IV
THE CLOCK
AS we were going up-stairs, Mr. Pickwick put on his spectacles, which hehad held in his hand hitherto; arranged his neckerchief, smoothed downhis waistcoat, and made many other little preparations of that kind whichmen are accustomed to be mindful of, when they are going among strangersfor the first time, and are anxious to impress them pleasantly. Seeingthat I smiled, he smiled too, and said that if it had occurred to himbefore he left home, he would certainly have presented himself in pumpsand silk stockings.
‘I would, indeed, my dear sir,’ he said very seriously; ‘I would haveshown my respect for the society, by laying aside my gaiters.’
‘You may rest assured,’ said I, ‘that they would have regretted yourdoing so very much, for they are quite attached to them.’
‘No, really!’ cried Mr. Pickwick, with manifest pleasure. ‘Do you thinkthey care about my gaiters? Do you seriously think that they identify meat all with my gaiters?’
‘I am sure they do,’ I replied.
‘Well, now,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that is one of the most charming andagreeable circumstances that could possibly have occurred to me!’
I should not have written down this short conversation, but that itdeveloped a slight point in Mr. Pickwick’s character, with which I wasnot previously acquainted. He has a secret pride in his legs. Themanner in which he spoke, and the accompanying glance he bestowed uponhis tights, convince me that Mr. Pickwick regards his legs with muchinnocent vanity.
‘But here are our friends,’ said I, opening the door and taking his armin mine; ‘let them speak for themselves.—Gentlemen, I present to you Mr.Pickwick.’
Mr. Pickwick and I must have been a good contrast just then. I, leaningquietly on my crutch-stick, with something of a care-worn, patient air;he, having hold of my arm, and bowing in every direction with the mostelastic politeness, and an expression of face whose sprightlycheerfulness and good-humour knew no bounds. The difference between usmust have been more striking yet, as we advanced towards the table, andthe amiable gentleman, adapting his jocund step to my poor tread, had hisattention divided between treating my infirmities with the utmostconsideration, and affecting to be wholly unconscious that I requiredany.
I made him personally known to each of my friends in turn. First, to thedeaf gentleman, whom he regarded with much interest, and accosted withgreat frankness and cordiality. He had evidently some vague idea, at themoment, that my friend being deaf must be dumb also; for when the latteropened his lips to express the pleasure it afforded him to know agentleman of whom he had heard so much, Mr. Pickwick was so extremelydisconcerted, that I was obliged to step in to his relief.
His meeting with Jack Redburn was quite a treat to see. Mr. Pickwicksmiled, and shook hands, and looked at him through his spectacles, andunder them, and over them, and nodded his head approvingly, and thennodded to me, as much as to say, ‘This is just the man; you were quiteright;’ and then turned to Jack and said a few hearty words, and then didand said everything over again with unimpaired vivacity. As to Jackhimself, he was quite as much delighted with Mr. Pickwick as Mr. Pickwickcould possibly be with him. Two people never can have met together sincethe world began, who exchanged a warmer or more enthusiastic greeting.
It was amusing to observe the difference between this encounter and thatwhich succeeded, between Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Miles. It was clear thatthe latter gentleman viewed our new member as a kind of rival in theaffections of Jack Redburn, and besides this, he had more than oncehinted to me, in secret, that although he had no doubt Mr. Pickwick was avery worthy man, still he did consider that some of his exploits wereunbecoming a gentleman of his years and gravity. Over and above thesegrounds of distrust, it is one of his fixed opinions, that the law nevercan by possibility do anything wrong; he therefore looks upon Mr.Pickwick as one who has justly suffered in purse and peace for a breachof his plighted faith to an unprotected female, and holds that he iscalled upon to regard him with some suspicion on that account. Thesecauses led to a rather cold and formal reception; which Mr. Pickwickacknowledged with the same stateliness and intense politeness as wasdisplayed on the other side. Indeed, he assumed an air of such majesticdefiance, that I was fearful he might break out into some solemn protestor declaration, and therefore inducted him into his chair without amoment’s delay.
