The Pickwick Papers, by Charles Dickens (1836-1837) - Chapter 56
CHAPTER LVI AN IMPORTANT CONFERENCE TAKES PLACE BETWEEN Mr. PICKWICK AND SAMUEL WELLER, AT WHICH HIS PARENT ASSISTS--AN OLD GENTLEMAN IN A SNUFF- COLOURED SUIT ARRIVES UNEXPECTEDLY
Mr. Pickwick was sitting alone, musing over many
things, and thinking among other considerations how he could best provide for
the young couple whose present unsettled condition was matter of constant regret
and anxiety to him, when Mary stepped lightly into the room, and, advancing to
the table, said, rather hastily--
'Oh, if you please, Sir, Samuel is downstairs, and he
says may his father see you?'
'Surely,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'Thank you, Sir,' said Mary, tripping towards the door
again.
'Sam has not been here long, has he?' inquired Mr.
Pickwick.
'Oh, no, Sir,' replied Mary eagerly. 'He has only just
come home. He is not going to ask you for any more leave, Sir, he says.'
Mary might have been conscious that she had communicated
this last intelligence with more warmth than seemed actually necessary, or she
might have observed the good-humoured smile with which Mr. Pickwick regarded
her, when she had finished speaking. She certainly held down her head, and
examined the corner of a very smart little apron, with more closeness than there
appeared any absolute occasion for.
'Tell them they can come up at once, by all means,' said
Mr. Pickwick.
Mary, apparently much relieved, hurried away with her
message.
Mr. Pickwick took two or three turns up and down the
room; and, rubbing his chin with his left hand as he did so, appeared lost in
thought.
'Well, well,' said Mr. Pickwick, at length in a kind but
somewhat melancholy tone, 'it is the best way in which I could reward him for
his attachment and fidelity; let it be so, in Heaven's name. It is the fate of a
lonely old man, that those about him should form new and different attachments
and leave him. I have no right to expect that it should be otherwise with me.
No, no,' added Mr. Pickwick more cheerfully, 'it would be selfish and
ungrateful. I ought to be happy to have an opportunity of providing for him so
well. I am. Of course I am.'
Mr. Pickwick had been so absorbed in these reflections,
that a knock at the door was three or four times repeated before he heard it.
Hastily seating himself, and calling up his accustomed pleasant looks, he gave
the required permission, and Sam Weller entered, followed by his father.
'Glad to see you back again, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'How do you do, Mr. Weller?'
'Wery hearty, thank'ee, sir,' replied the widower; 'hope
I see you well, sir.'
'Quite, I thank you,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'I wanted to have a little bit o' conwersation with you,
sir,' said Mr. Weller, 'if you could spare me five minits or so, sir.'
'Certainly,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Sam, give your
father a chair.'
'Thank'ee, Samivel, I've got a cheer here,' said Mr.
Weller, bringing one forward as he spoke; 'uncommon fine day it's been, sir,'
added the old gentleman, laying his hat on the floor as he sat himself down.
'Remarkably so, indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Very
seasonable.'
'Seasonablest veather I ever see, sir,' rejoined Mr.
Weller. Here, the old gentleman was seized with a violent fit of coughing,
which, being terminated, he nodded his head and winked and made several
supplicatory and threatening gestures to his son, all of which Sam Weller
steadily abstained from seeing.
Mr. Pickwick, perceiving that there was some
embarrassment on the old gentleman's part, affected to be engaged in cutting the
leaves of a book that lay beside him, and waited patiently until Mr. Weller
should arrive at the object of his visit.
'I never see sich a aggrawatin' boy as you are,
Samivel,' said Mr. Weller, looking indignantly at his son; 'never in all my born
days.'
'What is he doing, Mr. Weller?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'He von't begin, sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller; 'he knows I
ain't ekal to ex-pressin' myself ven there's anythin' partickler to be done, and
yet he'll stand and see me a-settin' here taking up your walable time, and
makin' a reg'lar spectacle o' myself, rayther than help me out vith a syllable.
It ain't filial conduct, Samivel,' said Mr. Weller, wiping his forehead; 'wery
far from it.'
