The Pickwick Papers, by Charles Dickens (1836-1837) - Chapter 23
CHAPTER XXIII IN WHICH Mr. SAMUEL WELLER BEGINS TO DEVOTE HIS ENERGIES TO THE RETURN MATCH BETWEEN HIMSELF AND Mr. TROTTER
In a small room in the vicinity of the stableyard,
betimes in the morning, which was ushered in by Mr. Pickwick's adventure with
the middle--aged lady in the yellow curl-papers, sat Mr. Weller, senior,
preparing himself for his journey to London. He was sitting in an excellent
attitude for having his portrait taken; and here it is.
It is very possible that at some earlier period of his
career, Mr. Weller's profile might have presented a bold and determined outline.
His face, however, had expanded under the influence of good living, and a
disposition remarkable for resignation; and its bold, fleshy curves had so far
extended beyond the limits originally assigned them, that unless you took a full
view of his countenance in front, it was difficult to distinguish more than the
extreme tip of a very rubicund nose. His chin, from the same cause, had acquired
the grave and imposing form which is generally described by prefixing the word
'double' to that expressive feature; and his complexion exhibited that
peculiarly mottled combination of colours which is only to be seen in gentlemen
of his profession, and in underdone roast beef. Round his neck he wore a crimson
travelling-shawl, which merged into his chin by such imperceptible gradations,
that it was difficult to distinguish the folds of the one, from the folds of the
other. Over this, he mounted a long waistcoat of a broad pink-striped pattern,
and over that again, a wide-skirted green coat, ornamented with large brass
buttons, whereof the two which garnished the waist, were so far apart, that no
man had ever beheld them both at the same time. His hair, which was short,
sleek, and black, was just visible beneath the capacious brim of a low-crowned
brown hat. His legs were encased in knee-cord breeches, and painted top-boots;
and a copper watch-chain, terminating in one seal, and a key of the same
material, dangled loosely from his capacious waistband.
We have said that Mr. Weller was engaged in preparing
for his journey to London--he was taking sustenance, in fact. On the table
before him, stood a pot of ale, a cold round of beef, and a very
respectable-looking loaf, to each of which he distributed his favours in turn,
with the most rigid impartiality. He had just cut a mighty slice from the
latter, when the footsteps of somebody entering the room, caused him to raise
his head; and he beheld his son.
'Mornin', Sammy!' said the father.
The son walked up to the pot of ale, and nodding
significantly to his parent, took a long draught by way of reply.
'Wery good power o' suction, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller the
elder, looking into the pot, when his first-born had set it down half empty.
'You'd ha' made an uncommon fine oyster, Sammy, if you'd been born in that
station o' life.'
'Yes, I des-say, I should ha' managed to pick up a
respectable livin',' replied Sam applying himself to the cold beef, with
considerable vigour.
'I'm wery sorry, Sammy,' said the elder Mr. Weller,
shaking up the ale, by describing small circles with the pot, preparatory to
drinking. 'I'm wery sorry, Sammy, to hear from your lips, as you let yourself be
gammoned by that 'ere mulberry man. I always thought, up to three days ago, that
the names of Veller and gammon could never come into contract, Sammy, never.'
'Always exceptin' the case of a widder, of course,' said
Sam.
'Widders, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, slightly changing
colour. 'Widders are 'ceptions to ev'ry rule. I have heerd how many ordinary
women one widder's equal to in pint o' comin' over you. I think it's
five-and-twenty, but I don't rightly know vether it ain't more.'
'Well; that's pretty well,' said Sam.
'Besides,' continued Mr. Weller, not noticing the
interruption, 'that's a wery different thing. You know what the counsel said,
Sammy, as defended the gen'l'm'n as beat his wife with the poker, venever he got
jolly. "And arter all, my Lord," says he, "it's a amiable
weakness." So I says respectin' widders, Sammy, and so you'll say, ven you
gets as old as me.'
'I ought to ha' know'd better, I know,' said Sam.
'Ought to ha' know'd better!' repeated Mr. Weller,
striking the table with his fist. 'Ought to ha' know'd better! why, I know a
young 'un as hasn't had half nor quarter your eddication--as hasn't slept about
the markets, no, not six months--who'd ha' scorned to be let in, in such a vay;
scorned it, Sammy.' In the excitement of feeling produced by this agonising
reflection, Mr. Weller rang the bell, and ordered an additional pint of ale.
