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

by Charles Dickens

  CHAPTER VII

  _In which Mr. Pickwick thinks he had better go to Bath and goes Accordingly_

  "But surely, my dear sir," said little Perker, as he stood in Mr.Pickwick's apartment on the morning after the trial: "surely you don'treally mean--really and seriously now, and irritation apart--that youwon't pay these costs and damages?"

  "Not one halfpenny," said Mr. Pickwick, firmly; "not one halfpenny."

  "Hooroar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven he vouldn'trenew the bill," observed Mr. Weller, who was clearing away thebreakfast things.

  "Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, "have the goodness to step down-stairs."

  "Cert'nly, sir," replied Mr. Weller; and acting on Mr. Pickwick'sgentle hint, Sam retired.

  "No, Perker," said Mr. Pickwick, with great seriousness of manner, "myfriends here have endeavoured to dissuade me from this determination,but without avail. I shall employ myself as usual, until the oppositeparty have the power of issuing a legal process of execution againstme; and if they are vile enough to avail themselves of it, and toarrest my person, I shall yield myself up with perfect cheerfulness andcontent of heart. When can they do this?"

  "They can issue execution, my dear sir, for the amount of the damagesand taxed costs, next term," replied Perker; "just two months hence, mydear sir."

  "Very good," said Mr. Pickwick. "Until that time, my dear fellow,let me hear no more of the matter. And now," continued Mr. Pickwick,looking round on his friends with a good-humoured smile, and a sparklein the eye which no spectacles could dim or conceal, "the only questionis, Where shall we go next?"

  Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were too much affected by their friend'sheroism to offer any reply. Mr. Winkle had not yet sufficientlyrecovered the recollection of his evidence at the trial, to make anyobservations on any subject, so Mr. Pickwick paused in vain.

  "Well," said that gentleman, "if you leave me to suggest ourdestination, I say Bath. I think none of us have ever been there."

  Nobody had; and as the proposition was warmly seconded by Perker,who considered it extremely probable that if Mr. Pickwick saw alittle change and gaiety he would be inclined to think better ofhis determination, and worse of a debtor's prison, it was carriedunanimously: and Sam was at once despatched to the White Horse Cellar,to take five places by the half-past seven o'clock coach, next morning.

  There were just two places to be had inside, and just three to be hadout; so Sam Weller booked for them all, and having exchanged a fewcompliments with the booking-office clerk on the subject of a pewterhalf-crown which was tendered him as a portion of his "change," walkedback to the George and Vulture, where he was pretty busily employeduntil bed-time in reducing clothes and linen into the smallest possiblecompass, and exerting his mechanical genius in constructing a varietyof ingenious devices for keeping the lids on boxes which had neitherlocks nor hinges.

  The next was a very unpropitious morning for a journey--muggy, damp,and drizzly. The horses in the stages that were going out, and had comethrough the city, were smoking so that the outside passengers wereinvisible. The newspaper-sellers looked moist, and smelt mouldy; thewet ran off the hats of the orange-vendors as they thrust their headsinto the coach-windows, and diluted the insides in a refreshing manner.The Jews with the fifty-bladed penknives shut them up in despair; themen with the pocket-books made pocket-books of them. Watch-guards andtoasting-forks were alike at a discount, and pencil-cases and spongeswere a drug in the market.

  Leaving Sam Weller to rescue the luggage from the seven or eightporters who flung themselves savagely upon it, the moment the coachstopped: and finding that they were about twenty minutes too early;Mr. Pickwick and his friends went for shelter into the travellers'room--the last resource of human dejection.

  The travellers' room at the White Horse Cellar is of courseuncomfortable; it would be no travellers' room if it were not. It isthe right-hand parlour, into which an aspiring kitchen fire-placeappears to have walked, accompanied by a rebellious poker, tongs, andshovel. It is divided into boxes, for the solitary confinement oftravellers, and is furnished with a clock, a looking-glass, and a livewaiter; which latter article is kept in a small kennel for washingglasses, in the corner of the apartment.

  One of these boxes was occupied, on this particular occasion, by astern-eyed man of about five-and-forty, who had a bald and glossyforehead, with a good deal of black hair at the sides and back of hishead, and large black whiskers. He was buttoned up to the chin in abrown coat; and had a large sealskin travelling cap, and a great-coatand cloak, lying on the seat beside him. He looked up from hisbreakfast as Mr. Pickwick entered, with a fierce and peremptory air,which was very dignified; and having scrutinised that gentleman andhis companions to his entire satisfaction, hummed a tune, in a mannerwhich seemed to say that he rather suspected somebody wanted to takeadvantage of him, but it wouldn't do.

  "Waiter," said the gentleman with the whiskers.

  "Sir?" replied a man with a dirty complexion, and a towel of the same,emerging from the kennel before mentioned.

  "Some more toast."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Buttered toast, mind," said the gentleman, fiercely.

  "D'rectly, sir," replied the waiter.

  The gentleman with the whiskers hummed a tune in the same manner asbefore, and pending the arrival of the toast advanced to the frontof the fire, and taking his coat-tails under his arms, looked at hisboots, and ruminated.

