FURTHER PARTICULARS OF MASTER HUMPHREY’S VISITOR
Being very full of Mr. Pickwick’s application, and highly pleased withthe compliment he had paid me, it will be readily supposed that longbefore our next night of meeting I communicated it to my three friends,who unanimously voted his admission into our body. We all looked forwardwith some impatience to the occasion which would enroll him among us, butI am greatly mistaken if Jack Redburn and myself were not by many degreesthe most impatient of the party.
At length the night came, and a few minutes after ten Mr. Pickwick’sknock was heard at the street-door. He was shown into a lower room, andI directly took my crooked stick and went to accompany him up-stairs, inorder that he might be presented with all honour and formality.
‘Mr. Pickwick,’ said I, on entering the room, ‘I am rejoiced to seeyou,—rejoiced to believe that this is but the opening of a long series ofvisits to this house, and but the beginning of a close and lastingfriendship.’
That gentleman made a suitable reply with a cordiality and franknesspeculiarly his own, and glanced with a smile towards two persons behindthe door, whom I had not at first observed, and whom I immediatelyrecognised as Mr. Samuel Weller and his father.
It was a warm evening, but the elder Mr. Weller was attired,notwithstanding, in a most capacious greatcoat, and his chin enveloped ina large speckled shawl, such as is usually worn by stage coachmen onactive service. He looked very rosy and very stout, especially about thelegs, which appeared to have been compressed into his top-boots with somedifficulty. His broad-brimmed hat he held under his left arm, and withthe forefinger of his right hand he touched his forehead a great manytimes in acknowledgment of my presence.
‘I am very glad to see you in such good health, Mr. Weller,’ said I.
‘Why, thankee, sir,’ returned Mr. Weller, ‘the axle an’t broke yet. Wekeeps up a steady pace,—not too sewere, but vith a moderate degree o’friction,—and the consekens is that ve’re still a runnin’ and comes in tothe time reg’lar.—My son Samivel, sir, as you may have read on inhistory,’ added Mr. Weller, introducing his first-born.
I received Sam very graciously, but before he could say a word his fatherstruck in again.
‘Samivel Veller, sir,’ said the old gentleman, ‘has conferred upon me theancient title o’ grandfather vich had long laid dormouse, and wos s’posedto be nearly hex-tinct in our family. Sammy, relate a anecdote o’ vun o’them boys,—that ’ere little anecdote about young Tony sayin’ as he_would_ smoke a pipe unbeknown to his mother.’
‘Be quiet, can’t you?’ said Sam; ‘I never see such a old magpie—never!’
[Picture: Tony Weller and his Grandson]
‘That ’ere Tony is the blessedest boy,’ said Mr. Weller, heedless of thisrebuff, ‘the blessedest boy as ever _I_ see in _my_ days! of all thecharmin’est infants as ever I heerd tell on, includin’ them as waskivered over by the robin-redbreasts arter they’d committed sooicide withblackberries, there never wos any like that ’ere little Tony. He’salvays a playin’ vith a quart pot, that boy is! To see him a settin’down on the doorstep pretending to drink out of it, and fetching a longbreath artervards, and smoking a bit of firevood, and sayin’, “Now I’mgrandfather,”—to see him a doin’ that at two year old is better than anyplay as wos ever wrote. “Now I’m grandfather!” He wouldn’t take a pintpot if you wos to make him a present on it, but he gets his quart, andthen he says, “Now I’m grandfather!”’
Mr. Weller was so overpowered by this picture that he straightway fellinto a most alarming fit of coughing, which must certainly have beenattended with some fatal result but for the dexterity and promptitude ofSam, who, taking a firm grasp of the shawl just under his father’s chin,shook him to and fro with great violence, at the same time administeringsome smart blows between his shoulders. By this curious mode oftreatment Mr. Weller was finally recovered, but with a very crimson face,and in a state of great exhaustion.
‘He’ll do now, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, who had been in some alarmhimself.
‘He’ll do, sir!’ cried Sam, looking reproachfully at his parent. ‘Yes,he _will_ do one o’ these days,—he’ll do for his-self and then he’ll wishhe hadn’t. Did anybody ever see sich a inconsiderate old file,—laughinginto conwulsions afore company, and stamping on the floor as if he’dbrought his own carpet vith him and wos under a wager to punch thepattern out in a given time? He’ll begin again in a minute. There—he’sa goin’ off—I said he would!’
In fact, Mr. Weller, whose mind was still running upon his precociousgrandson, was seen to shake his head from side to side, while a laugh,working like an earthquake, below the surface, produced variousextraordinary appearances in his face, chest, and shoulders,—the morealarming because unaccompanied by any noise whatever. These emotions,however, gradually subsided, and after three or four short relapses hewiped his eyes with the cuff of his coat, and looked about him withtolerable composure.
‘Afore the governor vith-draws,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘there is a pint,respecting vich Sammy has a qvestion to ask. Vile that qvestion is aperwadin’ this here conwersation, p’raps the genl’men vill permit me tore-tire.’
‘Wot are you goin’ away for?’ demanded Sam, seizing his father by thecoat-tail.
‘I never see such a undootiful boy as you, Samivel,’ returned Mr. Weller.‘Didn’t you make a solemn promise, amountin’ almost to a speeches o’ wow,that you’d put that ’ere qvestion on my account?’