'You said you'd speak,' replied Sam; 'how should I know
you wos done up at the wery beginnin'?'
'You might ha' seen I warn't able to start,' rejoined
his father; 'I'm on the wrong side of the road, and backin' into the palin's,
and all manner of unpleasantness, and yet you von't put out a hand to help me.
I'm ashamed on you, Samivel.'
'The fact is, Sir,' said Sam, with a slight bow, 'the
gov'nor's been a-drawin' his money.'
'Wery good, Samivel, wery good,' said Mr. Weller,
nodding his head with a satisfied air, 'I didn't mean to speak harsh to you,
Sammy. Wery good. That's the vay to begin. Come to the pint at once. Wery good
indeed, Samivel.'
Mr. Weller nodded his head an extraordinary number of
times, in the excess of his gratification, and waited in a listening attitude
for Sam to resume his statement.
'You may sit down, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, apprehending
that the interview was likely to prove rather longer than he had expected.
Sam bowed again and sat down; his father looking round,
he continued--
'The gov'nor, sir, has drawn out five hundred and thirty
pound.'
'Reduced counsels,' interposed Mr. Weller, senior, in an
undertone.
'It don't much matter vether it's reduced counsels, or
wot not,' said Sam; 'five hundred and thirty pounds is the sum, ain't it?'
'All right, Samivel,' replied Mr. Weller.
'To vich sum, he has added for the house and bisness--'
'Lease, good-vill, stock, and fixters,' interposed Mr.
Weller.
'As much as makes it,' continued Sam, 'altogether,
eleven hundred and eighty pound.'
'Indeed!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'I am delighted to hear it.
I congratulate you, Mr. Weller, on having done so well.'
'Vait a minit, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, raising his hand
in a deprecatory manner. 'Get on, Samivel.'
'This here money,' said Sam, with a little hesitation,
'he's anxious to put someveres, vere he knows it'll be safe, and I'm wery
anxious too, for if he keeps it, he'll go a-lendin' it to somebody, or inwestin'
property in horses, or droppin' his pocket-book down an airy, or makin' a
Egyptian mummy of his-self in some vay or another.'
'Wery good, Samivel,' observed Mr. Weller, in as
complacent a manner as if Sam had been passing the highest eulogiums on his
prudence and foresight. 'Wery good.'
'For vich reasons,' continued Sam, plucking nervously at
the brim of his hat--'for vich reasons, he's drawn it out to-day, and come here
vith me to say, leastvays to offer, or in other vords--'
'To say this here,' said the elder Mr. Weller
impatiently, 'that it ain't o' no use to me. I'm a-goin' to vork a coach
reg'lar, and ha'n't got noveres to keep it in, unless I vos to pay the guard for
takin' care on it, or to put it in vun o' the coach pockets, vich 'ud be a
temptation to the insides. If you'll take care on it for me, sir, I shall be
wery much obliged to you. P'raps,' said Mr. Weller, walking up to Mr. Pickwick
and whispering in his ear--'p'raps it'll go a little vay towards the expenses o'
that 'ere conwiction. All I say is, just you keep it till I ask you for it
again.' With these words, Mr. Weller placed the pocket-book in Mr. Pickwick's
hands, caught up his hat, and ran out of the room with a celerity scarcely to be
expected from so corpulent a subject.
'Stop him, Sam!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick earnestly.
'Overtake him; bring him back instantly! Mr. Weller--here--come back!'
Sam saw that his master's injunctions were not to be
disobeyed; and, catching his father by the arm as he was descending the stairs,
dragged him back by main force.
'My good friend,' said Mr. Pickwick, taking the old man
by the hand, 'your honest confidence overpowers me.'
'I don't see no occasion for nothin' o' the kind, Sir,'
replied Mr. Weller obstinately.
'I assure you, my good friend, I have more money than I
can ever need; far more than a man at my age can ever live to spend,' said Mr.
Pickwick.
'No man knows how much he can spend, till he tries,'
observed Mr. Weller.
'Perhaps not,' replied Mr. Pickwick; 'but as I have no
intention of trying any such experiments, I am not likely to come to want. I
must beg you to take this back, Mr. Weller.' 'Wery well,' said Mr. Weller, with
a discontented look. 'Mark my vords, Sammy, I'll do somethin' desperate vith
this here property; somethin' desperate!'
