CHAPTER III
_Which is all about the Law, and sundry great Authorities learned therein_
Scattered about, in various holes and corners of the Temple, arecertain dark and dirty chambers, in and out of which, all the morningin Vacation, and half the evening too in Term times, there may beseen constantly hurrying with bundles of papers under their arms, andprotruding from their pockets, an almost uninterrupted succession ofLawyers' Clerks. There are several grades of Lawyers' Clerks. Thereis the Articled Clerk, who has paid a premium, and is an attorney inperspective, who runs a tailor's bill, receives invitations to parties,knows a family in Gower Street, and another in Tavistock Square; whogoes out of town every Long Vacation to see his father, who keepslive horses innumerable; and who is, in short, the very aristocratof clerks. There is the salaried clerk--out of door or in door, asthe case may be--who devotes the major part of his thirty shillings aweek to his personal pleasure and adornment, repairs half-price to theAdelphi Theatre at least three times a week, dissipates majestically atthe cider cellars afterwards, and is a dirty caricature of the fashionwhich expired six months ago. There is the middle-aged copying clerk,with a large family, who is always shabby, and often drunk. And thereare the office lads in their first surtouts, who feel a befittingcontempt for boys at day-schools; club, as they go home at night, forsaveloys and porter; and think there's nothing like "life." There arevarieties of the genus, too numerous to recapitulate, but howevernumerous they may be, they are all to be seen, at certain regulatedbusiness hours, hurrying to and from the places we have just mentioned.
These sequestered nooks are the public offices of the legal profession,where writs are issued, judgments signed, declarations filed, andnumerous other ingenious machines put in motion for the tortureand torment of His Majesty's liege subjects, and the comfort andemolument of the practitioners of the law. They are, for the most part,low-roofed, mouldy rooms, where innumerable rolls of parchment, whichhave been perspiring in secret for the last century, send forth anagreeable odour, which is mingled by day with the scent of the dry rot,and by night with the various exhalations which arise from damp cloaks,festering umbrellas, and the coarsest tallow candles.
About half-past seven o'clock in the evening, some ten days or afortnight after Mr. Pickwick and his friends returned to London, therehurried into one of these offices, an individual in a brown coat andbrass buttons, whose long hair was scrupulously twisted round the rimof his napless hat, and whose soiled drab trousers were so tightlystrapped over his Blucher boots, that his knees threatened every momentto start from their concealment. He produced from his coat pocket along and narrow strip of parchment, on which the presiding functionaryimpressed an illegible black stamp. He then drew forth four scraps ofpaper, of similar dimensions, each containing a printed copy of thestrip of parchment with blanks for a name; and having filled up theblanks, put all the five documents in his pocket, and hurried away.
The man in the brown coat, with the cabalistic documents in his pocket,was no other than our old acquaintance Mr. Jackson, of the house ofDodson and Fogg, Freeman's Court, Cornhill. Instead of returning to theoffice from whence he came, however, he bent his steps direct to SunCourt, and walking straight into the George and Vulture, demanded toknow whether one Mr. Pickwick was within.
"Call Mr. Pickwick's servant, Tom," said the barmaid of the George andVulture.
"Don't trouble yourself," said Mr. Jackson, "I've come on business. Ifyou'll show me Mr. Pickwick's room I'll step up myself."
"What name, sir?" said the waiter.
"Jackson," replied the clerk.
The waiter stepped up-stairs to announce Mr. Jackson; but Mr. Jacksonsaved him the trouble by following close at his heels, and walking intothe apartment before he could articulate a syllable.
Mr. Pickwick had, that day, invited his three friends to dinner; theywere all seated round the fire, drinking their wine, when Mr. Jacksonpresented himself, as above described.
"How de do, sir?" said Mr. Jackson, nodding to Mr. Pickwick.
That gentleman bowed, and looked somewhat surprised, for thephysiognomy of Mr. Jackson dwelt not on his recollection.
"I have called from Dodson and Fogg's," said Mr. Jackson, in anexplanatory tone.
