, whose lurid,sullen light had been visible for miles, blazed fiercely up, in thegreat works and factories of the town. The din of hammers, the rushingof steam, and the dead heavy clanking of engines, was the harsh musicwhich arose from every quarter.
The postboy was driving briskly through the open streets, and past thehandsome and well-lighted shops that intervene between the outskirts ofthe town and the Old Royal Hotel, before Mr. Pickwick had begun toconsider the very difficult and delicate nature of the commission whichhad carried him thither.
The delicate nature of this commission, and the difficulty of executingit in a satisfactory manner, were by no means lessened by the voluntarycompanionship of Mr. Bob Sawyer. Truth to tell, Mr. Pickwick felt thathis presence on the occasion, however considerate and gratifying, was byno means an honour he would willingly have sought; in fact, he wouldcheerfully have given a reasonable sum of money to have had Mr. BobSawyer removed to any place at not less than fifty miles' distance,without delay.
Mr. Pickwick had never held any personal communication with Mr. Winkle,senior, although he had once or twice corresponded with him by letter,and returned satisfactory answers to his inquiries concerning the moralcharacter and behaviour of his son; he felt nervously sensible that towait upon him, for the first time, attended by Bob Sawyer and Ben Allen,both slightly fuddled, was not the most ingenious and likely means thatcould have been hit upon to prepossess him in his favour.
'However,' said Mr. Pickwick, endeavouring to reassure himself, 'I mustdo the best I can. I must see him to-night, for I faithfully promised todo so. If they persist in accompanying me, I must make the interview asbrief as possible, and be content that, for their own sakes, they willnot expose themselves.'
As he comforted himself with these reflections, the chaise stopped atthe door of the Old Royal. Ben Allen having been partially awakened froma stupendous sleep, and dragged out by the collar by Mr. Samuel Weller,Mr. Pickwick was enabled to alight. They were shown to a comfortableapartment, and Mr. Pickwick at once propounded a question to the waiterconcerning the whereabout of Mr. Winkle's residence.
'Close by, Sir,' said the waiter, 'not above five hundred yards, Sir.Mr. Winkle is a wharfinger, Sir, at the canal, sir. Private residence isnot--oh dear, no, sir, not five hundred yards, sir.' Here the waiterblew a candle out, and made a feint of lighting it again, in order toafford Mr. Pickwick an opportunity of asking any further questions, ifhe felt so disposed.
'Take anything now, Sir?' said the waiter, lighting the candle indesperation at Mr. Pickwick's silence. 'Tea or coffee, Sir? Dinner,sir?'
'Nothing now.'
'Very good, sir. Like to order supper, Sir?'
'Not just now.'
'Very good, Sir.' Here, he walked slowly to the door, and then stoppingshort, turned round and said, with great suavity--
'Shall I send the chambermaid, gentlemen?'
'You may if you please,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'If _you _please, sir.'
'And bring some soda-water,' said Bob Sawyer.
'Soda-water, Sir! Yes, Sir.' With his mind apparently relieved from anoverwhelming weight, by having at last got an order for something, thewaiter imperceptibly melted away. Waiters never walk or run. They have apeculiar and mysterious power of skimming out of rooms, which othermortals possess not.
Some slight symptoms of vitality having been awakened in Mr. Ben Allenby the soda-water, he suffered himself to be prevailed upon to wash hisface and hands, and to submit to be brushed by Sam. Mr. Pickwick and BobSawyer having also repaired the disorder which the journey had made intheir apparel, the three started forth, arm in arm, to Mr. Winkle's; BobSawyer impregnating the atmosphere with tobacco smoke as he walkedalong.
About a quarter of a mile off, in a quiet, substantial-looking street,stood an old red brick house with three steps before the door, and abrass plate upon it, bearing, in fat Roman capitals, the words, 'Mr.Winkle.' The steps were very white, and the bricks were very red, andthe house was very clean; and here stood Mr. Pickwick, Mr. BenjaminAllen, and Mr. Bob Sawyer, as the clock struck ten.
A smart servant-girl answered the knock, and started on beholding thethree strangers.
'Is Mr. Winkle at home, my dear?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'He is just going to supper, Sir,' replied the girl.
'Give him that card if you please,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick. 'Say I amsorry to trouble him at so late an hour; but I am anxious to see him to-night, and have only just arrived.'
The girl looked timidly at Mr. Bob Sawyer, who was expressing hisadmiration of her personal charms by a variety of wonderful grimaces;and casting an eye at the hats and greatcoats which hung in the passage,called another girl to mind the door while she went upstairs. Thesentinel was speedily relieved; for the girl returned immediately, andbegging pardon of the gentlemen for leaving them in the street, usheredthem into a floor-clothed back parlour, half office and half dressingroom, in which the principal useful and ornamental articles of furniturewere a desk, a wash-hand stand and shaving-glass, a boot-rack and boot-jack, a high stool, four chairs, a table, and an old eight-day clock.Over the mantelpiece were the sunken doors of an iron safe, while acouple of hanging shelves for books, an almanac, and several files ofdusty papers, decorated the walls.