'You'd better not,' replied Sam.
Mr. Weller reflected for a short time, and then,
buttoning up his coat with great determination, said--
'I'll keep a pike.'
'Wot!' exclaimed Sam.
'A pike!' rejoined Mr. Weller, through his set teeth;
'I'll keep a pike. Say good-bye to your father, Samivel. I dewote the remainder
of my days to a pike.'
This threat was such an awful one, and Mr. Weller,
besides appearing fully resolved to carry it into execution, seemed so deeply
mortified by Mr. Pickwick's refusal, that that gentleman, after a short
reflection, said--
'Well, well, Mr. Weller, I will keep your money. I can
do more good with it, perhaps, than you can.'
'Just the wery thing, to be sure,' said Mr. Weller,
brightening up; 'o' course you can, sir.'
'Say no more about it,' said Mr. Pickwick, locking the
pocket- book in his desk; 'I am heartily obliged to you, my good friend. Now sit
down again. I want to ask your advice.'
The internal laughter occasioned by the triumphant
success of his visit, which had convulsed not only Mr. Weller's face, but his
arms, legs, and body also, during the locking up of the pocket- book, suddenly
gave place to the most dignified gravity as he heard these words.
'Wait outside a few minutes, Sam, will you?' said Mr.
Pickwick.
Sam immediately withdrew.
Mr. Weller looked uncommonly wise and very much amazed,
when Mr. Pickwick opened the discourse by saying--
'You are not an advocate for matrimony, I think, Mr.
Weller?'
Mr. Weller shook his head. He was wholly unable to
speak; vague thoughts of some wicked widow having been successful in her designs
on Mr. Pickwick, choked his utterance.
'Did you happen to see a young girl downstairs when you
came in just now with your son?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Yes. I see a young gal,' replied Mr. Weller shortly.
'What did you think of her, now? Candidly, Mr. Weller,
what did you think of her?'
'I thought she wos wery plump, and vell made,' said Mr.
Weller, with a critical air.
'So she is,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'so she is. What did you
think of her manners, from what you saw of her?'
'Wery pleasant,' rejoined Mr. Weller. 'Wery pleasant and
comformable.'
The precise meaning which Mr. Weller attached to this
last- mentioned adjective, did not appear; but, as it was evident from the tone
in which he used it that it was a favourable expression, Mr. Pickwick was as
well satisfied as if he had been thoroughly enlightened on the subject.
'I take a great interest in her, Mr. Weller,' said Mr.
Pickwick.
Mr. Weller coughed.
'I mean an interest in her doing well,' resumed Mr.
Pickwick; 'a desire that she may be comfortable and prosperous. You understand?'
'Wery clearly,' replied Mr. Weller, who understood
nothing yet.
'That young person,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'is attached to
your son.'
'To Samivel Veller!' exclaimed the parent.
'Yes,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'It's nat'ral,' said Mr. Weller, after some
consideration, 'nat'ral, but rayther alarmin'. Sammy must be careful.'
'How do you mean?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Wery careful that he don't say nothin' to her,'
responded Mr. Weller. 'Wery careful that he ain't led avay, in a innocent
moment, to say anythin' as may lead to a conwiction for breach. You're never
safe vith 'em, Mr. Pickwick, ven they vunce has designs on you; there's no
knowin' vere to have 'em; and vile you're a-considering of it, they have you. I
wos married fust, that vay myself, Sir, and Sammy wos the consekens o' the
manoover.'
'You give me no great encouragement to conclude what I
have to say,' observed Mr. Pickwick, 'but I had better do so at once. This young
person is not only attached to your son, Mr. Weller, but your son is attached to
her.'
'Vell,' said Mr. Weller, 'this here's a pretty sort o'
thing to come to a father's ears, this is!'
'I have observed them on several occasions,' said Mr.
Pickwick, making no comment on Mr. Weller's last remark; 'and entertain no doubt
at all about it. Supposing I were desirous of establishing them comfortably as
man and wife in some little business or situation, where they might hope to
obtain a decent living, what should you think of it, Mr. Weller?'
