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

by Charles Dickens

  CHAPTER II

  _How the Pickwickians made and cultivated the Acquaintance of a couple of Nice Young Men belonging to one of the Liberal Professions; how they Disported themselves on the Ice; and how their First Visit came to a Conclusion_

  "Well, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick as that favoured servitor entered hisbed-chamber with his warm water, on the morning of Christmas Day,"still frosty?"

  "Water in the wash-hand basin's a mask o' ice, sir," responded Sam.

  "Severe weather, Sam," observed Mr. Pickwick.

  "Fine time for them as is well wropped up, as the Polar Bear said tohimself, ven he was practising his skating," replied Mr. Weller.

  "I shall be down in a quarter of an hour, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick,untying his nightcap.

  "Wery good, sir," replied Sam. "There's a couple o' Sawbonesdownstairs."

  "A couple of what!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, sitting up in bed.

  "A couple o' Sawbones," said Sam.

  "What's a Sawbones?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, not quite certain whetherit was a live animal, or something to eat.

  "What! Don't you know what a Sawbones is, sir?" inquired Mr. Weller."I thought everybody know'd as a Sawbones was a surgeon."

  "Oh, a surgeon, eh?" said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile.

  "Just that, sir," replied Sam. "These here ones as is below, though,ain't reg'lar thorough-bred Sawbones; they're only in trainin'."

  "In other words they're medical students, I suppose?" said Mr. Pickwick.

  Sam Weller nodded assent.

  "I am glad of it," said Mr. Pickwick, casting his nightcap energeticallyon the counterpane. "They are fine fellows; very fine fellows; withjudgments matured by observation and reflection; tastes refined byreading and study. I am very glad of it."

  "They're a smokin' cigars by the kitchen fire," said Sam.

  "Ah!" observed Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his hands, "overflowing withkindly feelings and animal spirits. Just what I like to see."

  "And one on 'em," said Sam, not noticing his master's interruption,"one on 'em's got his legs on the table, and is a drinkin' brandyneat, vile the tother one--him in the barnacles--has got a barrel o'oysters atween his knees, wich he's a openin' like steam, and as fastas he eats 'em, he takes a aim vith the shells at young dropsy, who's asittin' down fast asleep, in the chimbley corner."

  "Eccentricities of genius, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick. "You may retire."

  Sam did retire accordingly; Mr. Pickwick, at the expiration of thequarter of an hour, went down to breakfast.

  "Here he is at last!" said old Mr. Wardle. "Pickwick, this is MissAllen's brother, Mr. Benjamin Allen. Ben we call him, and so may you ifyou like. This gentleman is his very particular friend, Mr. ----"

  "Mr. Bob Sawyer," interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen; whereupon Mr. BobSawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen laughed in concert.

  Mr. Pickwick bowed to Bob Sawyer, and Bob Sawyer bowed to Mr. Pickwick;Bob and his very particular friend then applied themselves mostassiduously to the eatables before them, and Mr. Pickwick had anopportunity of glancing at them both.

  Mr. Benjamin Allen was a coarse, stout, thickset young man, withblack hair cut rather short, and a white face cut rather long. He wasembellished with spectacles, and wore a white neckerchief. Below hissingle-breasted black surtout, which was buttoned up to his chin,appeared the usual number of pepper-and-salt coloured legs, terminatingin a pair of imperfectly polished boots. Although his coat was short inthe sleeves, it disclosed no vestige of a linen wristband; and althoughthere was quite enough of his face to admit of the encroachment ofa shirt collar, it was not graced by the smallest approach to thatappendage. He presented, altogether, rather a mildewy appearance, andemitted a fragrant odour of full-flavoured Cubas.

  Mr. Bob Sawyer, who was habited in a coarse blue coat, which, withoutbeing either a great-coat or a surtout, partook of the nature andqualities of both, had about him that sort of slovenly smartness, andswaggering gait, which is peculiar to young gentlemen who smoke in thestreets by day, shout and scream in the same by night, call waitersby their Christian names, and do various other acts and deeds of anequally facetious description. He wore a pair of plaid trousers, and alarge rough double-breasted waistcoat; out of doors, he carried a thickstick with a big top. He eschewed gloves, and looked, upon the whole,something like a dissipated Robinson Crusoe.

