The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, v. 1 (of 2)

by Charles Dickens

  CHAPTER II

  _The First Day's Journey, and the First Evening's Adventures; with their Consequences_

  That punctual servant of all work, the sun, had just risen, and begunto strike a light on the morning of the thirteenth of May, one thousandeight hundred and twenty-seven, when Mr. Samuel Pickwick burst likeanother sun from his slumbers, threw open his chamber window, andlooked out upon the world beneath. Goswell Street was at his feet,Goswell Street was on his right hand--as far as the eye could reach,Goswell Street extended on his left; and the opposite side of GoswellStreet was over the way. "Such," thought Mr. Pickwick, "are the narrowviews of those philosophers who, content with examining the thingsthat lie before them, look not to the truths which are hidden beyond.As well might I be content to gaze on Goswell Street for ever, withoutone effort to penetrate to the hidden countries which on every sidesurround it." And having given vent to this beautiful reflection, Mr.Pickwick proceeded to put himself into his clothes, and his clothesinto his portmanteau. Great men are seldom over-scrupulous in thearrangement of their attire; the operation of shaving, dressing, andcoffee-imbibing was soon performed: and in another hour, Mr. Pickwick,with his portmanteau in his hand, his telescope in his great-coatpocket, and his note-book in his waistcoat, ready for the receptionof any discoveries worthy of being noted down, had arrived at thecoach-stand in St. Martin's-le-Grand.

  "Cab!" said Mr. Pickwick.

  "Here you are, sir," shouted a strange specimen of the human race,in a sackcloth coat, and apron of the same, who with a brass labeland number round his neck, looked as if he were catalogued in somecollection of rarities. This was the waterman. "Here you are, sir.Now, then, fust cab!" And the first cab having been fetched from thepublic-house, where he had been smoking his first pipe, Mr. Pickwickand his portmanteau were thrown into the vehicle.

  "Golden Cross," said Mr. Pickwick.

  "Only a bob's vorth, Tommy," cried the driver, sulkily, for theinformation of his friend the waterman, as the cab drove off.

  "How old is that horse, my friend?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, rubbing hisnose with the shilling he had reserved for the fare.

  "Forty-two," replied the driver, eyeing him askant.

  "What!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, laying his hand upon his note-book.The driver reiterated his former statement. Mr. Pickwick looked veryhard at the man's face, but his features were immovable, so he noteddown the fact forthwith.

  "And how long do you keep him out at a time?" inquired Mr. Pickwick,searching for further information.

  "Two or three veeks," replied the man.

  "Weeks!" said Mr. Pickwick in astonishment--and out came the note-bookagain.

  "He lives at Pentonwil when he's at home," observed the driver coolly,"but we seldom takes him home, on account of his veakness."

  "On account of his weakness!" reiterated the perplexed Mr. Pickwick.

  "He always falls down when he's took out o' the cab," continued thedriver, "but when he's in it, we bears him up wery tight, and takes himin wery short, so as he can't wery well fall down; and we've got a pairo' precious large wheels on, so ven he _does_ move, they run afterhim, and he must go on--he can't help it."

  Mr. Pickwick entered every word of this statement in his note-book,with the view of communicating it to the club, as a singular instanceof the tenacity of life in horses, under trying circumstances. Theentry was scarcely completed when they reached the Golden Cross. Downjumped the driver, and out got Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass,and Mr. Winkle, who had been anxiously waiting the arrival of theirillustrious leader, crowded to welcome him.

  _"Weeks!" said Mr. Pickwick in astonishment--and outcame the note-book again_]

  "Here's your fare," said Mr. Pickwick, holding out the shilling to thedriver.

  What was the learned man's astonishment, when that unaccountable personflung the money on the pavement, and requested in figurative terms tobe allowed the pleasure of fighting him (Mr. Pickwick) for the amount!

  "You are mad," said Mr. Snodgrass.

  "Or drunk," said Mr. Winkle.

  "Or both," said Mr. Tupman.

  "Come on!" said the cab-driver, sparring away like clock-work. "Comeon--all four on you."

  "Here's a lark!" shouted half-a-dozen hackney coachmen. "Go to vork,Sam,"--and they crowded with great glee round the party.

  "What's the row, Sam?" inquired one gentleman in black calico sleeves.

  "Row!" replied the cabman, "what did he want my number for?"

  "I didn't want your number," said the astonished Mr. Pickwick.

  "What did you take it for, then?" inquired the cabman.

  "I didn't take it," said Mr. Pickwick, indignantly.

  "Would anybody believe," continued the cab-driver, appealing to thecrowd, "would anybody believe as an informer 'ud go about in a man'scab, not only takin' down his number, but ev'ry word he says into thebargain" (a light flashed upon Mr. Pickwick--it was the note-book).

  "Did he though?" inquired another cabman.

  "Yes, did he," replied the first; "and then arter aggerawatin' me toassault him, gets three witnesses here to prove it. But I'll give ithim, if I've six months for it. Come on!" and the cabman dashed his hatupon the ground, with a reckless disregard of his own private property,and knocked Mr. Pickwick's spectacles off, and followed up the attackwith a blow on Mr. Pickwick's nose, and another on Mr. Pickwick'schest, and a third in Mr. Snodgrass's eye, and a fourth, by way ofvariety, in Mr. Tupman's waistcoat, and then danced into the road, andthen back again to the pavement, and finally dashed the whole temporarysupply of breath out of Mr. Winkle's body; and all in half-a-dozenseconds.

  "Where's an officer?" said Mr. Snodgrass.

  "Put 'em under the pump," suggested a hot-pieman.

  "You shall smart for this," gasped Mr. Pickwick.

  "Informers!" shouted the crowd.

  "Come on," cried the cabman, who had been sparring without cessationthe whole time.

  The mob had hitherto been passive spectators of the scene, but asthe intelligence of the Pickwickians being informers was spread amongthem, they began to canvass with considerable vivacity the proprietyof enforcing the heated pastry-vendor's proposition; and there is nosaying what acts of personal aggression they might have committed hadnot the affray been unexpectedly terminated by the interposition of anew comer.

  _"What's the fun?" said a rather tall thin young man_]

  "What's the fun?" said a rather tall thin young man, in a green coat,emerging suddenly from the coach-yard.

  "Informers!" shouted the crowd again.

  "We are not," roared Mr. Pickwick, in a tone which, to anydispassionate listener, carried conviction with it.

  "Ain't you, though,--ain't you?" said the young man, appealing toMr. Pickwick, and making his way through the crowd by the infallibleprocess of elbowing the countenances of its component members.

  That learned man in a few hurried words explained the real state of thecase.