Mr. Pickwick roused at the name. "I refer you to my attorney, sir: Mr.Perker, of Gray's Inn," said he. "Waiter, show this gentleman out."
"Beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick," said Jackson, deliberately depositinghis hat on the floor, and drawing from his pocket the strip ofparchment. "But personal service, by clerk or agent, in these cases,you know, Mr. Pickwick--nothing like caution, sir, in all legal forms."
Here Mr. Jackson cast his eye on the parchment; and resting his handson the table, and looking round with a winning and persuasive smile,said: "Now, come; don't let's have no words about such a little matteras this. Which of you gentlemen's name's Snodgrass?"
At this inquiry Mr. Snodgrass gave such a very undisguised and palpablestart, that no further reply was needed.
"Ah! I thought so," said Mr. Jackson, more affably than before. "I'vegot a little something to trouble you with, sir."
"Me!" exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass.
"It's only a _subpoena_ in Bardell and Pickwick on behalf of theplaintiff," replied Mr. Jackson, singling out one of the slips ofpaper, and producing a shilling from his waistcoat pocket. "It'll comeon, in the settens after Term; fourteenth of Febooary, we expect; we'vemarked it a special jury cause, and it's only ten down the paper.That's yours, Mr. Snodgrass." As Jackson said this he presented theparchment before the eyes of Mr. Snodgrass, and slipped the paper andthe shilling into his hand.
Mr. Tupman had witnessed this process in silent astonishment, whenJackson, turning sharply upon him, said:
"I think I ain't mistaken when I say your name's Tupman, am I?"
Mr. Tupman looked at Mr. Pickwick; but, perceiving no encouragement inthat gentleman's widely opened eyes to deny his name, said:
"Yes, my name _is_ Tupman, sir."
"And that other gentleman's Mr. Winkle, I think?" said Jackson.
Mr. Winkle faltered out a reply in the affirmative; and both gentlemenwere forthwith invested with a slip of paper, and a shilling each, bythe dexterous Mr. Jackson.
"Now," said Jackson, "I'm afraid you'll think me rather troublesome,but I want somebody else, if it ain't inconvenient. I _have_ SamuelWeller's name here, Mr. Pickwick."
"Send my servant here, waiter," said Mr. Pickwick. The waiter retired,considerably astonished, and Mr. Pickwick motioned Jackson to a seat.
There was a painful pause, which was at length broken by the innocentdefendant.
"I suppose, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, his indignation rising while hespoke; "I suppose, sir, that it is the intention of your employers toseek to criminate me upon the testimony of my own friends?"
Mr. Jackson struck his forefinger several times against the left sideof his nose, to intimate that he was not there to disclose the secretsof the prison-house, and playfully rejoined:
"Not knowin', can't say."
"For what other reason, sir," pursued Mr. Pickwick, "are thesesubpoenas served upon them, if not for this?"
"Very good plant, Mr. Pickwick," replied Jackson, slowly shaking hishead. "But it won't do. No harm in trying, but there's little to be gotout of me."
Here Mr. Jackson smiled once more upon the company, and, applying hisleft thumb to the tip of his nose, worked a visionary coffee-mill withhis right hand: thereby performing a very graceful piece of pantomime(then much in vogue, but now, unhappily, almost obsolete) which wasfamiliarly denominated "taking a grinder."
"No, no, Mr. Pickwick," said Jackson, in conclusion; "Perker's peoplemust guess what we've served these subpoenas for. If they can't, theymust wait till the action comes on, and then they'll find out."
Mr. Pickwick bestowed a look of excessive disgust on his unwelcomevisitor, and would probably have hurled some tremendous anathema at theheads of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, had not Sam's entrance a
t the instantinterrupted him.
"Samuel Weller?" said Mr. Jackson, inquiringly.
"Vun o' the truest things as you've said for many a long year," repliedSam, in a most composed manner.
"Here's a subpoena for you, Mr. Weller," said Jackson.
"What's that in English?" inquired Sam.
"Here's the original," said Jackson, declining the required explanation.