'Very sorry to leave you standing at the door, Sir,' said the girl,lighting a lamp, and addressing Mr. Pickwick with a winning smile, 'butyou was quite strangers to me; and we have such a many trampers thatonly come to see what they can lay their hands on, that really--'
'There is not the least occasion for any apology, my dear,' said Mr.Pickwick good-humouredly.
'Not the slightest, my love,' said Bob Sawyer, playfully stretchingforth his arms, and skipping from side to side, as if to prevent theyoung lady's leaving the room.
The young lady was not at all softened by these allurements, for she atonce expressed her opinion, that Mr. Bob Sawyer was an 'odous creetur;'and, on his becoming rather more pressing in his attentions, imprintedher fair fingers upon his face, and bounced out of the room with manyexpressions of aversion and contempt.
Deprived of the young lady's society, Mr. Bob Sawyer proceeded to diverthimself by peeping into the desk, looking into all the table drawers,feigning to pick the lock of the iron safe, turning the almanac with itsface to the wall, trying on the boots of Mr. Winkle, senior, over hisown, and making several other humorous experiments upon the furniture,all of which afforded Mr. Pickwick unspeakable horror and agony, andyielded Mr. Bob Sawyer proportionate delight.
At length the door opened, and a little old gentleman in a snuff-coloured suit, with a head and face the precise counterpart of thosebelonging to Mr. Winkle, junior, excepting that he was rather bald,trotted into the room with Mr. Pickwick's card in one hand, and a silvercandlestick in the other.
'Mr. Pickwick, sir, how do you do?' said Winkle the elder, putting downthe candlestick and proffering his hand. 'Hope I see you well, sir. Gladto see you. Be seated, Mr. Pickwick, I beg, Sir. This gentleman is--'
'My friend, Mr. Sawyer,' interposed Mr. Pickwick, 'your son's friend.'
'Oh,' said Mr. Winkle the elder, looking rather grimly at Bob. 'I hopeyou are well, sir.'
'Right as a trivet, sir,' replied Bob Sawyer.
'This other gentleman,' cried Mr. Pickwick, 'is, as you will see whenyou have read the letter with which I am intrusted, a very nearrelative, or I should rather say a very particular friend of your son's.His name is Allen.'
'_That _gentleman?' inquired Mr. Winkle, pointing with the card towardsBen Allen, who had fallen asleep in an attitude which left nothing ofhim visible but his spine and his coat collar.
Mr. Pickwick was on the point of replying to the question, and recitingMr. Benjamin Allen's name and honourable distinctions at full length,when the sprightly Mr. Bob Sawyer, with a view of rousing his friend toa sense of his situation, inflicted a startling pinch upon the fleshlypart of his arm, which c
aused him to jump up with a shriek. Suddenlyaware that he was in the presence of a stranger, Mr. Ben Allen advancedand, shaking Mr. Winkle most affectionately by both hands for about fiveminutes, murmured, in some half-intelligible fragments of sentences, thegreat delight he felt in seeing him, and a hospitable inquiry whether hefelt disposed to take anything after his walk, or would prefer waiting'till dinner-time;' which done, he sat down and gazed about him with apetrified stare, as if he had not the remotest idea where he was, whichindeed he had not.
All this was most embarrassing to Mr. Pickwick, the more especially asMr. Winkle, senior, evinced palpable astonishment at the eccentric--notto say extraordinary--behaviour of his two companions. To bring thematter to an issue at once, he drew a letter from his pocket, andpresenting it to Mr. Winkle, senior, said--
'This letter, Sir, is from your son. You will see, by its contents, thaton your favourable and fatherly consideration of it, depend his futurehappiness and welfare. Will you oblige me by giving it the calmest andcoolest perusal, and by discussing the subject afterwards with me, inthe tone and spirit in which alone it ought to be discussed? You mayjudge of the importance of your decision to your son, and his intenseanxiety upon the subject, by my waiting upon you, without any previouswarning, at so late an hour; and,' added Mr. Pickwick, glancing slightlyat his two companions--'and under such unfavourable circumstances.'
With this prelude, Mr. Pickwick placed four closely-written sides ofextra superfine wire-wove penitence in the hands of the astounded Mr.Winkle, senior. Then reseating himself in his chair, he watched hislooks and manner: anxiously, it is true, but with the open front of agentleman who feels he has taken no part which he need excuse orpalliate.
The old wharfinger turned the letter over, looked at the front, back,and sides, made a microscopic examination of the fat little boy on theseal, raised his eyes to Mr. Pickwick's face, and then, seating himselfon the high stool, and drawing the lamp closer to him, broke the wax,unfolded the epistle, and lifting it to the light, prepared to read.