'Well, it's no use talking about it now,' said Sam.
'It's over, and can't be helped, and that's one consolation, as they always says
in Turkey, ven they cuts the wrong man's head off. It's my innings now, gov'nor,
and as soon as I catches hold o' this 'ere Trotter, I'll have a good 'un.'
'I hope you will, Sammy. I hope you will,' returned Mr.
Weller. 'Here's your health, Sammy, and may you speedily vipe off the disgrace
as you've inflicted on the family name.' In honour of this toast Mr. Weller
imbibed at a draught, at least two-thirds of a newly-arrived pint, and handed it
over to his son, to dispose of the remainder, which he instantaneously did.
'And now, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, consulting a large
double- faced silver watch that hung at the end of the copper chain. 'Now it's
time I was up at the office to get my vay-bill and see the coach loaded; for
coaches, Sammy, is like guns--they requires to be loaded with wery great care,
afore they go off.'
At this parental and professional joke, Mr. Weller,
junior, smiled a filial smile. His revered parent continued in a solemn tone--
'I'm a-goin' to leave you, Samivel, my boy, and there's
no telling ven I shall see you again. Your mother-in-law may ha' been too much
for me, or a thousand things may have happened by the time you next hears any
news o' the celebrated Mr. Veller o' the Bell Savage. The family name depends
wery much upon you, Samivel, and I hope you'll do wot's right by it. Upon all
little pints o' breedin', I know I may trust you as vell as if it was my own
self. So I've only this here one little bit of adwice to give you. If ever you
gets to up'ards o' fifty, and feels disposed to go a-marryin' anybody--no matter
who--jist you shut yourself up in your own room, if you've got one, and pison
yourself off hand. Hangin's wulgar, so don't you have nothin' to say to that.
Pison yourself, Samivel, my boy, pison yourself, and you'll be glad on it
arterwards.' With these affecting words, Mr. Weller looked steadfastly on his
son, and turning slowly upon his heel, disappeared from his sight.
In the contemplative mood which these words had
awakened, Mr. Samuel Weller walked forth from the Great White Horse when his
father had left him; and bending his steps towards St. Clement's Church,
endeavoured to dissipate his melancholy, by strolling among its ancient
precincts. He had loitered about, for some time, when he found himself in a
retired spot--a kind of courtyard of venerable appearance--which he discovered
had no other outlet than the turning by which he had entered. He was about
retracing his steps, when he was suddenly transfixed to the spot by a sudden
appearance; and the mode and manner of this appearance, we now proceed to
relate.
Mr. Samuel Weller had been staring up at the old brick
houses now and then, in his deep abstraction, bestowing a wink upon some
healthy-looking servant girl as she drew up a blind, or threw open a bedroom
window, when the green gate of a garden at the bottom of the yard opened, and a
man having emerged therefrom, closed the green gate very carefully after him,
and walked briskly towards the very spot where Mr. Weller was standing.
Now, taking this, as an isolated fact, unaccompanied by
any attendant circumstances, there was nothing very extraordinary in it; because
in many parts of the world men do come out of gardens, close green gates after
them, and even walk briskly away, without attracting any particular share of
public observation. It is clear, therefore, that there must have been something
in the man, or in his manner, or both, to attract Mr. Weller's particular
notice. Whether there was, or not, we must leave the reader to determine, when
we have faithfully recorded the behaviour of the individual in question.
When the man had shut the green gate after him, he
walked, as we have said twice already, with a brisk pace up the courtyard; but
he no sooner caught sight of Mr. Weller than he faltered, and stopped, as if
uncertain, for the moment, what course to adopt. As the green gate was closed
behind him, and there was no other outlet but the one in front, however, he was
not long in perceiving that he must pass Mr. Samuel Weller to get away. He
therefore resumed his brisk pace, and advanced, staring straight before him. The
most extraordinary thing about the man was, that he was contorting his face into
the most fearful and astonishing grimaces that ever were beheld. Nature's
handiwork never was disguised with such extraordinary artificial carving, as the
man had overlaid his countenance with in one moment.
'Well!' said Mr. Weller to himself, as the man
approached. 'This is wery odd. I could ha' swore it was him.'
Up came the man, and his face became more frightfully
distorted than ever, as he drew nearer.
'I could take my oath to that 'ere black hair and
mulberry suit,' said Mr. Weller; 'only I never see such a face as that afore.'