  "Come along, then," said he of the green coat, lugging Mr. Pickwickafter him by main force, and talking the whole way. "Here, No. 924,take your fare, and take yourself off--respectable gentleman--know himwell--none of your nonsense--this way, sir,--where's your friends?--alla mistake, I see--never mind--accidents will happen--best regulatedfamilies--never say die--down upon your luck--pull him up--put thatin his pipe--like the flavour--damned rascals." And with a lengthenedstring of similar broken sentences, delivered with extraordinaryvolubility, the stranger led the way to the travellers' waiting-room,whither he was closely followed by Mr. Pickwick and his disciples.

  "Here, waiter!" shouted the stranger, ringing the bell with tremendousviolence, "glasses round,--brandy and water, hot and strong, andsweet, and plenty,--eye damaged, sir? Waiter! raw beef-steak for thegentleman's eye,--nothing like raw beef-steak for a bruise, sir;cold lamp-post very good, but lamp-post inconvenient--damned oddstanding in the open street half-an-hour, with your eye against alamp-post--eh,--very good,--ha! ha!" And the stranger, without
stoppingto take breath, swallowed at a draught full half-a-pint of the reekingbrandy and water, and flung himself into a chair with as much ease asif nothing uncommon had occurred.

  While his three companions were busily engaged in proffering theirthanks to their new acquaintance, Mr. Pickwick had leisure to examinehis costume and appearance.

  He was about the middle height, but the thinness of his body, and thelength of his legs, gave him the appearance of being much taller.The green coat had been a smart dress garment in the days ofswallow-tails, but had evidently in those times adorned a much shorterman than the stranger, for the soiled and faded sleeves scarcelyreached to his wrists. It was buttoned closely up to his chin, atthe imminent hazard of splitting the back; and an old stock, withouta vestige of shirt collar, ornamented his neck. His scanty blacktrousers displayed here and there those shiny patches which bespeaklong service, and were strapped very tightly over a pair of patchedand mended shoes, as if to conceal the dirty white stockings, whichwere nevertheless distinctly visible. His long black hair escaped innegligent waves from beneath each side of his old pinched-up hat;and glimpses of his bare wrists might be observed between the topsof his gloves and the cuffs of his coat sleeves. His face was thinand haggard; but an indescribable air of jaunty impudence and perfectself-possession pervaded the whole man.

  Such was the individual on whom Mr. Pickwick gazed through hisspectacles (which he had fortunately recovered), and to whom heproceeded, when his friends had exhausted themselves, to return inchosen terms his warmest thanks for his recent assistance.

  "Never mind," said the stranger, cutting the address very short, "saidenough,--no more; smart chap that cabman--handled his fives well;but if I'd been your friend in the green jemmy--damn me--punch hishead,--'cod I would,--pig's whisper--pieman too,--no gammon."

  This coherent speech was interrupted by the entrance of the Rochestercoachman, to announce that "The Commodore" was on the point of starting.

  "Commodore!" said the stranger, starting up, "my coach,--placebooked,--one outside--leave you to pay for the brandy and water,--wantchange for a five,--bad silver--Brummagem buttons--won't do--nogo--eh?" and he shook his head most knowingly.

  Now it so happened that Mr. Pickwick and his three companions hadresolved to make Rochester their first halting-place too; and havingintimated to their new-found acquaintance that they were journeying tothe same city, they agreed to occupy the seat at the back of the coach,where they could all sit together.

  "Up with you," said the stranger, assisting Mr. Pickwick on to the roofwith so much precipitation as to impair the gravity of that gentleman'sdeportment very materially.

  "Any luggage, sir?" inquired the coachman.

  "Who--I? Brown paper parcel here, that's all,--other luggage gone bywater,--packing cases, nailed up--big as houses--heavy, heavy, damnedheavy," replied the stranger, as he forced into his pocket as much ashe could of the brown paper parcel, which presented most suspiciousindications of containing one shirt and a handkerchief.

  "Heads, heads--take care of your heads!" cried the loquacious stranger,as they came out under the low archway, which in those days formed theentrance to the coach-yard. "Terrible place--dangerous work--otherday--five children--mother--tall lady eating sandwiches--forgot thearch--crash--knock--children look round--mother's head off--sandwichin her hand--no mouth to put it in--head of a family off,shocking, shocking! Looking at Whitehall, sir?--fine place--littlewindow--somebody else's head off there, eh, sir?--he didn't keep asharp look-out enough either--eh, sir, eh?"

  "I am ruminating," said Mr. Pickwick, "on the strange mutability ofhuman affairs."

  "Ah! I see--in at the palace door one day, out at the window the next.Philosopher, sir?"

  "An observer of human nature, sir," said Mr. Pickwick.

  "Ah, so am I. Most people are when they've little to do and less toget. Poet, sir?"

  "My friend Mr. Snodgrass has a strong poetic turn," said Mr. Pickwick.

  "So have I," said the stranger. "Epic poem,--ten thousandlines--revolution of July--composed it on the spot--Mars by day, Apolloby night,--bang the field-piece, twang the lyre."

  "You were present at that glorious scene, sir?" said Mr. Snodgrass.

  "Present! think I was;[3] fired a musket,--fired with an idea,--rushedinto wine shop--wrote it down--back again--whiz, bang--anotheridea--wine shop again--pen and ink--back again--cut and slash--nobletime, sir. Sportsman, sir?" abruptly turning to Mr. Winkle.

  [3] A remarkable instance of the prophetic force of Mr. Jingle's imagination, this dialogue occurring in the year 1827, and the Revolution in 1830.

  "A little, sir," replied that gentleman.

  "Fine pursuit, sir,--fine pursuit.--Dogs, sir?"

  "Not just now," said Mr. Winkle.

  "Ah! you should keep dogs--fine animals--sagacious creatures--dog of myown once--Pointer--surprising instinct--out shooting one day--enteringenclosure--whistled--dog stopped--whistled again--Ponto--no go; stockstill--called him--Ponto, Ponto--wouldn't move--dog transfixed--staringat a board--looked up, saw an inscription--'Gamekeeper has orders toshoot all dogs found in this enclosure'--wouldn't pass it--wonderfuldog--valuable dog that--very."

  "Singular circumstance that," said Mr. Pickwick. "Will you allow me tomake a note of it?"

  "Certainly, sir, certainly--hundred more anecdotes of the sameanimal.--Fine girl, sir" (to Mr. Tracy Tupman, who had been bestowingsundry anti-Pickwickian glances on a young lady by the roadside).

  "Very!" said Mr. Tupman.

  "English girls not so fine as Spanish--noble creatures--jet hair--blackeyes--lovely forms--sweet creatures--beautiful."

  "You have been in Spain, sir?" said Mr. Tracy Tupman.

  "Lived there--ages."

  "Many conquests, sir?" inquired Mr. Tupman.

  "Conquests! Thousands. Don Bolaro Fizzgig--Grandee--onlydaughter--Donna Christina--splendid creature--loved me todistraction--jealous father--high-souled daughter--handsomeEnglishman--Donna Christina in despair--prussic acid--stomach pump inmy portmanteau--operation performed--old Bolaro in ecstasies--consentto our union--join hands and floods of tears--romantic story--very."