‘Well, I’m agreeable to do it,’ said Sam, ‘but not if you go cuttin’ awaylike that, as the bull turned round and mildly observed to the drover venthey wos a goadin’ him into the butcher’s door. The fact is, sir,’ saidSam, addressing me, ‘that he wants to know somethin’ respectin’ that ’erelady as is housekeeper here.’
‘Ay. What is that?’
‘Vy, sir,’ said Sam, grinning still more, ‘he wishes to know vether she—’
‘In short,’ interposed old Mr. Weller decisively, a perspiration breakingout upon his forehead, ‘vether that ’ere old creetur is or is not awidder.’
Mr. Pickwick laughed heartily, and so did I, as I replied decisively,that ‘my housekeeper was a spinster.’
‘There!’ cried Sam, ‘now you’re satisfied. You hear she’s a spinster.’
‘A wot?’ said his father, with deep scorn.
‘A spinster,’ replied Sam.
Mr. Weller looked very hard at his son for a minute or two, and thensaid,
‘Never mind vether she makes jokes or not, that’s no matter. Wot I sayis, is that ’ere female a widder, or is she not?’
‘Wot do you mean by her making jokes?’ demanded Sam, quite aghast at theobscurity of his parent’s speech.
‘Never you mind, Samivel,’ returned Mr. Weller gravely; ‘puns may be werygood things or they may be wery bad ’uns, and a female may be none thebetter or she may be none the vurse for making of ’em; that’s got nothingto do vith widders.’
‘Wy now,’ said Sam, looking round, ‘would anybody believe as a man at histime o’ life could be running his head agin spinsters and punsters beingthe same thing?’
‘There an’t a straw’s difference between ’em,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Yourfather didn’t drive a coach for so many years, not to be ekal to his ownlangvidge as far as _that_ goes, Sammy.’
Avoiding the question of etymology, upon which the old gentleman’s mindwas quite made up, he was several times assured that the housekeeper hadnever been married. He expressed great satisfaction on hearing this, andapologised for the question, remarking that he had been greatly terrifiedby a widow not long before, and that his natural timidity was increasedin consequence.
‘It wos on the rail,’ said Mr. Weller, with strong emphasis; ‘I wos agoin’ down to Birmingham by the rail, and I wos locked up in a closecarriage vith a living widder. Alone we wos; the widder and me wosalone; and I believe it wos only because we _wos_ alone and there wos noclergyman in the conwaya
nce, that that ’ere widder didn’t marry me aforeve reached the half-way station. Ven I think how she began a screamingas we wos a goin’ under them tunnels in the dark,—how she kept on afaintin’ and ketchin’ hold o’ me,—and how I tried to bust open the dooras was tight-locked and perwented all escape—Ah! It was a awful thing,most awful!’
Mr. Weller was so very much overcome by this retrospect that he wasunable, until he had wiped his brow several times, to return any reply tothe question whether he approved of railway communication,notwithstanding that it would appear from the answer which he ultimatelygave, that he entertained strong opinions on the subject.
‘I con-sider,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘that the rail is unconstitootional andan inwaser o’ priwileges, and I should wery much like to know what that’ere old Carter as once stood up for our liberties and wun ’em too,—Ishould like to know wot he vould say, if he wos alive now, to Englishmenbeing locked up vith widders, or with anybody again their wills. Wot aold Carter would have said, a old Coachman may say, and I as-sert that inthat pint o’ view alone, the rail is an inwaser. As to the comfort,vere’s the comfort o’ sittin’ in a harm-cheer lookin’ at brick walls orheaps o’ mud, never comin’ to a public-house, never seein’ a glass o’ale, never goin’ through a pike, never meetin’ a change o’ no kind(horses or othervise), but alvays comin’ to a place, ven you come to oneat all, the wery picter o’ the last, vith the same p’leesemen standingabout, the same blessed old bell a ringin’, the same unfort’nate peoplestanding behind the bars, a waitin’ to be let in; and everythin’ the sameexcept the name, vich is wrote up in the same sized letters as the lastname, and vith the same colours. As to the _h_onour and dignity o’travellin’, vere can that be vithout a coachman; and wot’s the rail tosich coachmen and guards as is sometimes forced to go by it, but aoutrage and a insult? As to the pace, wot sort o’ pace do you think I,Tony Veller, could have kept a coach goin’ at, for five hundred thousandpound a mile, paid in adwance afore the coach was on the road? And as tothe ingein,—a nasty, wheezin’, creakin’, gaspin’, puffin’, bustin’monster, alvays out o’ breath, vith a shiny green-and-gold back, like aunpleasant beetle in that ’ere gas magnifier,—as to the ingein as isalvays a pourin’ out red-hot coals at night, and black smoke in the day,the sensiblest thing it does, in my opinion, is, ven there’s somethin’ inthe vay, and it sets up that ’ere frightful scream vich seems to say,“Now here’s two hundred and forty passengers in the wery greatestextremity o’ danger, and here’s their two hundred and forty screams invun!”’
By this time I began to fear that my friends would be rendered impatientby my protracted absence. I therefore begged Mr. Pickwick to accompanyme up-stairs, and left the two Mr. Wellers in the care of thehousekeeper, laying strict injunctions upon her to treat them with allpossible hospitality.