As Mr. Weller said this, the man's features assumed an
unearthly twinge, perfectly hideous. He was obliged to pass very near Sam,
however, and the scrutinising glance of that gentleman enabled him to detect,
under all these appalling twists of feature, something too like the small eyes
of Mr. Job Trotter to be easily mistaken.
'Hollo, you Sir!' shouted Sam fiercely.
The stranger stopped.
'Hollo!' repeated Sam, still more gruffly.
The man with the horrible face looked, with the greatest
surprise, up the court, and down the court, and in at the windows of the
houses--everywhere but at Sam Weller--and took another step forward, when he was
brought to again by another shout.
'Hollo, you sir!' said Sam, for the third time.
There was no pretending to mistake where the voice came
from now, so the stranger, having no other resource, at last looked Sam Weller
full in the face.
'It won't do, Job Trotter,' said Sam. 'Come! None o'
that 'ere nonsense. You ain't so wery 'andsome that you can afford to throw avay
many o' your good looks. Bring them 'ere eyes o' yourn back into their proper
places, or I'll knock 'em out of your head. D'ye hear?'
As Mr. Weller appeared fully disposed to act up to the
spirit of this address, Mr. Trotter gradually allowed his face to resume its
natural expression; and then giving a start of joy, exclaimed, 'What do I see?
Mr. Walker!'
'Ah,' replied Sam. 'You're wery glad to see me, ain't
you?'
'Glad!' exclaimed Job Trotter; 'oh, Mr. Walker, if you
had but known how I have looked forward to this meeting! It is too much, Mr.
Walker; I cannot bear it, indeed I cannot.' And with these words, Mr. Trotter
burst into a regular inundation of tears, and, flinging his arms around those of
Mr. Weller, embraced him closely, in an ecstasy of joy.
'Get off!' cried Sam, indignant at this process, and
vainly endeavouring to extricate himself from the grasp of his enthusiastic
acquaintance. 'Get off, I tell you. What are you crying over me for, you
portable engine?'
'Because I am so glad to see you,' replied Job Trotter,
gradually releasing Mr. Weller, as the first symptoms of his pugnacity
disappeared. 'Oh, Mr. Walker, this is too much.'
'Too much!' echoed Sam, 'I think it is too much--rayther!
Now, what have you got to say to me, eh?'
Mr. Trotter made no reply; for the little pink
pocket-handkerchief was in full force.
'What have you got to say to me, afore I knock your head
off?' repeated Mr. Weller, in a threatening manner.
'Eh!' said Mr. Trotter, with a look of virtuous
surprise.
'What have you got to say to me?'
'I, Mr. Walker!'
'Don't call me Valker; my name's Veller; you know that
vell enough. What have you got to say to me?'
'Bless you, Mr. Walker--Weller, I mean--a great many
things, if you will come away somewhere, where we can talk comfortably. If you
knew how I have looked for you, Mr. Weller--'
'Wery hard, indeed, I s'pose?' said Sam drily.
'Very, very, Sir,' replied Mr. Trotter, without moving a
muscle of his face. 'But shake hands, Mr. Weller.'
Sam eyed his companion for a few seconds, and then, as
if actuated by a sudden impulse, complied with his request. 'How,' said Job
Trotter, as they walked away, 'how is your dear, good master? Oh, he is a worthy
gentleman, Mr. Weller! I hope he didn't catch cold, that dreadful night, Sir.'
There was a momentary look of deep slyness in Job
Trotter's eye, as he said this, which ran a thrill through Mr. Weller's clenched
fist, as he burned with a desire to make a demonstration on his ribs. Sam
constrained himself, however, and replied that his master was extremely well.
'Oh, I am so glad,' replied Mr. Trotter; 'is he here?'
'Is yourn?' asked Sam, by way of reply.
'Oh, yes, he is here, and I grieve to say, Mr. Weller,
he is going on worse than ever.'
'Ah, ah!' said Sam.
'Oh, shocking--terrible!'
'At a boarding-school?' said Sam.
'No, not at a boarding-school,' replied Job Trotter,
with the same sly look which Sam had noticed before; 'not at a boarding-school.'
'At the house with the green gate?' said Sam, eyeing his
companion closely.
'No, no--oh, not there,' replied Job, with a quickness
very unusual to him, 'not there.'
'What was you a-doin' there?' asked Sam, with a sharp
glance. 'Got inside the gate by accident, perhaps?'