At first, Mr. Weller received with wry faces a
proposition involving the marriage of anybody in whom he took an interest; but,
as Mr. Pickwick argued the point with him, and laid great stress on the fact
that Mary was not a widow, he gradually became more tractable. Mr. Pickwick had
great influence over him, and he had been much struck with Mary's appearance;
having, in fact, bestowed several very unfatherly winks upon her, already. At
length he said that it was not for him to oppose Mr. Pickwick's inclination, and
that he would be very happy to yield to his advice; upon which, Mr. Pickwick
joyfully took him at his word, and called Sam back into the room.
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, clearing his throat, 'your
father and I have been having some conversation about you.'
'About you, Samivel,' said Mr. Weller, in a patronising
and impressive voice.
'I am not so blind, Sam, as not to have seen, a long
time since, that you entertain something more than a friendly feeling towards
Mrs. Winkle's maid,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'You hear this, Samivel?' said Mr. Weller, in the same
judicial form of speech as before.
'I hope, Sir,' said Sam, addressing his master, 'I hope
there's no harm in a young man takin' notice of a young 'ooman as is undeniably
good-looking and well-conducted.'
'Certainly not,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Not by no means,' acquiesced Mr. Weller, affably but
magisterially.
'So far from thinking there is anything wrong in conduct
so natural,' resumed Mr. Pickwick, 'it is my wish to assist and promote your
wishes in this respect. With this view, I have had a little conversation with
your father; and finding that he is of my opinion--'
'The lady not bein' a widder,' interposed Mr. Weller in
explanation.
'The lady not being a widow,' said Mr. Pickwick,
smiling. 'I wish to free you from the restraint which your present position
imposes upon you, and to mark my sense of your fidelity and many excellent
qualities, by enabling you to marry this girl at once, and to earn an
independent livelihood for yourself and family. I shall be proud, Sam,' said Mr.
Pickwick, whose voice had faltered a little hitherto, but now resumed its
customary tone, 'proud and happy to make your future prospects in life my
grateful and peculiar care.'
There was a profound silence for a short time, and then
Sam said, in a low, husky sort of voice, but firmly withal--
'I'm very much obliged to you for your goodness, Sir, as
is only like yourself; but it can't be done.'
'Can't be done!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick in
astonishment.
'Samivel!' said Mr. Weller, with dignity.
'I say it can't be done,' repeated Sam in a louder key.
'Wot's to become of you, Sir?'
'My good fellow,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'the recent
changes among my friends will alter my mode of life in future, entirely;
besides, I am growing older, and want repose and quiet. My rambles, Sam, are
over.'
'How do I know that 'ere, sir?' argued Sam. 'You think
so now! S'pose you wos to change your mind, vich is not unlikely, for you've the
spirit o' five-and-twenty in you still, what 'ud become on you vithout me? It
can't be done, Sir, it can't be done.'
'Wery good, Samivel, there's a good deal in that,' said
Mr. Weller encouragingly.
'I speak after long deliberation, Sam, and with the
certainty that I shall keep my word,' said Mr. Pickwick, shaking his head. 'New
scenes have closed upon me; my rambles are at an end.'
'Wery good,' rejoined Sam. 'Then, that's the wery best
reason wy you should alvays have somebody by you as understands you, to keep you
up and make you comfortable. If you vant a more polished sort o' feller, vell
and good, have him; but vages or no vages, notice or no notice, board or no
board, lodgin' or no lodgin', Sam Veller, as you took from the old inn in the
Borough, sticks by you, come what may; and let ev'rythin' and ev'rybody do their
wery fiercest, nothin' shall ever perwent it!'
At the close of this declaration, which Sam made with
great emotion, the elder Mr. Weller rose from his chair, and, forgetting all
considerations of time, place, or propriety, waved his hat above his head, and
gave three vehement cheers.
'My good fellow,' said Mr. Pickwick, when Mr. Weller had
sat down again, rather abashed at his own enthusiasm, 'you are bound to consider
the young woman also.'