"Which?" said Sam.
"This," replied Jackson, shaking the parchment.
"Oh, that's the 'rig'nal, is it?" said Sam. "Well, I'm wery glad I'veseen the 'rig'nal, 'cos it's a gratifyin' sort o' thing, and easesvun's mind so much."
"And here's the shilling," said Jackson. "It's from Dodson and Fogg's."
"And it's uncommon handsome o' Dodson and Fogg, as knows so little ofme, to come down vith a present," said Sam. "I feel it as a wery highcompliment, sir; it's a wery hon'rable thing to them, as they knows howto reward merit werever they meets it. Besides wich, it's affectin' toone's feelin's."
As Mr. Weller said this, he inflicted a little friction on his righteyelid, with the sleeve of his coat, after the most approved manner ofactors when they are in domestic pathetics.
Mr. Jackson seemed rather puzzled by Sam's proceedings; but, as he hadserved the subpoenas, and had nothing more to say, he made a feint ofputting on the one glove which he usually carried in his hand for thesake of appearances; and returned to the office to report progress.
Mr. Pickwick slept little that night; his memory had received a verydisagreeable refresher on the subject of Mrs. Bardell's action. Hebreakfasted betimes next morning, and, desiring Sam to accompany him,set forth towards Gray's Inn Square.
"Sam!" said Mr. Pickwick, looking round, when they got to the end ofCheapside.
"Sir?" said Sam, stepping up to his master.
"Which way?"
"Up Newgate Street."
Mr. Pickwick did not turn round immediately, but looked vacantly inSam's face for a few seconds, and heaved a deep sigh.
"What's the matter, sir?" inquired Sam.
"This action, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, "is expected to come on on thefourteenth of next month."
"Remarkable coin_ci_dence that 'ere, sir," replied Sam.
"Why remarkable, Sam?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Walentine's day, sir," responded Sam; "reg'lar good day for a breacho' promise trial."
Mr. Weller's smile awakened no gleam of mirth in his master'scountenance. Mr. Pickwick turned abruptly round, and led the way insilence.
They had walked some distance: Mr. Pickwick trotting on before, plungedin profound meditation, and Sam following behind, with a countenanceexpressive of the most enviable and easy defiance of everything andeverybody: when the latter, who was always especially anxious to impartto his master any exclusive information he possessed, quickened hispace until he was close at Mr. Pickwick's heels; and, pointing up at ahouse they were passing, said:
"Wery nice pork-shop that 'ere, sir."
"Yes, it seems so," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Celebrated sassage factory," said Sam.
"Is it?" said Mr. Pickwick.
"Is it!" reiterated Sam, with some indignation: "I should raytherthink it was. Why, sir, bless your innocent eyebrows, that's where themysterious disappearance of a 'spectable tradesman took place four yearago."
"You don't mean to say he was burked, Sam?" said Mr. Pickwick, lookinghastily round.