  "Is the lady in England now, sir?" inquired Mr. Tupman, on whom thedescription of her charms had produced a powerful impression.

  "Dead, sir--dead," said the stranger, applying to his right eye thebrief remnant of a very old cambric handkerchief. "Never recovered thestomach pump--undermined constitution--fell a victim."

  "And her father?" inquired the poetic Snodgrass.

  "Remorse and misery," replied the stranger. "Sudden disappearance--talkof the whole city--search made everywhere--without success--publicfountain in the great square suddenly ceased playing--weekselapsed--still a stoppage--workman employed to clean it--water drawnoff--father-in-law discovered sticking head first in the main pipe,with a full confession in his right boot--took him out, and thefountain played away again, as well as ever."

  "Will you allow me to note that little romance down, sir?" said Mr.Snodgrass, deeply affected.

  "Certainly, sir, certainly,--fifty more if you like to hear'em--strange life mine--rather curious history--not extraordinary, butsingular."

  In this strain, with an occasional glass of ale, by way of parenthesis,when the coach changed horses, did the stranger proceed, until theyreached Rochester bridge, by which time the note-books, both of Mr.Pickwick and Mr. Snodgrass, were completely filled with selections fromhis adventures.

  "Magnificent ruin!" said Mr. Augustus Snodgrass, with all the poeticfervour that distinguished him, when they came in sight of the fine oldcastle.

  "What a study for an antiquarian!" were the very words which fell fromMr. Pickwick's mouth, as he applied his telescope to his eye.

  "Ah! fine place," said the stranger, "glorious pile--frowningwalls--tottering arches--dark nooks--crumbling staircases--Oldcathedral too--earthy smell--pilgrims' feet worn away the oldsteps--little Saxon doors--confessionals like money-takers' boxes attheatre
s--queer customers those monks--Popes, and Lord Treasurers,and all sorts of old fellows, with great red faces, and broken noses,turning up every day--buff jerkins too--matchlocks--Sarcophagus--fineplace--old legends too--strange stories: capital;" and the strangercontinued to soliloquise until they reached the Bull Inn, in the HighStreet, where the coach stopped.

  "Do you remain here, sir?" inquired Mr. Nathaniel Winkle.

  "Here--not I--but you'd better--good house--nice beds--Wright's nexthouse, dear--very dear--half-a-crown in the bill if you look at thewaiter--charge you more if you dine at a friend's than they would ifyou dined in the coffee-room--rum fellows--very."

  Mr. Winkle turned to Mr. Pickwick, and murmured a few words; a whisperpassed from Mr. Pickwick to Mr. Snodgrass, from Mr. Snodgrass to Mr.Tupman, and nods of assent were exchanged. Mr. Pickwick addressed thestranger.

  "You rendered us a very important service this morning, sir," said he,"will you allow us to offer a slight mark of our gratitude by beggingthe favour of your company at dinner?"

  "Great pleasure--not presume to dictate, but broiled fowl andmushrooms--capital thing! what time?"

  "Let me see," replied Mr. Pickwick, referring to his watch, "it is nownearly three. Shall we say five?"

  "Suit me excellently," said the stranger, "five precisely--tillthen--care of yourselves;" and lifting the pinched-up hat a few inchesfrom his head, and carelessly replacing it very much on one side, thestranger, with half the brown paper parcel sticking out of his pocket,walked briskly up the yard, and turned into the High Street.

  "Evidently a traveller in many countries, and a close observer of menand things," said Mr. Pickwick.

  "I should like to see his poem," said Mr. Snodgrass.

  "I should like to have seen that dog," said Mr. Winkle.

  Mr. Tupman said nothing; but he thought of Donna Christina, the stomachpump, and the fountain; and his eyes filled with tears.

  A private sitting-room having been engaged, bed-rooms inspected, anddinner ordered, the party walked out to view the city and adjoiningneighbourhood.

  We do not find, from a careful perusal of Mr. Pickwick's notes onthe four towns, Stroud, Rochester, Chatham, and Brompton, that hisimpressions of their appearance differ in any material point fromthose of other travellers who have gone over the same ground. Hisgeneral description is easily abridged.

  "The principal productions of these towns," says Mr. Pickwick, "appearto be soldiers, sailors, Jews, chalk, shrimps, officers, and dockyardmen. The commodities chiefly exposed for sale in the public streets aremarine stores, hard-bake, apples, flat-fish, and oysters. The streetspresent a lively and animated appearance, occasioned chiefly by theconviviality of the military. It is truly delightful to a philanthropicmind, to see these gallant men staggering along under the influence ofan overflow, both of animal and ardent spirits; more especially when weremember that the following them about, and jesting with them, affordsa cheap and innocent amusement for the boy population. Nothing (addsMr. Pickwick) can exceed their good humour. It was but the day beforemy arrival that one of them had been most grossly insulted in the houseof a publican. The bar-maid had positively refused to draw him any moreliquor; in return for which he had (merely in playfulness) drawn hisbayonet, and wounded the girl in the shoulder. And yet this fine fellowwas the very first to go down to the house next morning, and expresshis readiness to overlook the matter, and forget what had occurred.

  "The consumption of tobacco in these towns (continues Mr. Pickwick)must be very great: and the smell which pervades the streets must beexceedingly delicious to those who are extremely fond of smoking. Asuperficial traveller might object to the dirt, which is their leadingcharacteristic; but to those who view it as an indication of trafficand commercial prosperity, it is truly gratifying."

  Punctual to five o'clock came the stranger, and shortly afterwards thedinner. He had divested himself of his brown paper parcel, but had madeno alteration in his attire, and was, if possible, more loquacious thanever.

  "What's that?" he inquired, as the waiter removed one of the covers.

  "Soles, sir."

  "Soles--ah!--capital fish--all come from London--stage-coachproprietors get up political dinners--carriage of soles--dozens ofbaskets--cunning fellows. Glass of wine, sir?"

  "With pleasure," said Mr. Pickwick, and the stranger took wine, firstwith him, and then with Mr. Snodgrass, and then with Mr. Tupman, andthen with Mr. Winkle, and then with the whole party together, almost asrapidly as he talked.

  "Devil of a mess on the staircase, waiter," said the stranger. "Formsgoing up--carpenters coming down--lamps, glasses, harps. What's goingforward?"

  "Ball, sir," said the waiter.

  "Assembly, eh?"

  "No, sir, not Assembly, sir. Ball for the benefit of a charity, sir."

  "Many fine women in this town, do you know, sir?" inquired Mr. Tupman,with great interest.

  "Splendid--capital. Kent, sir--everybody knows Kent--apples, cherries,hops, and women. Glass of wine, sir?"

  "With great pleasure," replied Mr. Tupman. The stranger filled, andemptied.

  "I should very much like to go," said Mr. Tupman, resuming the subjectof the ball, "very much."

  "Tickets at the bar, sir," interposed the waiter; "half a guinea each,sir."