Just at this moment, Mr. Bob Sawyer, whose wit had lain dormant for someminutes, placed his hands on his knees, and made a face after theportraits of the late Mr. Grimaldi, as clown. It so happened that Mr.Winkle, senior, instead of being deeply engaged in reading the letter,as Mr. Bob Sawyer thought, chanced to be looking over the top of it atno less a person than Mr. Bob Sawyer himself; rightly conjecturing thatthe face aforesaid was made in ridicule and derision of his own person,he fixed his eyes on Bob with such expressive sternness, that the lateMr. Grimaldi's lineaments gradually resolved themselves into a very fineexpression of humility and confusion.
'Did you speak, Sir?' inquired Mr. Winkle, senior, after an awfulsilence.
'No, sir,' replied Bob, With no remains of the clown about him, save andexcept the extreme redness of his cheeks.
'You are sure you did not, sir?' said Mr. Winkle, senior.
'Oh dear, yes, sir, quite,' replied Bob.
'I thought you did, Sir,' replied the old gentleman, with indignantemphasis. 'Perhaps you _looked _at me, sir?'
'Oh, no! sir, not at all,' replied Bob, with extreme civility.
'I am very glad to hear it, sir,' said Mr. Winkle, senior. Havingfrowned upon the abashed Bob with great magnificence, the old gentlemanagain brought the letter to the light, and began to read it seriously.
Mr. Pickwick eyed him intently as he turned from the bottom line of thefirst page to the top line of the second, and from the bottom of thesecond to the top of the third, and from the bottom of the third to thetop of the fourth; but not the slightest alteration of countenanceafforded a clue to the feelings with which he received the announcementof his son's marriage, which Mr. Pickwick knew was in the very firsthalf-dozen lines.
He read the letter to the last word, folded it again with all thecarefulness and precision of a man of business, and, just when Mr.Pickwick expected some great outbreak of feeling, dipped a pen in theink-stand, and said, as quietly as if he were speaking on the mostordinary counting-house topic--
'What is Nathaniel's address, Mr. Pickwick?'
'The George and Vulture, at present,' replied that gentleman.
'George and Vulture. Where is that?'
'George Yard, Lombard Street.'
'In the city?'
'Yes.'
The old gentleman methodically indorsed the address on the back of theletter; and then, placing it in the desk, which he locked, said, as hegot off the stool and put the bunch of keys in his pocket--
'I suppose there is nothing else which need detain us, Mr. Pickwick?'
'Nothing else, my dear Sir!' observed that warm-hearted person inindignant amazement. 'Nothing else! Have you no opinion to express onthis momentous event in our young friend's life? No assurance to conveyto him, through me, of the continuance of your affection and protection?Nothing to say which will cheer and sustain him, and the anxious girlwho looks to him for comfort and support? My dear Sir, consider.'
'I will consider,' replied the old gentleman. 'I have nothing to sayjust now. I am a man of business, Mr. Pickwick. I never commit myselfhastily in any affair, and from what I see of this, I by no means likethe appearance of it. A thousand pounds is not much, Mr. Pickwick.'
'You're very right, Sir,' interposed Ben Allen, just awake enough toknow that he had spent his thousand pounds without the smallestdifficulty. 'You're an intelligent man. Bob, he's a very knowing fellowthis.'
'I am very happy to find that you do me the justice to make theadmission, sir,' said Mr. Winkle, senior, looking contemptuously at BenAllen, who was shaking his head profoundly. 'The fact is, Mr. Pickwick,that when I gave my son a roving license for a year or so, to seesomething of men and manners (which he has done under your auspices), sothat he might not enter life a mere boarding-school milk-sop to begulled by everybody, I never bargained for this. He knows that verywell, so if I withdraw my countenance from him on this account, he hasno call to be surprised. He shall hear from me, Mr. Pickwick. Good-night, sir.--Margaret, open the door.'
All this time, Bob Sawyer had been nudging Mr. Ben Allen to saysomething on the right side; Ben accordingly now burst, without theslightest preliminary notice, into a brief but impassioned piece ofeloquence.
'Sir,' said Mr. Ben Allen, staring at the old gentleman, out of a pairof very dim and languid eyes, and working his right arm vehemently upand down, 'you--you ought to be ashamed of yourself.'
'As the lady's brother, of course you are an excellent judge of thequestion,' retorted Mr. Winkle, senior. 'There; that's enough. Pray sayno more, Mr. Pickwick. Good-night, gentlemen!'
With these words the old gentleman took up the candle-stick and openingthe room door, politely motioned towards the passage.
'You will regret this, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, setting his teeth closetogether to keep down his choler; for he felt how important the effectmight prove to his young friend.
'I am at present of a different opinion,' calmly replied Mr. Winkle,senior. 'Once again, gentlemen, I wish you a good-night.'
Mr. Pickwick walked with angry strides into the street. Mr. Bob Sawyer,completely quelled by the decision of the old gentleman's manner, tookthe same course. Mr. Ben Allen's hat rolled down the steps immediatelyafterwards, and Mr. Ben Allen's body followed it directly. The wholeparty went silent and supperless to bed; and Mr. Pickwick thought, justbefore he fell asleep, that if he had known Mr. Winkle, senior, had beenquite so much of a man of business, it was extremely probable he mightnever have waited upon him, on such an errand.