"No, I don't indeed, sir," replied Mr. Weller, "I wish I did; far worsethan that. He was the master o' that 'ere shop, sir, and the inwentero' the patent never-leavin'-off sassage steam ingine, as 'ud swaller upa pavin' stone if you put it too near, and grind it into sassages aseasy as if it was a tender young baby. Wery proud o' that machine hewas, as it was nat'ral he should be, and he'd stand down in the cellara lookin' at it wen it was in full play, till he got quite melancholywith joy. A wery happy man he'd ha' been, sir, in the procession o'that 'ere ingine and two more lovely hinfants besides, if it hadn'tbeen for his wife, who was a most ow-dacious wixin. She was always afollerin' him about and dinnin' in his ears, till at last he couldn'tstand it no longer. 'I'll tell you what it is, my dear,' he says oneday; 'if you persewere in this here sort of amusement,' he says, 'I'mblessed if I don't go away to 'Merriker; and that's all about it.''You're a idle willin,' says she, 'and I wish the 'Merrikins joy oftheir bargain.' Arter wich she keeps on abusin' of him for half anhour, and then runs into the little parlour behind the shop, sets to ascreamin', says he'll be the death on her, and falls in a fit, whichlasts for three good hours--one o' them fits wich is all screamin' andkickin'. Well, next mornin', the husband was missin'. He hadn't takennothin' from the till--hadn't even put on his great-coat--so it wasquite clear he warn't gone to 'Merriker. Didn't come back next day;didn't come back next week; Missis had bills printed, sayin' that,if he'd come back, he should be forgiven everythin' (which was veryliberal, seein' that he hadn't done nothin' at all); the canals wasdragged, and for two months artervards, wenever a body turned up, itwas carried, as a reg'lar thing, straight off to the sassage shop.Hows'ever, none on 'em answered; so they gave out that he'd run avay,and she kep' on the bis'ness. One Saturday night, a little thin oldgen'l'm'n comes into the shop in a great passion and says, 'Are youthe missis o' this here shop?' 'Yes, I am,' says she. 'Well, ma'am,'says he, 'then I've just looked in to say that me and my family ain'ta goin' to be choked for nothin'; and more than that, ma'am,' he says,'you'll allow me to observe, that as you don't use the primest parts ofthe meat in the manafacter o' sassages, I think you'd find beef comenearly as cheap as buttons.' 'As buttons, sir!' says she. 'Buttons,ma'am,' says the little old gen'l'm'n, unfolding a bit of paper,and showing twenty or thirty halves o' buttons. 'Nice seasonin' forsassages, is trousers buttons, ma'am.' 'They're my husband's buttons!'says the widder, beginnin' to faint. 'What!' screams the little oldgen'l'm'n, turnin' wery pale. 'I see it all,' says the widder; 'in afit of temporary insanity he rashly converted his-self into sassages!'And so he had, sir," said Mr. Weller, looking steadily into Mr.Pickwick's horror-stricken countenance, "or else he'd been draw'd intothe ingine; but however that might ha' been, the little old gen'l'm'n,who had been remarkably partial to sassages all his life, rushed out o'the shop in a wild state, and was never heard on artervards!"
The relation of this affecting incident of private life brought masterand man to Mr. Perker's chambers. Lowten, holding the door half open,was in conversation with a rustily-clad, miserable-looking man, inboots without toes and gloves without fingers. There were traces ofprivation and suffering--almost of despair--in his lank and careworncountenance; he felt his poverty, for he shrunk to the dark side of thestaircase as Mr. Pickwick approached.
"It's very unfortunate," said the stranger, with a sigh.
"Very," said Lowten, scribbling his name on the door-post with his pen,and rubbing it out again with the feather. "Will you leave a messagefor him?"
"When do you think he'll be back?" inquired the stranger.
"Quite uncertain," replied Lowten, winking at Mr. Pickwick, as thestranger cast his eyes towards the ground.
"You don't think it would be of any use my waiting for him?" said thestranger, looking wistfully into the office.
"Oh no, I'm sure it wouldn't," replied the clerk, moving a little moreinto the centre of the doorway. "He's certain not to be back this week,and it's a chance whether he will be next; for when Perker once getsout of town, he's never in a hurry to come back again."
"Out of town!" said Mr. Pickwick; "dear me, how unfortunate!"
"Don't go away, Mr. Pickwick," said Lowten, "I've got a letter foryou." The stranger seeming to hesitate, once more looked towards theground, and the clerk winked slily at Mr. Pickwick, as if to intimatethat some exquisite piece of humour was going forward, though what itwas Mr. Pickwick could not for the life of him divine.
"Step in, Mr. Pickwick," said Lowten. "Well, will you leave a message,Mr. Watty, or will you call again?"
"Ask him to be so kind as
to leave out word what has been done in mybusiness," said the man; "for God's sake don't neglect it, Mr. Lowten."
"No, no; I won't forget it," replied the clerk. "Walk in, Mr. Pickwick.Good morning, Mr. Watty; it's a fine day for walking, isn't it?" Seeingthat the stranger still lingered, he beckoned Sam Weller to follow hismaster in, and shut the door in his face.