  Mr. Tupman again expressed an earnest wish to be present at thefestivity, but meeting with no response in the darkened eye of Mr.Snodgrass, or the abstracted gaze of Mr. Pickwick, he applied himselfwith great interest to the port wine and dessert, which had just beenplaced on the table. The waiter withdrew, and the party were left toenjoy the cosy couple of hours succeeding dinner.

  "Beg your pardon, sir," said the stranger, "bottle stands--pass itround--way of the sun--through the button-hole--no heeltaps," and heemptied his glass, which he had filled about two minutes before, andpoured out another, with the air of a man who was used to it.

  The wine was passed, and a fresh supply ordered. The visitor talked,the Pickwickians listened. Mr. Tupman felt every moment more disposedfor the ball. Mr. Pickwick's countenance glowed with an expression ofuniversal philanthropy, and Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass fell fastasleep.

  "They're beginning up-stairs," said the stranger--"hear thecompany--fiddles tuning--now the harp--there they go." The varioussounds which found their way down-stairs announced the commencement ofthe first quadrille.

  "How I should like to go," said Mr. Tupman again.

  "So should I," said the stranger,--"confounded luggage--heavysmacks--nothing to go in--odd, an't it?"

  Now general benevolence was one of the leading features of thePickwickian theory, and no one was more remarkable for the zealousmanner in which he observed so noble a principle than Mr. Tracy Tupman.The number of instances recorded on the Transactions of the Society,in which that excellent man referred objects of charity to the housesof other members for left-off garments, or pecuniary relief, is almostincredible.

  "I should be very happy to lend you a change of apparel for thepurpose," said Mr. Tracy Tupman, "but you are rather slim, and I am----"

  "Rather fat--grown up Bacchus--cut the leaves--dismounted from the tub,and adopted kersey, eh?--not double distilled, but double milled--ha!ha! pass the wine."

  Whether Mr. Tupman was somewhat indignant at the peremptory tone inwhich he was desired to pass the wine which the stranger passed soquickly away, or whether he felt very properly scandalised at aninfluential member of the Pickwick Club being ignominiously comparedto a dismounted Bacchus, is a fact not yet completely ascertained. Hepassed the wine, coughed twice, and looked at the stranger for severalseconds with a stern intensity; as that individual, however, appearedperfectly collected, and quite calm under his searching glance, hegradually relaxed, and reverted to the subject of the ball.

  "I was about to observe, sir," he said, "that though my apparel wouldbe too large, a suit of my friend Mr. Winkle's would perhaps fit youbetter."

  The stranger took Mr. Winkle's measure with his eye, and that featureglistened w
ith satisfaction as he said--"Just the thing."

  Mr. Tupman looked round him. The wine, which had exerted itssomniferous influence over Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle, had stolenupon the senses of Mr. Pickwick. That gentleman had gradually passedthrough the various stages which precede the lethargy produced bydinner, and its consequences. He had undergone the ordinary transitionsfrom the height of conviviality to the depth of misery, and from thedepth of misery to the height of conviviality. Like a gas lamp in thestreet, with the wind in the pipe, he had exhibited for a moment anunnatural brilliancy: then sunk so low as to be scarcely discernible:after a short interval he had burst out again, to enlighten for amoment, then flickered with an uncertain, staggering sort of light,and then gone out altogether. His head was sunk upon his bosom, andperpetual snoring, with a partial choke occasionally, were the onlyaudible indications of the great man's presence.

  The temptation to be present at the ball, and to form his firstimpressions of the beauty of the Kentish ladies, was strong upon Mr.Tupman. The temptation to take the stranger with him was equally great.He was wholly unacquainted with the place and its inhabitants, and thestranger seemed to possess as great a knowledge of both as if he hadlived there from his infancy. Mr. Winkle was asleep, and Mr. Tupmanhad had sufficient experience in such matters to know that the momenthe awoke he would, in the ordinary course of nature, roll heavily tobed. He was undecided. "Fill your glass, and pass the wine," said theindefatigable visitor.

  Mr. Tupman did as he was requested, and the additional stimulus of thelast glass settled his determination.

  "Winkle's bedroom is inside mine," said Mr. Tupman; "I couldn't makehim understand what I wanted if I woke him now, but I know he has adress suit in a carpet bag, and supposing you wore it to the ball, andtook it off when we returned, I could replace it without troubling himat all about the matter."

  "Capital," said the stranger, "famous plan--damned oddsituation--fourteen coats in the packing cases, and obliged to wearanother man's--very good notion, that--very."

  "We must purchase our tickets," said Mr. Tupman.

  "Not worth while splitting a guinea," said the stranger, "toss who shallpay for both--I call; you spin--first time--woman--woman--bewitchingwoman," and down came the sovereign, with the Dragon (called by courtesya woman) uppermost.

  Mr. Tupman rang the bell, purchased the tickets, and ordered chambercandlesticks. In another quarter of an hour the stranger was completelyarrayed in a full suit of Mr. Nathaniel Winkle's.

  "It's a new coat," said Mr. Tupman, as the stranger surveyed himselfwith great complacency in a cheval glass, "the first that's been madewith our club button," and he called his companion's attention to thelarge gilt button which displayed a bust of Mr. Pickwick in the centre,and the letters "P.?C." on either side.

  "P. C.," said the stranger--"queer set out--old fellow's likeness, and'P.?C.'--What does 'P.?C.' stand for--Peculiar Coat, eh?"

  Mr. Tupman, with rising indignation and great importance, explained themystic device.

  "Rather short in the waist, an't it," said the stranger, screwinghimself round to catch a glimpse in the glass of the waist buttons,which were half way up his back. "Like a general postman's coat--queercoats those--made by contract--no measuring--mysterious dispensationsof Providence--all the short men get long coats--all the long men shortones." Running on in this way, Mr. Tupman's new companion adjustedhis dress, or rather the dress of Mr. Winkle; and, accompanied by Mr.Tupman, ascended the staircase leading to the ball-room.

  "What names, sir?" said the man at the door. Mr. Tracy Tupman wasstepping forward to announce his own titles, when the strangerprevented him.

  "No names at all;" and then he whispered Mr. Tupman, "Nameswon't do--not known--very good names in their way, but notgreat ones--capital names for a small party, but won't make animpression in public assemblies--_incog._ the thing--Gentlemen fromLondon--distinguished foreigners--anything." The door was thrown open;and Mr. Tracy Tupman and the stranger entered the ball-room.

  It was a long room, with crimson-covered benches, and wax candles inglass chandeliers. The musicians were securely confined in an elevatedden, and quadrilles were being systematically got through by two orthree sets of dancers. Two card-tables were made up in the adjoiningcard-room, and two pair of old ladies, and a corresponding number ofstout gentlemen, were executing whist therein.

  The finale concluded, the dancers promenaded the room, and Mr. Tupmanand his companion stationed themselves in a corner to observe thecompany.