  Such were the two worthies to whom Mr. Pickwick was introduced, as hetook his seat at the breakfast table on Christmas morning.

  "Splendid morning, gentlemen," said Mr. Pickwick.

  Mr. Bob Sawyer slightly nodded his assent to the proposition, and askedMr. Benjamin Allen for the mustard.

  "Have you come far this morning, gentlemen?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.

  "Blue Lion at Muggleton," briefly responded Mr. Allen.

  "You should have joined us last night," said Mr. Pickwick.

  "So we should," replied Bob Sawyer, "but the brandy was too good toleave in a hurry: wasn't it, Ben?"

  "Certainly," said Mr. Benjamin Allen; "and the cigars were not bad, orthe pork chops either: were they, Bob?"

  "Decidedly not," said Bob. The particular friends resumed their attackupon the breakfast, more freely than before, as if the recollection oflast night's supper had imparted a new relish to the meal.

  "Peg away, Bob," said Mr. Allen to his companion, encouragingly.

  "So I do," replied Bob Sawyer. And so, to do him justice, he did.

  "Nothing like dissecting, to give one an appetite," said Mr. BobSawyer, looking round the table.

  Mr. Pickwick slightly shuddered.

  "By-the-bye, Bob," said Mr. Allen, "have you finished that leg yet?"

  "Nearly," replied Sawyer, helping himself to half a fowl as he spoke."It's a very muscular one for a child's."

  "Is it?" inquired Mr. Allen, carelessly.

  "Very," said Bob Sawyer, with his mouth full.

  "I've put my name down for an arm, at our place," said Mr. Allen."We're clubbing for a subject, and the list is nearly full, only wecan't get hold of any fellow that wants a head. I wish you'd take it."

  "No," replied Bob Sawyer; "can't afford expensive luxuries."

  "Nonsense!" said Allen.

  "Can't indeed," rejoined Bob Sawyer. "I wouldn't mind a brain, but Icouldn't stand a whole head."

  "Hush, hush, gentlemen, pray," said Mr. Pickwick. "I hear the ladies."

  As Mr. Pickwick spoke, the ladies, gallantly escorted by Messrs.Snodgrass, Winkle, and Tupman, returned from an early walk.

  "Why, Ben!" said Arabella, in a tone which expressed more surprise thanpleasure at the sight of her brother.

  "Come to take you home to-morrow," replied Benjamin.

  Mr. Winkle turned pale.

  "Don't you see Bob Sawyer, Arabella?" inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen,somewhat reproachfully. Arabella gracefully held out her hand, inacknowledgment of Bob Sawyer's presence. A thrill of hatred struck toMr. Winkle's heart, as Bob Sawyer inflicted on the proffered hand aperceptible squeeze.

  "Ben, dear!" said Arabella, blushing; "have--have--you been introducedto Mr. Winkle?"

  "I have not been, but I shall be very happy to be, Arabella," repliedher brother, gravely. Here Mr. Allen bowed grimly to Mr. Winkle, whileMr. Winkle and Mr. Bob Sawyer glanced mutual distrust out of thecorners of their eyes.

  The arrival of the two new visitors, and the consequent check upon Mr.Winkle and the young lady with the fur round her boots, would in allprobability have proved a very unpleasant interruption to the hilarityof the party, had not the cheerfulness of Mr. Pickwick, and the goodhumour of the host, been exerted to the very utmost for the commonweal. Mr. Winkle gradually insinuated himself into the good graces ofMr. Benjamin Allen, and even joined in a friendly conversation withMr. Bob Sawyer; who, enlivened with the brandy, and the breakfast, andthe talking, gradually ripened into a state of extreme facetiousness,and related with much glee an agreeable anecdote, about the removal ofa tumour on some gentleman's head: which he illustrated by means ofan oyster-knife
and a half-quartern loaf, to the great edification ofthe assembled company. Then, the whole train went to church, where Mr.Benjamin Allen fell fast asleep; while Mr. Bob Sawyer abstracted histhoughts from worldly matters, by the ingenious process of carving hisname on the seat of the pew, in corpulent letters of four inches long.