"There never was such a pestering bankrupt as that since the worldbegan, I do believe!" said Lowten, throwing down his pen with the airof an injured man. "His affairs haven't been in Chancery quite fouryears yet, and I'm d--d if he don't come worrying here twice a week.Step this way, Mr. Pickwick. Perker _is_ in, and he'll see you, I know.Devilish cold," he added, pettishly, "standing at that door, wastingone's time with such seedy vagabonds!" Having very vehemently stirred aparticularly large fire with a particularly small poker, the clerk ledthe way to his principal's private room, and announced Mr. Pickwick.
"Ah, my dear sir," said little Mr. Perker, bustling up from his chair."Well, my dear sir, and what's the news about your matter, eh? Anythingmore about our friends in Freeman's Court? They've not been sleeping,_I_ know that. Ah, they're smart fellows; very smart indeed."
As the little man concluded, he took an emphatic pinch of snuff, as atribute to the smartness of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg.
"They are great scoundrels," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Aye, aye," said the little man; "that's a matter of opinion, youknow, and we won't dispute about terms; because of course you can't beexpected to view these subjects with a professional eye. Well, we'vedone everything that's necessary. I have retained Serjeant Snubbin."
"Is he a good man?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Good man!" replied Perker; "bless your heart and soul, my dear sir,Serjeant Snubbin is at the very top of his profession. Gets treblethe business of any man in court--engaged in every case. You needn'tmention it abroad; but we say--we of the profession--that SerjeantSnubbin leads the court by the nose."
The little man took another pinch of snuff as he made thiscommunication, and nodded mysteriously to Mr. Pickwick.
"They have subpoena'd my three friends," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Ah! of course they would," replied Perker. "Important witnesses; sawyou in a delicate situation."
"But she fainted of her own accord," said Mr. Pickwick. "She threwherself into my arms."
"Very likely, my dear sir," replied Perker; "very likely and verynatural. Nothing more so, my dear sir, nothing. But who's to prove it?"
"They have subpoena'd my servant too," said Mr. Pickwick, quittingthe other point; for there Mr. Perker's question had somewhat staggeredhim.
"Sam?" said Perker.
Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative.
"Of course, my dear sir; of course. I knew they would. I could havetold you that a month ago. You know, my dear sir, if you _will_ takethe management of your affairs into your own hands after intrustingthem to your solicitor, you must also take the consequences." Here Mr.Perker drew himself up with conscious dignity, and brushed some straygrains of snuff from his shirt frill.
"And what do they want him to prove?" asked Mr. Pickwick, after two orthree minutes' silence.
"That you sent him up to the plaintiff's to make some offer of acompromise, I suppose," replied Perker. "It don't matter much, though;I don't think many counsel could get a great deal out of _him_."
"I don't think they could," said Mr. Pickwick; smiling, despite hisvexation, at the idea of Sam's appearance as a witness. "What course dowe pursue?"
"We have only one to adopt, my dear sir," replied Perker; "cross-examinethe witnesses; trust to Snubbin's eloquence; throw dust in the eyes ofthe judge; throw ourselves on the jury."
"And suppose the verdict is against me?" said Mr. Pickwick.
Mr. Perker smiled, took a very long pinch of snuff, stirred the fire,shrugged his shoulders, and remained expressively silent.
"You mean that in that case I must pay the damages?" said Mr. Pickwick,who had watched this telegraphic answer with considerable sternness.
Perker gave the fire another very unnecessary poke, and said, "I amafraid so."
"Then I beg to announce to you, my unalterable determination to payno damages whatever," said Mr. Pickwick, most emphatically. "None,Perker. Not a pound, not a penny, of my money, shall find its way intothe pockets of Dodson and Fogg. That is my deliberate and irrevocabledetermination." Mr. Pickwick gave a heavy blow on the table before him,in confirmation of the irrevocability of his intention.
"Very well, my dear sir, very well," said Perker. "You know best, ofcourse."
"Of course," replied Mr. Pickwick, hastily. "Where does SerjeantSnubbin live?"