  "Charming women," said Mr. Tupman.

  "Wait a minute," said the stranger, "fun presently--nobs not comeyet--queer place--Dock-yard people of upper rank don't know Dock-yardpeople of lower rank--Dock-yard people of lower rank don't know smallgentry--small gentry don't know tradespeople--Commissioner don't knowanybody."

  "Who's that little boy with the light hair and pink eyes, in a fancydress?" inquired Mr. Tupman.

  "Hush, pray--pink eyes--fancy dress--little boy--nonsense--Ensign97th--Honourable Wilmot Snipe--great family--Snipes--very."

  "Sir Thomas Clubber, Lady Clubber, and the Miss Clubbers!" shouted theman at the door in a stentorian voice. A great sensation was createdthroughout the room by the entrance of a tall gentleman in a blue coatand bright buttons, a large lady in blue satin, and two young ladies,on a similar scale, in fashionably-made dresses of the same hue.

  "Commissioner--head of the yard--great man--remarkably great man,"whispered the stranger in Mr. Tupman's ear, as the charitable committeeushered Sir Thomas Clubber and family to the top of the room. TheHonourable Wilmot Snipe and other distinguished gentlemen crowded torender homage to the Miss Clubbers; and Sir Thomas Clubber stood boltupright, and looked majestically over his black neckerchief at theassembled company.

  "Mr. Smithie, Mrs. Smithie, and the Misses Smithie," was the nextannouncement.

  "What's Mr. Smithie?" inquired Mr. Tracy Tupman.

  "Something in the yard," replied the stranger. Mr. Smithie boweddeferentially to Sir Thomas Clubber, and Sir Thomas Clubberacknowledged the salute with conscious condescension. Lady Clubber tooka telescopic view of Mrs. Smithie and family through her eye-glass,and Mrs. Smithie stared in her turn at Mrs. Somebody else, whosehusband was not in the Dock-yard at all.

  "Colonel Bulder, Mrs. Colonel Bulder, and Miss Bulder," were the nextarrivals.

  "Head of the Garrison," said the stranger, in reply to Mr. Tupman'sinquiring look.

  Miss Bulder was warmly welcomed by the Miss Clubbers; the greetingbetween Mrs. Colonel Bulder and Lady Clubber was of the mostaffectionate description; Colonel Bulder and Sir Thomas Clubberexchanged snuff-boxes, and looked very much like a pair of AlexanderSelkirks--"Monarchs of all they surveyed."

  While the aristocracy of the place--the Bulders, and Clubbers, andSnipes--were thus preserving their dignity at the upper end of theroom, the other classes of society were imitating their example inother parts of it. The less aristocratic officers of the 97th devotedthemselves to the families of the less important functionaries fromthe Dock-yard. The solicitors' wives and the wine-merchant's wifeheaded another grade (the brewer's wife visited the Bulders); and Mrs.Tomlinson, the post-office keeper, seemed by mutual consent to havebeen chosen the leader of the trade party.

  One of the most popular personages in his own circle present was alittle fat man, with a ring of upright black hair round his head, andan extensive bald plain on the top of it--Doctor Slammer, surgeon tothe 97th. The Doctor took snuff with everybody, chatted with everybody,laughed, danced, made jokes, played whist, did everything, and waseverywhere. To these pursuits, multifarious as they were, the littleDoctor added a more important one than any--he was indefatigable inpaying the most unremitting and devoted attention to a little oldwidow, whose rich dress and profusion of ornament bespoke her a mostdesirable addition to a limited income.

  Upon the Doctor, and the widow, the eyes of both Mr. Tupman and hiscompanion had been fixed for some time, when the stranger broke silence.

  "
Lots of money--old girl--pompous Doctor--not a bad idea--good fun,"were the intelligible sentences which issued from his lips. Mr. Tupmanlooked inquisitively in his face.

  "I'll dance with the widow," said the stranger.

  "Who is she?" inquired Mr. Tupman.

  "Don't know--never saw her in all my life--cut out the Doctor--heregoes." And the stranger forthwith crossed the room; and, leaningagainst a mantelpiece, commenced gazing with an air of respectful andmelancholy admiration on the fat countenance of the little old lady.Mr. Tupman looked on, in mute astonishment. The stranger progressedrapidly; the little Doctor danced with another lady; the widow droppedher fan, the stranger picked it up, and presented it,--a smile--abow--a curtsey--a few words of conversation. The stranger walkedboldly up to, and returned with, the master of ceremonies; a littleintroductory pantomime; and the stranger and Mrs. Budger took theirplaces in a quadrille.

  The surprise of Mr. Tupman at this summary proceeding, great as itwas, was immeasurably exceeded by the astonishment of the Doctor.The stranger was young, and the widow was flattered. The Doctor'sattentions were unheeded by the widow; and the Doctor's indignation waswholly lost on his imperturbable rival. Doctor Slammer was paralysed.He, Doctor Slammer, of the 97th, to be extinguished in a moment, by aman whom nobody had ever seen before, and whom nobody knew even now!Doctor Slammer--Doctor Slammer of the 97th rejected! Impossible! Itcould not be! Yes, it was; there they were. What! introducing hisfriend! Could he believe his eyes! He looked again, and was underthe painful necessity of admitting the veracity of his optics; Mrs.Budger was dancing with Mr. Tracy Tupman, there was no mistaking thefact. There was the widow before him, bouncing bodily, here and there,with unwonted vigour; and Mr. Tracy Tupman hopping about, with a faceexpressive of the most intense solemnity, dancing (as a good manypeople do) as if a quadrille were not a thing to be laughed at, but asevere trial to the feelings, which it requires inflexible resolutionto encounter.

  Silently and patiently did the Doctor bear all this, and all thehandings of negus, and watching for glasses, and darting for biscuits,and coquetting, that ensued; but, a few seconds after the stranger haddisappeared to lead Mrs. Budger to her carriage, he darted swiftly fromthe room with every particle of his hitherto-bottled-up indignationeffervescing, from all parts of his countenance, in a perspiration ofpassion.

  The stranger was returning, and Mr. Tupman was beside him. He spoke ina low tone and laughed. The little Doctor thirsted for his life. He wasexulting. He had triumphed.

  "Sir!" said the Doctor, in an awful voice, producing a card, andretiring into an angle of the passage, "my name is Slammer, DoctorSlammer, sir--97th Regiment--Chatham Barracks--my card, sir, my card."He would have added more, but his indignation choked him.

  "Ah!" replied the stranger, coolly, "Slammer--much obliged--politeattention--not ill now, Slammer--but when I am--knock you up."

  "You--you're a shuffler! sir," gasped the furious Doctor, "apoltroon--a coward--a liar--a--a--will nothing induce you to give meyour card, sir!"

  "Oh! I see," said the stranger, half aside, "negus too stronghere--liberal landlord--very foolish--very--lemonade much better--hotrooms--elderly gentlemen--suffer for it in the morning--cruel--cruel;"and he moved on a step or two.