  "Now," said Wardle, after a substantial lunch, with the agreeable itemsof strong beer and cherry-brandy, had been done ample justice to; "whatsay you to an hour on the ice? We shall have plenty of time."

  "Capital!" said Mr. Benjamin Allen.

  "Prime!" ejaculated Mr. Bob Sawyer.

  "You skate, of course, Winkle?" said Wardle.

  "Ye-yes, oh yes," replied Mr. Winkle. "I--I--am _rather_ out ofpractice."

  "Oh, _do_ skate, Mr. Winkle," said Arabella. "I like to see it somuch."

  "Oh, it is _so_ graceful," said another young lady.

  A third young lady said it was elegant, and a fourth expressed heropinion that it was "swan-like."

  "I should be very happy, I'm sure," said Mr. Winkle, reddening; "but Ihave no skates."

  This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had a couple of pair, andthe fat boy announced that there were half a dozen more down-stairs:whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite delight, and looked exquisitelyuncomfortable.

  Old Wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice; and the fatboy and Mr. Weller having shovelled and swept away the snow which hadfallen on it during the night, Mr. Bob Sawyer adjusted his skateswith a dexterity which to Mr. Winkle was perfectly marvellous, anddescribed circles with his left leg, and cut figures of eight, andinscribed upon the ice, without once stopping for breath, a great manyother pleasant and astonishing devices, to the excessive satisfactionof Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Tupman, and the ladies: which reached a pitch ofpositive enthusiasm, when old Wardle and Benjamin Allen, assisted bythe aforesaid Bob Sawyer, performed some mystic evolutions, which theycalled a reel.

  All this time, Mr. Winkle, with his face and hands blue with the cold,had been forcing a gimlet into the soles of his feet, and putting hisskates on, with the points behind, and getting the straps into a verycomplicated and entangled state, with the assistance of Mr. Snodgrass,who knew rather less about skates than a Hindoo. At length, however,with the assistance of Mr. Weller, the unfortunate skates were firmlyscrewed and buckled on, and Mr. Winkle was raised to his feet.

  "Now then, sir," said Sam, in an encouraging tone; "off vith you, andshow 'em how to do it."

  "Stop, Sam, stop!" said Mr. Winkle, trembling violently, and clutchinghold of Sam's arms with the grasp of a drowning man. "How slippery itis, Sam!"

  "Not an uncommon thing upon ice, sir," replied Mr. Weller. "Hold up,sir!"

  This last observation of Mr. Weller's bore reference to a demonstrationMr. Winkle made at the instant, of a frantic desire to throw his feetin the air, and dash the back of his head on the ice.

  "These--these--are very awkward skates; ain't they, Sam?" inquired Mr.Winkle, staggering.

  _"Now then, sir," said Sam, "off vith you, and show 'emhow to do it"_]

  "I'm afeerd there's a orkard gen'l'm'n in 'em, sir," replied Sam.

  "Now, Winkle," cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious that there wasanything the matter. "Come; the ladies are all anxiety."

  "Yes, yes," replied Mr. Winkle, with a ghastly smile. "I'm coming."

  "Just a goin' to begin," said Sam, endeavouring to disengage himself."Now, sir, start off!"

  "Stop an instant, Sam," gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging most affectionatelyto Mr. Weller. "I find I've got a couple of coats at home I don't want,Sam. You may have them, Sam."

  "Thank'ee, sir," replied Mr. Weller.

  "Never mind touching your hat, Sam," said Mr. Winkle, hastily. "Youneedn't take your hand away to do that. I meant to have given you fiveshillings this morning for a Christmas-box, Sam. I'll give it you thisafternoon, Sam."

  "You're wery good, sir," replied Mr. Weller.

  "Just hold me at first, Sam; will you?" said Mr. Winkle. "There--that'sright. I shall soon get in the way of it, Sam. Not too fast, Sam; nottoo fast."