"In Lincoln's Inn Old Square," replied Perker.
"I should like to see him," said Mr. Pickwick.
"See Serjeant Snubbin, my dear sir!" rejoined Perker, in utteramazement. "Pooh, pooh, my dear sir, impossible. See Serjeant Snubbin!Bless you, my dear sir, such a thing was never heard of, without aconsultation fee being previously paid, and a consultation fixed. Itcouldn't be done, my dear sir; it couldn't be done."
Mr. Pickwick, however, had made up his mind not only that it could bedone, but that it should be done; and the consequence was, that withinten minutes after he had received the assurance that the thing wasimpossible, he was conducted by his solicitor into the outer office ofthe great Serjeant Snubbin himself.
It was an uncarpeted room of tolerable dimensions, with a largewriting-table drawn up near the fire: the baize top of which had longsince lost all claim to its original hue of green, and had graduallygrown grey with dust and age, except where all traces of its naturalcolour were obliterated by ink-stains. Upon the table were numerouslittle bundles of papers tied with red tape; and behind it sat anelderly clerk, whose sleek appearance, and heavy gold watch-chain,presented imposing indications of the extensive and lucrative practiceof Mr. Serjeant Snubbin.
"Is the Serjeant in his room, Mr. Mallard?" inquired Perker, offeringhis box with all imaginable courtesy.
"Yes, he is," was the reply, "but he's very busy. Look here; not anopinion given yet, on any one of these cases; and an expedition feepaid with all of 'em." The clerk smiled as he said this, and inhaled apinch of snuff with a zest which seemed to be compounded of a fondnessfor snuff and a relish for fees.
"Something like practice that," said Perker.
"Yes," said the barrister's clerk, producing his own box, and offeringit with the greatest cordiality; "and the best of it is, that as nobodyalive except myself can read the Serjeant's writing, they are obligedto wait for the opinions, when he has given them, till I have copied'em, ha--ha--ha!"
"Which makes good for we know who, besides the Serjeant, and draws alittle more out of the clients, eh?" said Perker; "Ha, ha, ha!" At thisthe Serjeant's clerk laughed again; not a noisy boisterous laugh, but asilent, internal chuckle, which Mr. Pickwick disliked to hear. When aman bleeds inwardly, it is a dangerous thing for himself; but when helaughs inwardly, it bodes no good to other people.
"You haven't made me out that little list of the fees that I'm in yourdebt, have you?" said Perker.
"No, I have not," replied the clerk.
"I wish you would," said Perker. "Let me have them, and I'll send youa cheque. But I suppose you're too busy pocketing the ready money,to think of the debtors, eh? ha, ha, ha!" This sally seemed to ticklethe clerk amazingly, and he once more enjoyed a little quiet laugh tohimself.
"But, Mr. Mallard, my dear friend," said Perker, suddenly recoveringhis gravity, and drawing the great man's great man into a corner, bythe lappel of his coat; "you must persuade the Serjeant to see me andmy client here."
"Come, come," said the clerk, "that's not bad either. See the Serjeant!come, that's too absurd." Notwithstanding the absurdity of theproposal, however, the clerk allowed himself to be gently drawn beyondthe hearing of Mr. Pickwick; and after a short conversation conductedin whispers, walked softly down a little dark passage and disappearedinto the legal luminary's sanctum: whence h
e shortly returned ontiptoe, and informed Mr. Perker and Mr. Pickwick that the Serjeant hadbeen prevailed upon, in violation of all established rules and customs,to admit them at once.