  "You are stopping in this house, sir," said the indignant little man;"you are intoxicated now, sir; you shall hear from me in the morning,sir. I shall find you out, sir; I shall find you out."

  "Rather you found me out than found me at home," replied the unmovedstranger.

  Doctor Slammer looked unutterable ferocity, as he fixed his hat on hishead with an indignant knock; and the stranger and Mr. Tupman ascendedto the bed-room of the latter to restore the borrowed plumage to theunconscious Winkle.

  That gentleman was fast asleep; the restoration was soon made. Thestranger was extremely jocose; and Mr. Tracy Tupman, being quitebewildered with wine, negus, lights, and ladies, thought the wholeaffair an exquisite joke. His new friend departed; and, afterexperiencing some slight difficulty in finding the orifice in hisnight-cap, originally intended for the reception of his head, andfinally overturning his candlestick in his struggles to put it on,Mr. Tracy Tupman managed to get into bed by a series of complicatedevolutions, and shortly afterwards sank into repose.

  Seven o'clock had hardly ceased striking on the following morningwhen Mr. Pickwick's comprehensive mind was aroused from the state ofunconsciousness in which slumber had plunged it, by a loud knocking athis chamber door.

  "Who's there?" said Mr. Pickwick, starting up in bed.

  "Boots, sir."

  "What do you want?"

  "Please, sir, can you tell me which gentleman of your party wears abright blue dress coat, with a gilt button with P.?C. on it?"

  "It's been given out to brush," thought Mr. Pickwick, "and the man hasforgotten whom it belongs to. Mr. Winkle," he called out, "next roombut two, on the right hand."

  "Thank'ee, sir," said the Boots, and away he went.

  "What's the matter?" cried Mr. Tupman, as a loud knocking at _his_ dooraroused _him_ from his oblivious repose.

  "Can I speak to Mr. Winkle, sir?" replied the Boots from the outside.

  "Winkle--Winkle!" shouted Mr. Tupman, calling into the inner room.

  "Hallo!" replied a faint voice from within the bed-clothes.

  "You're wanted--some one at the door--" and having exerted himselfto articulate thus much, Mr. Tracy Tupman turned round and fell fastasleep again.

  "Wanted!" said Mr. Winkle, hastily jumping out of bed, and putting on afew articles of clothing; "wanted! at this distance from town--who onearth can want me?"

  "Gentleman in the coffee-room, sir," replied the Boots, as Mr. Winkleopened the door and confronted him; "gentleman says he'll not detainyou a moment, sir, but he can take no denial."

  "Very odd!" said Mr. Winkle; "I'll be down directly."

  He hurriedly wrapped himself in a travelling-shawl and dressing-gown,and proceeded down-stairs. An old woman and a couple of waiters werecleaning the coffee-room, and an officer in undress uniform was lookingout of the window. He turned round as Mr. Winkle entered, and madea stiff inclination of the head. Having ordered the attendants toretire, and closed the door very carefully, he said, "Mr. Winkle, Ipresume?"

  "My name _is_ Winkle, sir."

  "_My name is Winkle, sir_"]

  "You will not be surprised, sir, when I inform you that I havecalled here this morning on behalf of my friend, Dr. Slammer, of theNinety-seventh."

  "Doctor Slammer!" said Mr. Winkle.

  "Dr. Slammer. He begged me to express his opinion that your conduct oflast evening was of a description which no gentleman could endure: and(he added) which no one gentleman would pursue towards another."

  Mr. Winkle's astonishment was too real, and too evident, to escapethe observation of Dr. Slammer's friend; he therefore proceeded--"Myfriend, Doctor Slammer, requested me to add, that he was firmlypersuaded you were intoxicated during a portion of the evening, andpossibly unconscious of the extent of the insult you were guilty of.He commissioned me to say, that should this be pleaded as an excusefor your behaviour, he will consent to accept a written apology, to bepenned by you, from my dictation."

  "A written apology!" repeated Mr. Winkle, in the most emphatic tone ofamazement possible.

  "Of course you know the alternative," replied the visitor coolly.

  "Were you entrusted with this message to me by name?" inquired Mr.Winkle, whose intellects were hopelessly confused by this extraordinaryconversation.

  "I was not present myself," replied the visitor, "and in consequence ofyour firm refusal to give your card to Doctor Slammer, I was desired bythat gentleman to identify the wearer of a very uncommon coat--a brightblue dress coat, with a gilt button displaying a bust, and the letters'P.?C.'"

  Mr. Winkle actually staggered with astonishment as he heard hisown costume thus minutely described. Doctor Slammer's friendproceeded--"From the inquiries I made at the bar, just now, I wasconvinced that the owner of t
he coat in question arrived here, withthree gentlemen, yesterday afternoon. I immediately sent up to thegentleman who was described as appearing the head of the party, and heat once referred me to you."

  If the principal tower of Rochester Castle had suddenly walked from itsfoundation, and stationed itself opposite the coffee-room window, Mr.Winkle's surprise would have been as nothing compared with the profoundastonishment with which he had heard this address. His first impressionwas, that his coat had been stolen. "Will you allow me to detain youone moment?" said he.

  "Certainly," replied the unwelcome visitor.

  Mr. Winkle ran hastily up-stairs, and with a trembling hand opened thebag. There was the coat in its usual place, but exhibiting, on a closeinspection, evident tokens of having been worn on the preceding night.

  "It must be so," said Mr. Winkle, letting the coat fall from his hands."I took too much wine after dinner, and have a very vague recollectionof walking about the streets and smoking a cigar afterwards. The factis, I was very drunk;--I must have changed my coat--gone somewhere--andinsulted somebody--I have no doubt of it; and this message is theterrible consequence." Saying which, Mr. Winkle retraced his steps inthe direction of the coffee-room, with the gloomy and dreadful resolveof accepting the challenge of the warlike Dr. Slammer, and abiding bythe worst consequences that might ensue.

  To this determination Mr. Winkle was urged by a variety ofconsiderations, the first of which was, his reputation with the club.He had always been looked up to as a high authority on all matters ofamusement and dexterity, whether offensive, defensive, or inoffensive;and if, on this very first occasion of being put to the test, heshrunk back from the trial, beneath his leader's eye, his name andstanding were lost for ever. Besides, he remembered to have heard itfrequently surmised by the uninitiated in such matters that by anunderstood arrangement between the seconds, the pistols were seldomloaded with ball; and, furthermore, he reflected that if he applied toMr. Snodgrass to act as his second, and depicted the danger in glowingterms, that gentleman might possibly communicate the intelligence toMr. Pickwick, who would certainly lose no time in transmitting it tothe local authorities, and thus prevent the killing or maiming of hisfollower.

  Such were his thoughts when he returned to the coffee-room, andintimated his intention of accepting the Doctor's challenge.

  "Will you refer me to a friend, to arrange the time and place ofmeeting?" said the officer.