'I do consider the young 'ooman, Sir,' said Sam. 'I have
considered the young 'ooman. I've spoke to her. I've told her how I'm sitivated;
she's ready to vait till I'm ready, and I believe she vill. If she don't, she's
not the young 'ooman I take her for, and I give her up vith readiness. You've
know'd me afore, Sir. My mind's made up, and nothin' can ever alter it.'
Who could combat this resolution? Not Mr. Pickwick. He
derived, at that moment, more pride and luxury of feeling from the disinterested
attachment of his humble friends, than ten thousand protestations from the
greatest men living could have awakened in his heart.
While this conversation was passing in Mr. Pickwick's
room, a little old gentleman in a suit of snuff-coloured clothes, followed by a
porter carrying a small portmanteau, presented himself below; and, after
securing a bed for the night, inquired of the waiter whether one Mrs. Winkle was
staying there, to which question the waiter of course responded in the
affirmative.
'Is she alone?' inquired the old gentleman.
'I believe she is, Sir,' replied the waiter; 'I can call
her own maid, Sir, if you--'
'No, I don't want her,' said the old gentleman quickly.
'Show me to her room without announcing me.'
'Eh, Sir?' said the waiter.
'Are you deaf?' inquired the little old gentleman.
'No, sir.'
'Then listen, if you please. Can you hear me now?'
'Yes, Sir.'
'That's well. Show me to Mrs. Winkle's room, without
announcing me.'
As the little old gentleman uttered this command, he
slipped five shillings into the waiter's hand, and looked steadily at him.
'Really, sir,' said the waiter, 'I don't know, sir,
whether--'
'Ah! you'll do it, I see,' said the little old
gentleman. 'You had better do it at once. It will save time.'
There was something so very cool and collected in the
gentleman's manner, that the waiter put the five shillings in his pocket, and
led him upstairs without another word.
'This is the room, is it?' said the gentleman. 'You may
go.' The waiter complied, wondering much who the gentleman could be, and what he
wanted; the little old gentleman, waiting till he was out of sight, tapped at
the door.
'Come in,' said Arabella.
'Um, a pretty voice, at any rate,' murmured the little
old gentleman; 'but that's nothing.' As he said this, he opened the door and
walked in. Arabella, who was sitting at work, rose on beholding a stranger--a
little confused--but by no means ungracefully so.
'Pray don't rise, ma'am,' said the unknown, walking in,
and closing the door after him. 'Mrs. Winkle, I believe?'
Arabella inclined her head.
'Mrs. Nathaniel Winkle, who married the son of the old
man at Birmingham?' said the stranger, eyeing Arabella with visible curiosity.
Again Arabella inclined her head, and looked uneasily
round, as if uncertain whether to call for assistance.
'I surprise you, I see, ma'am,' said the old gentleman.
'Rather, I confess,' replied Arabella, wondering more
and more.
'I'll take a chair, if you'll allow me, ma'am,' said the
stranger.
He took one; and drawing a spectacle-case from his
pocket, leisurely pulled out a pair of spectacles, which he adjusted on his
nose.
'You don't know me, ma'am?' he said, looking so intently
at Arabella that she began to feel alarmed.
'No, sir,' she replied timidly.
'No,' said the gentleman, nursing his left leg; 'I don't
know how you should. You know my name, though, ma'am.'
'Do I?' said Arabella, trembling, though she scarcely
knew why. 'May I ask what it is?'
'Presently, ma'am, presently,' said the stranger, not
having yet removed his eyes from her countenance. 'You have been recently
married, ma'am?'
'I have,' replied Arabella, in a scarcely audible tone,
laying aside her work, and becoming greatly agitated as a thought, that had
occurred to her before, struck more forcibly upon her mind.
'Without having represented to your husband the
propriety of first consulting his father, on whom he is dependent, I think?'
said the stranger.
Arabella applied her handkerchief to her eyes.
'Without an endeavour, even, to ascertain, by some
indirect appeal, what were the old man's sentiments on a point in which he would
naturally feel much interested?' said the stranger.
'I cannot deny it, Sir,' said Arabella.
'And without having sufficient property of your own to
afford your husband any permanent assistance in exchange for the worldly
advantages which you knew he would have gained if he had married agreeably to
his father's wishes?' said the old gentleman. 'This is what boys and girls call
disinterested affection, till they have boys and girls of their own, and then
they see it in a rougher and very different light!'