Mr. Serjeant Snubbin was a lantern-faced, sallow-complexioned man,of about five-and-forty, or--as the novels say--he might be fifty.He had that dull-looking boiled eye which is often to be seen inthe heads of people who have applied themselves during many yearsto a weary and laborious course of study; and which would have beensufficient, without the additional eye-glass which dangled from abroad black riband round his neck, to warn a stranger that he was verynear-sighted. His hair was thin and weak, which was partly attributableto his having never devoted much time to its arrangement, and partly tohis having worn for five-and-twenty years the forensic wig which hungon a block beside him. The marks of hair-powder on his coat-collar,and the ill-washed and worse-tied white neckerchief round his throat,showed that he had not found leisure since he left the court to makeany alteration in his dress: while the slovenly style of the remainderof his costume warranted the inference that his personal appearancewould not have been very much improved if he had. Books of practice,heaps of papers, and opened letters, were scattered over the table,without any attempt at order or arrangement; the furniture of the roomwas old and rickety; the doors of the bookcase were rotting in theirhinges; the dust flew out from the carpet in little clouds at everystep; the blinds were yellow with age and dirt; the state of everythingin the room showed, with a clearness not to be mistaken, that Mr.Serjeant Snubbin was far too much occupied with his professionalpursuits to take any great heed or regard of his personal comforts.
The Serjeant was writing when his clients entered; he bowed abstractedlywhen Mr. Pickwick was introduced by his solicitor; and then, motioningthem to a seat, put his pen carefully in the inkstand, nursed his leftleg, and waited to be spoken to.
"Mr. Pickwick is the defendant in Bardell and Pickwick, SerjeantSnubbin," said Perker.
"I am retained in that, am I?" said the Serjeant.
"You are, sir," replied Perker.
The Serjeant nodded his head, and waited for something else.
"Mr. Pickwick was anxious to call upon you, Serjeant Snubbin," saidPerker, "to state to you, before you entered upon the case, that hedenies there being any ground or pretence whatever for the actionagainst him; and that unless he came into court with clean hands,and without the most conscientious conviction that he was right inresisting the plaintiff's demand, he would not be there at all. Ibelieve I state your views correctly; do not, my dear sir?" said thelittle man, turning to Mr. Pickwick.
"Quite so," replied that gentleman.
Mr. Serjeant Snubbin unfolded his glasses, raised them to his eyes;and, after looking at Mr. Pickwick for a few seconds with greatcuriosity, turned to Mr. Perker, and said, smiling slightly as he spoke:
"Has Mr. Pickwick a strong case?"
The attorney shrugged his shoulders.
"Do you propose calling witnesses?"
"No."
The smile on the Serjeant's countenance became more defined; he rockedhis leg with increased violence; and, throwing himself back in hiseasy-chair, coughed dubiously.
These tokens of the Serjeant's presentiments on the subject, slight asthey were, were not lost on Mr. Pickwick. He settled the spectacles,through which he had attentively regarded such demonstrations of thebarrister's feelings as he had permitted himself to exhibit, morefirmly on his nose; and said with great energy, and in utter disregardof all Mr. Perker's admonitory winkings and frownings:
"My wishing to wait upon you, for such a purpose as this, sir, appears,I have no doubt, to a gentleman who sees so much of these matters asyou must necessarily do, a very extraordinary circumstance."
The Serjeant tried to look gravely at the fire, but the smile came backagain.
"Gentlemen of your profession, sir," continued Mr. Pickwick, "see theworst side of human nature. All its disputes, all its ill-will and badblood, rise up before you. You know from your experience of juries (Imean no disparagement to you, or them) how much depends upon _effect_:and you are apt to attribute to others, a desire to use, for purposesof deception and self-interest, the very instruments which you, inpure honesty and honour of purpose, and with a laudable desire to doyour utmost for your client, know the temper and worth of so well,from constantly employing them yourselves. I really believe that tothis circumstance may be attributed the vulgar but very general notionof your being, as a body, suspicious, distrustful, and over-cautious.Conscious as I am, sir, of the disadvantage of making such adeclaration to you, under such circumstances, I have come here, becauseI wish you distinctly to understand, as my friend Mr. Perker has said,that I am innocent of the falsehood laid to my charge; and although Iam very well aware of the inestimable value of your assistance, sir, Imust beg to add, that unless you sincerely believe this, I would ratherbe deprived of the aid of your talents than have the advantage of them."