  Mr. Winkle stooping forward, with his body half doubled up, wasbeing assisted over the ice by Mr. Weller, in a most singular andun-swan-like manner, when Mr. Pickwick most innocently shouted from theopposite bank:

  "Sam!"

  "Sir?"

  "Here. I want you."

  "Let go, sir," said Sam. "Don't you hear the governor a callin'? Letgo, sir."

  With a violent effort, Mr. Weller disengaged himself from the grasp ofthe agonised Pickwickian, and, in so doing, administered a considerableimpetus to the unhappy Mr. Winkle. With an accuracy which no degree ofdexterity or practice could have insured, that unfortunate gentlemanbore swiftly down into the centre of the reel, at the very moment whenMr. Bob Sawyer was performing a flourish of unparalleled beauty. Mr.Winkle struck wildly against him, and with a loud crash they both fellheavily down. Mr. Pickwick ran to the spot. Bob Sawyer had risen to hisfeet, but Mr. Winkle was far too wise to do anything of the kind, inskates. He was seated on the ice, making spasmodic efforts to smile;but anguish was depicted on every lineament of his countenance.

  "Are you hurt?" inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, with great anxiety.

  "Not much," said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back very hard.

  "I wish you'd let me bleed you," said Mr. Benjamin with great eagerness.

  "No, thank you," replied Mr. Winkle, hurriedly.

  "I really think you had better," said Allen.

  "Thank you," replied Mr. Winkle; "I'd rather not."

  "What do _you_ think, Mr. Pickwick?" inquired Bob Sawyer. Mr. Pickwickwas excited and indignant. He beckoned to Mr. Weller, and said in astern voice, "Take his skates off."

  "No; but really I had scarcely begun," remonstrated Mr. Winkle.

  "Take his skates off," repeated Mr. Pickwick, firmly.

  The command was not to be resisted. Mr. Winkle allowed Sam to obey itin silence.

  "Lift him up," said Mr. Pickwick. Sam assisted him to rise. Mr.Pickwick retired a few paces apart from the bystanders; and, beckoninghis friend to approach, fixed a searching look upon him, and uttered ina low, but distinct and emphatic tone, these remarkable words:

  "You're a humbug, sir."

  "A what?" said Mr. Winkle, starting.

  "A humbug, sir. I will speak plainer, if you wish it. An impostor, sir."

  With these words, Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on his heel, and rejoinedhis friends.

  While Mr. Pickwick was delivering himself of the sentiment justrecorded, Mr. Weller and the fat boy, having by their joint endeavourscut out a slide, were exercising themselves thereupon, in a verymasterly and brilliant manner. Sam Weller, in particular, wasdisplaying that beautiful feat of fancy sliding which is currentlydenominated "knocking at the cobbler's door," and which is achieved byskimming over the ice on one foot, and occasionally giving a postman'sknock upon it with the other. It was a good long slide, and there wassomething in the motion which Mr. Pickwick, who was very cold withstanding still, could not help envying.

  "It looks a nice warm exercise that, doesn't it?" he inquired ofWardle, when that gentleman was thoroughly out of breath, by reason ofthe indefatigable manner in which he had converted his legs into a pairof compasses, and drawn complicated problems on the ice.

  "Ah, it does indeed," replied Wardle. "Do you slide?"

  "I used to do so, on the gutters, when I was a boy," replied Mr.Pickwick.

  _Went slowly and gravely down the slide_]

  "Try it now," said Wardle.

  "Oh do, please, Mr. Pickwick!" cried all the ladies.

  "I should be very happy to afford you any amusement," replied Mr.Pickwick, "but I haven't done such a thing these thirty years."

  "Pooh! pooh! Nonsense!" said Wardle, dragging off his skates with theimpetuosity which characterised all his proceedings. "Here; I'll keepyou company; come along!" And away went the good-tempered old fellowdown the slide, with a rapidity which came very close upon Mr. Well
er,and beat the fat boy all to nothing.