This piece of generalship was perfectly successful. The instant he tookhis seat, Mr. Pickwick surveyed us all with a most benevolent aspect, andwas taken with a fit of smiling full five minutes long. His interest inour ceremonies was immense. They are not very numerous or complicated,and a description of them may be comprised in very few words. As ourtransactions have already been, and must necessarily continue to be, moreor less anticipated by being presented in these pages at different times,and under various forms, they do not require a detailed account.
Our first proceeding when we are assembled is to shake hands all round,and greet each other with cheerful and pleasant looks. Remembering thatwe assemble not only for the promotion of our happiness, but with theview of adding something to the common stock, an air of languor orindifference in any member of our body would be regarded by the others asa kind of treason. We have never had an offender in this respect; but ifwe had, there is no doubt that he would be taken to task pretty severely.
Our salutation over, the venerable piece of antiquity from which we takeour name is wound up in silence. The ceremony is always performed byMaster Humphrey himself (in treating of the club, I may be permitted toassume the historical style, and speak of myself in the third person),who mounts upon a chair for the purpose, armed with a large key. Whileit is in progress, Jack Redburn is required to keep at the farther end ofthe room under the guardianship of Mr. Miles, for he is known toentertain certain aspiring and unhallowed thoughts connected with theclock, and has even gone so far as to state that if he might take theworks out for a day or two, he thinks he could improve them. We pardonhim his presumption in consideration of his good intentions, and hiskeeping this respectful distance, which last penalty is insisted on, lestby secretly wounding the object of our regard in some tender part, in theardour of his zeal for its improvement, he should fill us with dismay andconsternation.
This regulation afforded Mr. Pickwick the highest delight, and seemed, ifpossible, to exalt Jack in his good opinion.
The next ceremony is the opening of the clock-case (of which MasterHumphrey has likewise the key), the taking from it as many papers as willfurnish forth our evening’s entertainment, and arranging in the recesssuch new contributions as have been provided since our last meeting.This is always done with peculiar solemnity. The deaf gentleman thenfills and lights his pipe, and we once more take our seats round thetable before mentioned, Master Humphrey acting as president,—if we can besaid to have any president, where all are on the same social footing,—andour friend Jack as secretary. Our preliminaries being now concluded, wefall into any train of conversation that happens to suggest itself, orproceed immediately to one of our readings. In the latter case, thepaper selected is consigned to Master Humphrey, who flattens it carefullyon the table and makes dog’s ears in the corner of every page, ready forturning over easily; Jack Redburn trims the lamp with a small machine ofhis own invention which usually puts it out; Mr. Miles looks on withgreat approval notwithstanding; the deaf gentleman draws in his chair, sothat he can follow the words on the paper or on Master Humphrey’s lips ashe pleases; and Master Humphrey himself, looking round with mightygratification, and glancing up at his old clock, begins to read aloud.
[Picture: Proceedings of the Club]
Mr. Pickwick’s face, while his tale was being read, would have attractedthe attention of the dullest man alive. The complacent motion of hishead and forefinger as he gently beat time, and corrected the air withimaginary punctuation, the smile that mantled on his features at everyjocose passage, and the sly look he stole around to observe its effect,the calm manner in whi
ch he shut his eyes and listened when there wassome little piece of description, the changing expression with which heacted the dialogue to himself, his agony that the deaf gentleman shouldknow what it was all about, and his extraordinary anxiety to correct thereader when he hesitated at a word in the manuscript, or substituted awrong one, were alike worthy of remark. And when at last, endeavouringto communicate with the deaf gentleman by means of the finger alphabet,with which he constructed such words as are unknown in any civilised orsavage language, he took up a slate and wrote in large text, one word ina line, the question, ‘How—do—you—like—it?’—when he did this, and handingit over the table awaited the reply, with a countenance only brightenedand improved by his great excitement, even Mr. Miles relaxed, and couldnot forbear looking at him for the moment with interest and favour.
‘It has occurred to me,’ said the deaf gentleman, who had watched Mr.Pickwick and everybody else with silent satisfaction—‘it has occurred tome,’ said the deaf gentleman, taking his pipe from his lips, ‘that now isour time for filling our only empty chair.’