'Why, Mr. Weller,' replied Job, 'I don't mind telling
you my little secrets, because, you know, we took such a fancy for each other
when we first met. You recollect how pleasant we were that morning?'
'Oh, yes,' said Sam, impatiently. 'I remember. Well?'
'Well,' replied Job, speaking with great precision, and
in the low tone of a man who communicates an important secret; 'in that house
with the green gate, Mr. Weller, they keep a good many servants.'
'So I should think, from the look on it,' interposed
Sam.
'Yes,' continued Mr. Trotter, 'and one of them is a
cook, who has saved up a little money, Mr. Weller, and is desirous, if she can
establish herself in life, to open a little shop in the chandlery way, you see.'
'Yes.'
'Yes, Mr. Weller. Well, Sir, I met her at a chapel that
I go to; a very neat little chapel in this town, Mr. Weller, where they sing the
number four collection of hymns, which I generally carry about with me, in a
little book, which you may perhaps have seen in my hand--and I got a little
intimate with her, Mr. Weller, and from that, an acquaintance sprung up between
us, and I may venture to say, Mr. Weller, that I am to be the chandler.'
'Ah, and a wery amiable chandler you'll make,' replied
Sam, eyeing Job with a side look of intense dislike.
'The great advantage of this, Mr. Weller,' continued
Job, his eyes filling with tears as he spoke, 'will be, that I shall be able to
leave my present disgraceful service with that bad man, and to devote myself to
a better and more virtuous life; more like the way in which I was brought up,
Mr. Weller.'
'You must ha' been wery nicely brought up,' said Sam.
'Oh, very, Mr. Weller, very,' replied Job. At the
recollection of the purity of his youthful days, Mr. Trotter pulled forth the
pink handkerchief, and wept copiously.
'You must ha' been an uncommon nice boy, to go to school
vith,' said Sam.
'I was, sir,' replied Job, heaving a deep sigh; 'I was
the idol of the place.'
'Ah,' said Sam, 'I don't wonder at it. What a comfort
you must ha' been to your blessed mother.'
At these words, Mr. Job Trotter inserted an end of the
pink handkerchief into the corner of each eye, one after the other, and began to
weep copiously.
'Wot's the matter with the man,' said Sam, indignantly.
'Chelsea water-works is nothin' to you. What are you melting vith now? The
consciousness o' willainy?'
'I cannot keep my feelings down, Mr. Weller,' said Job,
after a short pause. 'To think that my master should have suspected the
conversation I had with yours, and so dragged me away in a post-chaise, and
after persuading the sweet young lady to say she knew nothing of him, and
bribing the school-mistress to do the same, deserted her for a better
speculation! Oh! Mr. Weller, it makes me shudder.'
'Oh, that was the vay, was it?' said Mr. Weller.
'To be sure it was,' replied Job.
'Vell,' said Sam, as they had now arrived near the
hotel, 'I vant to have a little bit o' talk with you, Job; so if you're not
partickler engaged, I should like to see you at the Great White Horse to- night,
somewheres about eight o'clock.'
'I shall be sure to come,' said Job.
'Yes, you'd better,' replied Sam, with a very meaning
look, 'or else I shall perhaps be askin' arter you, at the other side of the
green gate, and then I might cut you out, you know.'
'I shall be sure to be with you, sir,' said Mr. Trotter;
and wringing Sam's hand with the utmost fervour, he walked away.
'Take care, Job Trotter, take care,' said Sam, looking
after him, 'or I shall be one too many for you this time. I shall, indeed.'
Having uttered this soliloquy, and looked after Job till he was to be seen no
more, Mr. Weller made the best of his way to his master's bedroom.
'It's all in training, Sir,' said Sam.
'What's in training, Sam?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'I've found 'em out, Sir,' said Sam.
'Found out who?'
'That 'ere queer customer, and the melan-cholly chap
with the black hair.'
'Impossible, Sam!' said Mr. Pickwick, with the greatest
energy. 'Where are they, Sam: where are they?'
'Hush, hush!' replied Mr. Weller; and as he assisted Mr.
Pickwick to dress, he detailed the plan of action on which he proposed to enter.
'But when is this to be done, Sam?' inquired Mr.
Pickwick.
'All in good time, Sir,' replied Sam.
Whether it was done in good time, or not, will be seen
hereafter.