  "Quite unnecessary," replied Mr. Winkle; "name them to me, and I canprocure the attendance of a friend afterwards."

  "Shall we say--sunset this evening?" inquired the officer, in acareless tone.

  "Very good," replied Mr. Winkle, thinking in his heart it was very bad.

  "You know Fort Pitt?"

  "Yes; I saw it yesterday."

  "If you will take the trouble to turn into the field which borders thetrench, take the foot-path to the left when you arrive at an angleof the fortification, and keep straight on, till you see me, I willprecede you to a secluded place, where the affair can be conductedwithout fear of interruption."

  "_Fear_ of interruption!" thought Mr. Winkle.

  "Nothing more to arrange, I think," said the officer.

  "I am not aware of anything more," replied Mr. Winkle.

  "Good morning."

  "Good morning:" and the officer whistled a lively air as he strode away.

  That morning's breakfast passed heavily off. Mr. Tupman was not ina condition to rise, after the unwonted dissipation of the previousnight; Mr. Snodgrass appeared to labour under a poetical depression ofspirits; and even Mr. Pickwick evinced an unusual attachment to silenceand soda-water. Mr. Winkle eagerly watched his opportunity; it was notlong wanting. Mr. Snodgrass proposed a visit to the castle, and as Mr.Winkle was the only other member of the party disposed to walk, theywent out together.

  "Snodgrass," said Mr. Winkle, when they had turned out of the publicstreet, "Snodgrass, my dear fellow, can I rely upon your secrecy?" Ashe said this, he most devoutly and earnestly hoped he could not.

  "You can," replied Mr. Snodgrass. "Hear me swear----"

  "No, no," interrupted Winkle, terrified at the idea of his companion'sunconsciously pledging himself not to give information; "don't swear,don't swear; it's quite unnecessary."

  Mr. Snodgrass dropped the hand which he had, in the spirit of poesy,raised towards the clouds as he made the above appeal, and assumed anattitude of attention.

  "I want your assistance, my dear fellow, in an affair of honour," saidMr. Winkle.

  "You shall have it," replied Mr. Snodgrass, clasping his friend's hand.

  "With a Doctor--Doctor Slammer, of the Ninety-seventh," said Mr.Winkle, wishing to make the matter appear as solemn as possible; "anaffair with an officer, seconded by another officer, at sunset thisevening, in a lonely field beyond Fort Pitt."

  "I will attend you," said Mr. Snodgrass.

  He was astonished, but by no means dismayed. It is extraordinary howcool any party but the principal can be in such cases. Mr. Winkle hadforgotten this. He had judged of his friend's feelings by his own.

  "The consequences may be dreadful," said Mr. Winkle.

  "I hope not," said Mr. Snodgrass.

  "The Doctor, I believe, is a very good shot," said Mr. Winkle.

  "Most of these military men are," observed Mr. Snodgrass, calmly; "butso are you, an't you?"

  Mr. Winkle replied in the affirmative; and perceiving that he had notalarmed his companion sufficiently, changed his ground.

  "Snodgrass," he said, in a voice tremulous with emotion, "if I fall,you will find in a packet which I shall place in your hands a note formy--for my father."

  This attack was a failure also. Mr. Snodgrass was affected, but heundertook the delivery of the note as readily as if he had been aTwopenny Postman.

  "If I fall," said Mr. Winkle, "or if the Doctor falls, you, my dearfriend, will be tried as an accessory before the fact. Shall I involvemy friend in transportation--possibly for life!"

  Mr. Snodgrass winced a little at this, but his heroism was invincible."In the cause of friendship," he fervently exclaimed, "I would braveall dangers."

  How Mr. Winkle cursed his companion's devoted friendship internally,as they walked silently along, side by side, for some minutes, eachimmersed in his own meditations! The morning was wearing away; he grewdesperate.

  "Snodgrass," he said, stopping suddenly, "do _not_ let me be baulkedin this matter--do _not_ give information to the local authorities--do_not_ obtain the assistance of several peace officers, to take eitherme or Doctor Slammer, of the Ninety-seventh Regiment, at presentquartered in Chatham Barracks, into custody, and thus prevent thisduel;--I say, do _not_."

  Mr. Snodgrass seized his friend's hand warmly, as he enthusiasticallyreplied, "Not for worlds!"

  A thrill passed over Mr. Winkle's frame as the conviction that he hadnothing to hope from his friend's fears, and that he was destined tobecome an animated target, rushed forcibly upon him.

  The state of the case having been formally explained to Mr.Snodgrass, and a case of satisfaction pistols, with the satisfactoryaccompaniments of powder, ball, and caps, having been hired from amanufacturer in Rochester, the two friends returned to their inn; Mr.Winkle to ruminate on the approaching struggle, and Mr. Snodgrassto arrange the weapons of war, and put them into proper order forimmediate use.

  It was a dull and heavy evening when they again sallied forth on theirawkward errand. Mr. Winkle was muffled up in a huge cloak to escapeobservation, and Mr. Snodgrass bore under his the instruments ofdestruction.

  "Have you got everything?" said Mr. Winkle, in an agitated tone.

  "Everything," replied Mr. Snodgrass; "plenty of ammunition, in case theshots don't take effect. There's a quarter of a pound of powder in thecase, and I have got two newspapers in my pocket for the loadings."

  These were instances of friendship for which any man might reasonablyfeel most grateful. The presumption is, that the gratitude of Mr.Winkle was too powerful for utt
erance, as he said nothing, butcontinued to walk on--rather slowly.

  "We are in excellent time," said Mr. Snodgrass, as they climbed thefence of the first field; "the sun is just going down." Mr. Winklelooked up at the declining orb and painfully thought of the probabilityof his "going down" himself, before long.

  "There's the officer," exclaimed Mr. Winkle, after a few minutes'walking.

  "Where?" said Mr. Snodgrass.

  "There;--the gentleman in the blue cloak." Mr. Snodgrass looked inthe direction indicated by the forefinger of his friend, and observeda figure, muffled up, as he had described. The officer evinced hisconsciousness of their presence by slightly beckoning with his hand;and the two friends followed him at a little distance, as he walkedaway.

  The evening grew more dull every moment, and a melancholy wind soundedthrough the deserted fields, like a distant giant whistling for hishouse-dog. The sadness of the scene imparted a sombre tinge to thefeelings of Mr. Winkle. He started as they passed the angle of thetrench--it looked like a colossal grave.

  The officer turned suddenly from the path, and after climbing apaling, and scaling a hedge, entered a secluded field. Two gentlemenwere waiting in it; one was a little fat man, with black hair; andthe other--a portly personage in a braided surtout--was sitting withperfect equanimity on a camp-stool.

  "The other party, and a surgeon, I suppose," said Mr. Snodgrass; "takea drop of brandy." Mr. Winkle seized the wicker bottle which his friendproffered, and took a lengthened pull at the exhilarating liquid.