As our conversation had naturally turned upon the vacant seat, we lent awilling ear to this remark, and looked at our friend inquiringly.
‘I feel sure,’ said he, ‘that Mr. Pickwick must be acquainted withsomebody who would be an acquisition to us; that he must know the man wewant. Pray let us not lose any time, but set this question at rest. Isit so, Mr. Pickwick?’
The gentleman addressed was about to return a verbal reply, butremembering our friend’s infirmity, he substituted for this kind ofanswer some fifty nods. Then taking up the slate and printing on it agigantic ‘Yes,’ he handed it across the table, and rubbing his hands ashe looked round upon our faces, protested that he and the deaf gentlemanquite understood each other, already.
‘The person I have in my mind,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘and whom I should nothave presumed to mention to you until some time hence, but for theopportunity you have given me, is a very strange old man. His name isBamber.’
‘Bamber!’ said Jack. ‘I have certainly heard the name before.’
‘I have no doubt, then,’ returned Mr. Pickwick, ‘that you remember him inthose adventures of mine (the Posthumous Papers of our old club, I mean),although he is only incidentally mentioned; and, if I remember right,appears but once.’
‘That’s it,’ said Jack. ‘Let me see. He is the person who has a graveinterest in old mouldy chambers and the Inns of Court, and who relatessome anecdotes having reference to his favourite theme,—and an odd ghoststory,—is that the man?’
‘The very same. Now,’ said Mr. Pickwick, lowering his voice to amysterious and confidential tone, ‘he is a very extraordinary andremarkable person; living, and talking, and looking, like some strangespirit, whose delight is to haunt old buildings; and absorbed in that onesubject which you have just mentioned, to an extent which is quitewonderful. When I retired into private life, I sought him out, and I doassure you that the more I see of him, the more strongly I am impressedwith the strange and dreamy character of his mind.’
‘Where does he live?’ I inquired.
‘He lives,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘in one of those dull, lonely old placeswith which his thoughts and stories are all connected; quite alone, andoften shut up close for several weeks together. In this dusty solitudehe broods upon the fancies he has so long indulged, and when he goes intothe world, or anybody from the world without goes to see him, they arestill present to his mind and still his favourite topic. I may say, Ibelieve, that he has brought himself to entertain a regard for me, and aninterest in my visits; feelings which I am certain he would extend toMaster Humphrey’s Clock if he were once tempted to join us. All I wishyou to understand is, that he is a strange, secluded visionary, in theworld but not of it; and as unlike anybody here as he is unlike anybodyelsewhere that I have ever met or known.’
Mr. Miles received this account of our proposed companion with rather awry face, and after murmuring that perhaps he was a little mad, inquiredif he were rich.
‘I never asked him,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘You might know, sir, for all that,’ retorted Mr. Miles, sharply.
‘Perhaps so, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, no less sharply than the other,‘but I do not. Indeed,’ he added, relapsing into his usual mildness, ‘Ihave no means of judging. He lives poorly, but that would seem to be inkeeping with his character. I never heard him allude to hiscircumstances, and never fell into the society of any man who had theslightest acquaintance with them. I have really told you all I knowabout him, and it rests with you to say whether you wish to know more, orknow quite enough already.’
We were unanimously of opinion that we would seek to know more; and as asort of compromise with Mr. Miles (who, although he said ‘Yes—Ocertainly—he should like to know more about the gentleman—he had no rightto put himself in opposition to the general wish,’ and so forth, shookhis head doubtfully and hemmed several times with peculiar gravity), itwas arranged that Mr. Pickwick should carry me with him on an eveningvisit to the subject of our discussion, for which purpose an earlyappointment between that gentleman and myself was immediately agreedupon; it being understood that I was to act upon my own responsibility,and to invite him to join us or not, as I might think proper. Thissolemn question determined, we returned to the clock-case (where we havebeen forestalled by the reader), and between its contents, and theconversation they occasioned, the remainder of our time passed veryquickly.