Long before the close of this address, which we are bound to say wasof a very prosy character for Mr. Pickwick, the Serjeant had relapsedinto a state of abstraction. After some minutes, however, during whichhe had reassumed his pen, he appeared to be again aware of the presenceof his clients; raising his head from the paper, he said, rathersnappishly,
"Who is with me in this case?"
"Mr. Phunky, Serjeant Snubbin," replied the attorney.
"Phunky, Phunky," said the Serjeant, "I never heard the name before. Hemust be a very young man."
"Yes, he is a very young man," replied the attorney. "He was onlycalled the other day. Let me see--he has not been at the Bar eightyears yet."
"Ah, I thought not," said the Serjeant, in that sort of pitying tone inwhich ordinary folks would speak of a very helpless little child. "Mr.Mallard, send round to Mr.--Mr.----"
"Phunky's--Holborn Court, Gray's Inn," interposed Perker. (HolbornCourt, by-the-bye, is South Square now). "Mr. Phunky, and say I shouldbe glad if he'd step here, a moment."
Mr. Mallard departed to execute his commission; and Serjeant Snubbinrelapsed into abstraction until Mr. Phunky himself was introduced.
Although an infant barrister, he was a full-grown man. He had avery nervous manner, and a painful hesitation in his speech; it didnot appear to be a natural defect, but seemed rather the result oftimidity, arising from the consciousness of being "kept down" by wantof means, or interests, or connection, or impudence, as the case mightbe. He was overawed by the Serjeant, and profoundly courteous to theattorney.
"I have not had the pleasure of seeing you before, Mr. Phunky," saidSerjeant Snubbin, with a haughty condescension.
Mr. Phunky bowed. He _had_ had the pleasure of seeing the Serjeant, andof envying him too, with all a poor man's envy, for eight years and aquarter.
"You are with me in this case, I understand?" said the Serjeant.
If Mr. Phunky had been a rich man, he would have instantly sent for hisclerk to remind him; if he had been a wise one, he would have appliedhis forefinger to his forehead, and endeavoured to recollect, whether,in the multiplicity of his engagements, he had undertaken this one, ornot; but as he was neither rich nor wise (in this sense at all events)he turned red, and bowed.
"Have you read the papers, Mr. Phunky?" inquired the Serjeant.
Here again, Mr. Phunky should have professed to have forgotten allabout the merits of the case; but as he had read such papers as hadbeen laid before him in the course of the action, and had thought ofnothing else, waking, or sleeping, throughout the two months duringwhich he had been retained as Mr. Serjeant Snubbin's junior, he turneda deeper red, and bowed again.
"This is Mr. Pickwick," said the Serjeant, waving his pen in thedirection in which that gentleman was standing.
Mr. Phunky bowed to Mr. Pickwick with a reverence which a first clientmust ever awaken; and again inclined his head towards his leader.
"Perhaps you will take Mr. Pickwick away," said the Serjeant,"and--and--and--hear anything Mr. Pickwick may wish to communicate.We shall
have a consultation, of course." With this hint that he hadbeen interrupted quite long enough, Mr. Serjeant Snubbin, who had beengradually growing more and more abstracted, applied his glass to hiseyes for an instant, bowed slightly round, and was once more deeplyimmersed in the case before him: which arose out of an interminablelawsuit, originating in the act of an individual, deceased a centuryor so ago, who had stopped up a pathway leading from some place whichnobody ever came from, to some other place which nobody ever went to.
Mr. Phunky would not hear of passing through any door until Mr.Pickwick and his solicitor had passed through before him, so it wassome time before they got into the Square; and when they did reach it,they walked up and down, and held a long conference, the result ofwhich was, that it was a very difficult matter to say how the verdictwould go; that nobody could presume to calculate on the issue of anaction; that it was very lucky they had prevented the other party fromgetting Serjeant Snubbin; and other topics of doubt and consolation,common in such a position of affairs.
Mr. Weller was then roused by his master from a sweet sleep of anhour's duration; and, bidding adieu to Lowten, they returned to theCity.
The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, v. 2 (of 2) Page 5