  Mr. Pickwick paused, considered, pulled off his gloves and put them inhis hat: took two or three short runs, baulked himself as often, and atlast took another run, and went slowly and gravely down the slide, withhis feet about a yard and a quarter apart, amidst the gratified shoutsof all the spectators.

  "Keep the pot a bilin', sir!" said Sam; and down went Wardle again, andthen Mr. Pickwick, and then Sam, and then Mr. Winkle, and then Mr. BobSawyer, and then the fat boy, and then Mr. Snodgrass, following closelyupon each other's heels, and running after each other with as mucheagerness as if all their future prospects in life depended on theirexpedition.

  It was the most intensely interesting thing, to observe the manner inwhich Mr. Pickwick performed his share in the ceremony; to watch thetorture of anxiety with which he viewed the person behind, gaining uponhim at the imminent hazard of tripping him up; to see him graduallyexpend the painful force he had put on at first, and turn slowlyround on the slide, with his face towards the point from which he hadstarted; to contemplate the playful smile which mantled on his facewhen he had accomplished the distance, and the eagerness with whichhe turned round when he had done so, and ran after his predecessor:his black gaiters tripping pleasantly through the snow, and his eyesbeaming cheerfulness and gladness through his spectacles. And when hewas knocked down (which happened upon the average every third round),it was the most invigorating sight that can possibly be imagined, tobehold him gather up his hat, gloves, and handkerchief, with a glowingcountenance, and resume his station in the rank, with an ardour andenthusiasm that nothing could abate.

  The sport was at its height, the sliding was at the quickest, thelaughter was at the loudest, when a sharp smart crack was heard. Therewas a quick rush towards the bank, a wild scream from the ladies, anda shout from Mr. Tupman. A large mass of ice disappeared; the waterbubbled up over it; Mr. Pickwick's hat, gloves, and handkerchief werefloating on the surface; and this was all of Mr. Pickwick that anybodycould see.

  Dismay and anguish were depicted on every countenance, the males turnedpale, and the females fainted, Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle graspedeach other by the hand, and gazed at the spot where their leaderhad gone down, with frenzied eagerness; while Mr. Tupman, by way ofrendering the promptest assistance, and at the same time conveying toany persons who might be within hearing, the clearest possible notionof the catastrophe, ran off across the country at his utmost speed,screaming "Fire!" with all his might.

  It was at this moment, when old Wardle and Sam Weller were approachingthe hole with cautious steps, and Mr. Benjamin Allen was holding ahurried consultation with Bob Sawyer, on the advisability of bleedingthe company generally, as an improving little bit of professionalpractice--it was at this very moment, that a face, head, and shoulders,emerged from beneath the water, and disclosed the features andspectacles of Mr. Pickwick.

  _A face, head, and shoulders, emerged from beneath thewater, and disclosed the features and spectacles of Mr. Pickwick._]

  "Keep yourself up for an instant--for only one instant;" bawled Mr.Snodgrass.

  "Yes, do; let me implore you--for my sake!" roared Mr. Winkle, deeplyaffected. The adjuration was rather unnecessary: the probability being,that if Mr. Pickwick; had declined to keep himself up for anybodyelse's sake, it would have occurred to him that he might as well do sofor his own.

  "Do you feel the bottom there, old fellow?" said Wardle.

  "Yes, certainly," replied Mr. Pickwick, wringing the water from hishead and face, and gasping for breath. "I fell upon my back. I couldn'tget on my feet at first."

  The clay upon so much of Mr. Pickwick's coat as was yet visible, boretestimony to the accuracy of this statement; and as the fears of thespectators were still further relieved by the fat boy's suddenlyrecollecting that the water was nowhere more than five feet deep,prodigies of valour were performed to get him out. After a vastquantity of splashing, and cracking, and struggling, Mr. Pickwick wasat length fairly extricated from his unpleasant position, and once morestood on dry land.

  "Oh, he'll catch his death of cold," said Emily.

  "Dear old thing!" said Arabella. "Let me wrap this shawl round you, Mr.Pickwick."

  "Ah, that's the best thing you can do," said Wardle; "and when you'vegot it on, run home as fast as your legs can carry you, and jump intobed directly."