Arabella's tears flowed fast, as she pleaded in
extenuation that she was young and inexperienced; that her attachment had alone
induced her to take the step to which she had resorted; and that she had been
deprived of the counsel and guidance of her parents almost from infancy.
'It was wrong,' said the old gentleman in a milder tone,
'very wrong. It was romantic, unbusinesslike, foolish.'
'It was my fault; all my fault, Sir,' replied poor
Arabella, weeping.
'Nonsense,' said the old gentleman; 'it was not your
fault that he fell in love with you, I suppose? Yes it was, though,' said the
old gentleman, looking rather slily at Arabella. 'It was your fault. He couldn't
help it.'
This little compliment, or the little gentleman's odd
way of paying it, or his altered manner--so much kinder than it was, at
first--or all three together, forced a smile from Arabella in the midst of her
tears.
'Where's your husband?' inquired the old gentleman,
abruptly; stopping a smile which was just coming over his own face.
'I expect him every instant, sir,' said Arabella. 'I
persuaded him to take a walk this morning. He is very low and wretched at not
having heard from his father.'
'Low, is he?' said the old gentlemen. 'Serve him right!'
'He feels it on my account, I am afraid,' said Arabella;
'and indeed, Sir, I feel it deeply on his. I have been the sole means of
bringing him to his present condition.'
'Don't mind it on his account, my dear,' said the old
gentleman. 'It serves him right. I am glad of it--actually glad of it, as far as
he is concerned.'
The words were scarcely out of the old gentleman's lips,
when footsteps were heard ascending the stairs, which he and Arabella seemed
both to recognise at the same moment. The little gentleman turned pale; and,
making a strong effort to appear composed, stood up, as Mr. Winkle entered the
room.
'Father!' cried Mr. Winkle, recoiling in amazement.
'Yes, sir,' replied the little old gentleman. 'Well,
Sir, what have you got to say to me?'
Mr. Winkle remained silent.
'You are ashamed of yourself, I hope, Sir?' said the old
gentleman.
Still Mr. Winkle said nothing.
'Are you ashamed of yourself, Sir, or are you not?'
inquired the old gentleman.
'No, Sir,' replied Mr. Winkle, drawing Arabella's arm
through his. 'I am not ashamed of myself, or of my wife either.'
'Upon my word!' cried the old gentleman ironically.
'I am very sorry to have done anything which has
lessened your affection for me, Sir,' said Mr. Winkle; 'but I will say, at the
same time, that I have no reason to be ashamed of having this lady for my wife,
nor you of having her for a daughter.'
'Give me your hand, Nat,' said the old gentleman, in an
altered voice. 'Kiss me, my love. You are a very charming little daughter-in-law
after all!'
In a few minutes' time Mr. Winkle went in search of Mr.
Pickwick, and returning with that gentleman, presented him to his father,
whereupon they shook hands for five minutes incessantly.
'Mr. Pickwick, I thank you most heartily for all your
kindness to my son,' said old Mr. Winkle, in a bluff, straightforward way. 'I am
a hasty fellow, and when I saw you last, I was vexed and taken by surprise. I
have judged for myself now, and am more than satisfied. Shall I make any more
apologies, Mr. Pickwick?'
'Not one,' replied that gentleman. 'You have done the
only thing wanting to complete my happiness.'
Hereupon there was another shaking of hands for five
minutes longer, accompanied by a great number of complimentary speeches, which,
besides being complimentary, had the additional and very novel recommendation of
being sincere.
Sam had dutifully seen his father to the Belle Sauvage,
when, on returning, he encountered the fat boy in the court, who had been
charged with the delivery of a note from Emily Wardle.
'I say,' said Joe, who was unusually loquacious, 'what a
pretty girl Mary is, isn't she? I am SO fond of her, I am!'
Mr. Weller made no verbal remark in reply; but eyeing
the fat boy for a moment, quite transfixed at his presumption, led him by the
collar to the corner, and dismissed him with a harmless but ceremonious kick.
After which, he walked home, whistling.