  "My friend, sir, Mr. Snodgrass," said Mr. Winkle, as the officerapproached. Doctor Slammer's friend bowed, and produced a case similarto that which Mr. Snodgrass carried.

  "We have nothing farther to say, sir, I think," he coldly remarked, ashe opened the case; "an apology has been resolutely declined."

  "Nothing, sir," said Mr. Snodgrass, who began to feel ratheruncomfortable himself.

  "Will you step forward?" said the officer.

  "Certainly," replied Mr. Snodgrass. The ground was measured, andpreliminaries arranged.

  "You will find these better than your own," said the opposite second,producing his pistols. "You saw me load them. Do you object to usethem?"

  "Certainly not," replied Mr. Snodgrass. The offer relieved him fromconsiderable embarrassment, for his previous notions of loading apistol were rather vague and undefined.

  "We may place our men, then, I think," observed the officer, with asmuch indifference as if the principals were chess-men, and the secondsplayers.

  "I think we may," replied Mr. Snodgrass; who would have assented toany proposition, because he knew nothing about the matter. The officercrossed to Doctor Slammer, and Mr. Snodgrass went up to Mr. Winkle.

  "It's all ready," he said, offering the pistol. "Give me your cloak."

  "You have got the packet, my dear fellow," said poor Winkle.

  "All right," said Mr. Snodgrass. "Be steady, and wing him."

  It occurred to Mr. Winkle that this advice was very like that whichbystanders invariably give to the smallest boy in a street fight,namely, "Go in, and win:"--an admirable thing to recommend, if youonly know how to do it. He took off his cloak, however, in silence--italways took a long time to undo that cloak--and accepted the pistol.The seconds retired, the gentleman on the camp-stool did the same, andthe belligerents approached each other.

  Mr. Winkle was always remarkable for extreme humanity. It isconjectured that his unwillingness to hurt a fellow-creatureintentionally was the cause of his shutting his eyes when he arrivedat the fatal spot; and that the circumstance of his eyes being closed,prevented his observing the very extraordinary and unaccountabledemeanour of Doctor Slammer. That gentleman started, stared, retreated,rubbed his eyes, stared again; and finally shouted "Stop, stop!"

  "What's all this?" said Doctor Slammer, as his friend and Mr. Snodgrasscame running up. "That's not the man."

  "Not the man!" said Dr. Slammer's second.

  "Not the man!" said Mr. Snodgrass.

  "Not the man!" said the gentleman with the camp-stool in his hand.

  "Certainly not," replied the little Doctor. "That's not the person whoinsulted me last night."

  "Very extraordinary!" exclaimed the officer.

  "Very," said the gentleman with the camp-stool. "The only question is,whether the gentleman, being on the ground, must not be considered,as a matter of form, to be the individual who insulted our friend,Dr. Slammer, yesterday evening, whether he is really that individualor not:" and having delivered this suggestion, with a very sage andmysterious air, the man with the camp-stool took a large pinch ofsnuff, and looked profoundly round, with the air of an authority insuch matters.

  Now Mr. Winkle had opened his eyes, and his ears too, when he heard hisadversary call out for a cessation of hostilities; and perceiving bywhat he had afterwards said, that there was, beyond all question, somemistake in the matter, he at once foresaw the increase of reputation heshould inevitably acquire by concealing the real motive of his comingout: he therefore stepped boldly forward, and said--

  "I am not the person. I know it."

  "Then, that," said the man with the camp-stool, "is an affront to Dr.Slammer, and a sufficient reason for proceeding immediately."

  "Pray be quiet, Payne," said the Doctor's second. "Why did you notcommunicate this fact to me this morning, sir?"

  "To be sure--to be sure," said the man with the camp-stool, indignantly.

  "I entreat you to be quiet, Payne," said the other. "May I repeat myquestion, sir?"

  "Because, sir," replied Mr. Winkle, who had had time to deliberateupon his answer, "because, sir, you described an intoxicated andungentlemanly person as wearing a coat which I have the honour, notonly to wear, but to have invented--the proposed uniform, sir, of thePickwick Club in London. The honour of that uniform I feel bound tomaintain, and I therefore, without inquiry, accepted the challengewhich you offered me."

  "My dear sir," said the good-humoured little Doctor, advancing withextended hand, "I honour your gallantry. Permit me to say, sir, that Ihighly admire your conduct, and extremely regret having caused you theinconvenience of this meeting, to no purpose."

  "I beg you won't mention it, sir," said Mr. Winkle.

  "I shall feel proud of your acquaintance, sir," said the little Doctor.

  "It will afford me the greatest pleasure to know you, sir," replied Mr.Winkle. Thereupon the Doctor and Mr. Winkle shook hands, and then Mr.Winkle and Lieutenant Tappleton (the Doctor's second), and then Mr.Winkle and the man with the camp-stool, and finally, Mr. Winkle andMr. Snodgrass--the last-named gentleman in an excess of admiration atthe noble conduct of his heroic friend.

  "I think we may adjourn," said Lieutenant Tappleton.

  "Certainly," added the Doctor.

  "Unless," interposed the man with the camp-stool, "unless Mr. Winklefeels himself aggrieved by the challenge; in which case, I submit, hehas a right to satisfaction."

  Mr. Winkle, with great self-denial, expressed himself quite satisfiedalready.

  "Or possibly," said the man with the camp-stool, "the gentleman'ssecond may feel himself affronted with some observations which fellfrom me at an early period of this meeting: if so, I shall be happy togive _him_ satisfaction immediately."

  Mr. Snodgrass hastily professed himself very much obliged with thehandsome offer of the gentleman who had spoken last, which he wasonly induced to decline by his entire contentment with the wholeproceedings. The two seconds adjusted the cases, and the whole partyleft the ground in a much more lively manner than they had proceeded toit.

  "Do you remain long here?" inquired Dr. Slammer of Mr. Winkle, as theywalked on most amicably together.

  "I think we shall leave here the day after to-morrow," was the reply.

  "I trust I shall have the pleasure of seeing you and your friend at myrooms, and of spending a pleasant evening with you after this awkwardmistake," said the little Doctor; "are you disengaged this evening?"

  "We have some friends her
e," replied Mr. Winkle, "and I should not liketo leave them to-night. Perhaps you and your friend will join us at theBull?"

  "With great pleasure," said the little Doctor; "will ten o'clock be toolate to look in for half an hour?"

  "Oh dear no," said Mr. Winkle. "I shall be most happy to introduce youto my friends, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman."

  "It will give me great pleasure, I am sure," replied Dr. Slammer,little suspecting who Mr. Tupman was.

  "You will be sure to come?" said Mr. Snodgrass.

  "Oh, certainly."

  By this time they had reached the road. Cordial farewells wereexchanged, and the party separated. Doctor Slammer and his friendsrepaired to the barracks, and Mr. Winkle, accompanied by Mr. Snodgrass,returned to their inn.