When we broke up, Mr. Pickwick took me aside to tell me that he had spenta most charming and delightful evening. Having made this communicationwith an air of the strictest secrecy, he took Jack Redburn into anothercorner to tell him the same, and then retired into another corner withthe deaf gentleman and the slate, to repeat the assurance. It wasamusing to observe the contest in his mind whether he should extend hisconfidence to Mr. Miles, or treat him with dignified reserve. Half adozen times he stepped up behind him with a friendly air, and as oftenstepped back again without saying a word; at last, when he was close atthat gentleman’s ear and upon the very point of whispering somethingconciliating and agreeable, Mr. Miles happened suddenly to turn his head,upon which Mr. Pickwick skipped away, and said with some fierceness,‘Good night, sir—I was about to say good night, sir,—nothing more;’ andso made a bow and left him.
‘Now, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, when he had got down-stairs.
‘All right, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘Hold hard, sir. Right armfust—now the left—now one strong conwulsion, and the great-coat’s on,sir.’
Mr. Pickwick acted upon these directions, and being further assisted bySam, who pulled at one side of the collar, and Mr. Weller, who pulledhard at the other, was speedily enrobed. Mr. Weller, senior, thenproduced a full-sized stable lantern, which he had carefully deposited ina remote corner, on his arrival, and inquired whether Mr. Pickwick wouldhave ‘the lamps alight.’
‘I think not to-night,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Then if this here lady vill per-mit,’ rejoined Mr. Weller, ‘we’ll leaveit here, ready for next journey. This here lantern, mum,’ said Mr.Weller, handing it to the housekeeper, ‘vunce belonged to the celebratedBill Blinder as is now at grass, as all on us vill be in our turns.Bill, mum, wos the hostler as had charge o’ them two vell-known piebaldleaders that run in the Bristol fast coach, and vould never go to noother tune but a sutherly vind and a cloudy sky, which wos consekventlyplayed incessant, by the guard, wenever they wos on duty. He wos tookwery bad one arternoon, arter having been off his feed, and wery shaky onhis legs for some veeks; and he says to his mate, “Matey,” he says, “Ithink I’m a-goin’ the wrong side o’ the post, and that my foot’s werynear the bucket. Don’t say I an’t,” he says, “for I know I am, and don’tlet me be interrupted,” he says, “for I’ve saved a little money, and I’ma-goin’ into the stable to make my last vill and testymint.” “I’ll takecare as nobody interrupts,” says his mate, “but you on’y hold up yourhead,
and shake your ears a bit, and you’re good for twenty years tocome.” Bill Blinder makes him no answer, but he goes avay into thestable, and there he soon artervards lays himself down a’tween the twopiebalds, and dies,—previously a writin’ outside the corn-chest, “This isthe last vill and testymint of Villiam Blinder.” They wos nat’rally werymuch amazed at this, and arter looking among the litter, and up in theloft, and vere not, they opens the corn-chest, and finds that he’d beenand chalked his vill inside the lid; so the lid was obligated to be tookoff the hinges, and sent up to Doctor Commons to be proved, and underthat ’ere wery instrument this here lantern was passed to Tony Veller;vich circumstarnce, mum, gives it a wally in my eyes, and makes merekvest, if you vill be so kind, as to take partickler care on it.’
The housekeeper graciously promised to keep the object of Mr. Weller’sregard in the safest possible custody, and Mr. Pickwick, with a laughingface, took his leave. The bodyguard followed, side by side; old Mr.Weller buttoned and wrapped up from his boots to his chin; and Sam withhis hands in his pockets and his hat half off his head, remonstratingwith his father, as he went, on his extreme loquacity.
I was not a little surprised, on turning to go up-stairs, to encounterthe barber in the passage at that late hour; for his attendance isusually confined to some half-hour in the morning. But Jack Redburn, whofinds out (by instinct, I think) everything that happens in the house,informed me with great glee, that a society in imitation of our own hadbeen that night formed in the kitchen, under the title of ‘Mr. Weller’sWatch,’ of which the barber was a member; and that he could pledgehimself to find means of making me acquainted with the whole of itsfuture proceedings, which I begged him, both on my own account and thatof my readers, by no means to neglect doing. {292}
[Picture: The Last Will and Testament of William Blinder]