  A dozen shawls were offered on the instant. Three or four of thethickest having been selected, Mr. Pickwick was wrapped up, andstarted off, under the guidance of Mr. Weller: presenting the singularphenomenon of an elderly gentleman, dripping wet, and without a hat,with his arms bound down to his sides, skimming over the ground,without any clearly defined purpose, at the rate of six good Englishmiles an hour.

  But Mr. Pickwick cared not for appearances in such an extreme case, andurged on by Sam Weller, he kept at the very top of his speed until hereached the door of Manor Farm, where Mr. Tupman had arrived some fiveminutes before, and had frightened the old lady into palpitations ofthe heart by impressing her with the unalterable conviction that thekitchen chimney was on fire--a calamity which always presented itselfin glowing colours to the old lady's mind, when anybody about herevinced the smallest agitation.

  Mr. Pickwick paused not an instant until he was snug in bed. Sam Wellerlighted a blazing fire in the room and took up his dinner; a bowl ofpunch was carried up afterwards, and a grand carouse held in honour ofhis safety. Old Wardle would not hear of his rising, so they made thebed the chair, and Mr. Pickwick presided. A second and a third bowlwere ordered in; and when Mr. Pickwick awoke next morning, there wasnot a symptom of rheumatism about him: which proves, as Mr. Bob Sawyervery justly observed, that there is nothing like hot punch in suchcases: and that if ever hot punch did fail to act as a preventive, itwas merely because the patient fell into the vulgar error of not takingenough of it.

  The jovial party broke up next morning. Breakings up are capital thingsin our school days, but in after life they are painful enough. Death,self-interest, and fortune's changes, are every day breaking up many ahappy group, and scattering them far and wide; and the boys and girlsnever come back again. We do not mean to say that it was exactly thecase in this particular instance; all we wish to inform the reader is,that the different members of the party dispersed to their severalhomes; that Mr. Pickwick and his friends once more took their seats onthe top of the Muggleton coach; and that Arabella Allen repaired toher place of destination, wherever it might have been--we dare say Mr.Winkle knew, but we confess we don't--under the care and guardianshipof her brother Benjamin, and his most intimate friend, Mr. Bob Sawyer.

  Before they separated, however, that gentleman and Mr. Benjamin Allendrew Mr. Pickwick aside with an air of some mystery: and Mr. BobSawyer, thrusting his forefinger between two of Mr. Pickwick's ribs,and thereby displaying his native drollery, and his knowledge of theanatomy of the human frame, at one and the same time, inquired:

  "I say, old boy, where do you hang out?"

  Mr. Pickwick replied that he was at present suspended at the George andVulture.

  "I wish you'd come and see me," said Bob Sawyer.

  "Nothing would give me greater pleasure," replied Mr. Pickwick.

  "There's my lodgings," said Mr. Bob Sawyer, producing a card. "LantStreet, Borough; it's near Guy's, and handy for me, you know. Littledistance after you've passed St. George's Church--turns out of the HighStreet on the right-hand side the way."

  "I shall find it," said Mr. Pickwick.

  "Come on Thursday fortnight, and bring the other chaps with you," saidMr. Bob Sawyer. "I'm going to have a few medical fellows that night."

  Mr. Pickwick expressed the pleasure it would afford him to meet themedical fellows; and after Mr. Bob Sawyer had informed him that hemeant to be very cosy, and that his friend Ben was to be one of theparty, they shook hands and separated.

  We feel that in this place we lay ourselves open to inquiry whetherMr. Winkle was whispering, during this brief conversation, to ArabellaAllen; and if so, w
hat he said; and furthermore, whether Mr. Snodgrasswas conversing apart with Emily Wardle; and if so, what _he_ said. Tothis, we reply, that whatever they might have said to the ladies, theysaid nothing at all to Mr. Pickwick or Mr. Tupman for eight-and-twentymiles, and that they sighed very often, refused ale and brandy,and looked gloomy. If our observant lady readers can deduce anysatisfactory inferences from these facts, we beg them by all means todo so.