  "I wonder whereabouts in Bath this coach puts up?" said Mr. Pickwick,mildly addressing Mr. Winkle.

  "Hum--eh--what's that?" said the strange man.

  "I made an observation to my friend, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick, alwaysready to enter into conversation. "I wondered at what house the Bathcoach put up. Perhaps you can inform me?"

  "Are you going to Bath?" said the strange man.

  "I am, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick.

  "And those other gentlemen?"

  "They are going also," said Mr. Pickwick.

  "Not inside--I'll be damned if you're going inside," said the strangeman.

  "Not all of us," said Mr. Pickwick.

  "No, not all of you," said the strange man emphatically. "I've takentwo places. If they try to squeeze six people into an infernal box thatonly holds four, I'll take a post-chaise and bring an action. I've paidmy fare. It won't do; I told the clerk when I took my places that itwouldn't do. I know these things have been done. I know they are doneevery day; but _I_ never was done, and I never will be. Those who knowme best, best know it; crush me!" Here the fierce gentleman rang thebell with great violence, and told the waiter he'd better bring thetoast in five seconds, or he'd know the reason why.

  "My good sir," said Mr. Pickwick, "you will allow me to observe thatthis is a very unnecessary display of excitement. I have only takenplaces inside for two."

  "I am glad to hear it," said the fierce man. "I withdraw my expressions.I tender an apology. There's my card. Give me your acquaintance."

  "With great pleasure, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick. "We are to befellow-travellers, and I hope shall find each other's society mutuallyagreeable."

  "I hope we shall," said the fierce gentleman. "I know we shall. I likeyour looks; they please me. Gentlemen, your hands and names. Know me."

  Of course, an interchange of friendly salutations followed thisgracious speech, and the fierce gentleman immediately proceeded toinform the friends, in the same short, abrupt, jerking sentences,that his name was Dowler; that he was going to Bath on pleasure; thathe was formerly in the army; that he had now set up in business as agentleman; that he lived upon the profits; and that the individual forwhom the second place was taken, was a personage no less illustriousthan Mrs. Dowler, his lady wife.

  "She's a fine woman," said Mr. Dowler. "I am proud of her. I havereason."

  "I hope I shall have the pleasure of judging," said Mr. Pickwick, witha smile.

  "You shall," replied Dowler. "She shall know you. She shall esteem you.I courted her under singular circumst
ances. I won her through a rashvow. Thus. I saw her; I loved her: I proposed; she refused me.--'Youlove another?'--'Spare my blushes.'--'I know him.'--'You do.'--'Verygood; if he remains here, I'll skin him.'"

  "Lord bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, involuntarily.

  "Did you skin the gentleman, sir?" inquired Mr. Winkle, with a verypale face.

  "I wrote him a note. I said it was a painful thing. And so it was."

  "Certainly," interposed Mr. Winkle.

  "I said I had pledged my word as a gentleman to skin him. My characterwas at stake. I had no alternative. As an officer in His Majesty'sservice, I was bound to skin him. I regretted the necessity, but itmust be done. He was open to conviction. He saw that the rules of theservice were imperative. He fled. I married her. Here's the coach.That's her head."

  As Mr. Dowler concluded, he pointed to a stage which had just drivenup, from the open window of which a rather pretty face in a bright bluebonnet was looking among the crowd on the pavement: most probably forthe rash man himself. Mr. Dowler paid his bill and hurried out withhis travelling-cap, coat, and cloak; and Mr. Pickwick and his friendsfollowed to secure their places.

  Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass had seated themselves at the back part ofthe coach; Mr. Winkle had got inside; and Mr. Pickwick was preparing tofollow him, when Sam Weller came up to his master, and whispering inhis ear, begged to speak to him, with an air of the deepest mystery.

  "Well, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, "what's the matter now?"

  "Here's rayther a rum go, sir," replied Sam.

  "What?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.

  "This here, sir," rejoined Sam. "I'm wery much afeerd, sir, that theproperiator o' this here coach is a playin' some imperence vith us."

  "How is that, Sam?" said Mr. Pickwick; "aren't the names down on theway-bill?"

  "The names is not only down on the vay-bill, sir," replied Sam, "butthey've painted vun on 'em up, on the door o' the coach." As Sam spoke,he pointed to that part of the coach door on which the proprietor'sname usually appears; and there, sure enough, in gilt letters of agoodly size, was the magic name of +Pickwick+!

  "Dear me," exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite staggered by the coincidence;"what a very extraordinary thing!"

  "Yes, but that ain't all," said Sam, again directing his master'sattention to the coach door; "not content vith writin' up Pickwick,they puts 'Moses' afore it, vich I call addin' insult to injury, as theparrot said ven they not only took him from his native land, but madehim talk the English langwidge arterwards."

  "It's odd enough certainly, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick; "but if we standtalking here, we shall lose our places."

  "Wot, ain't nothin' to be done in consequence, sir?" exclaimed Sam,perfectly aghast at the coolness with which Mr. Pickwick prepared toensconce himself inside.

  "Done!" said Mr. Pickwick. "What should be done?"

  "Ain't nobody to be whopped for takin' this here liberty, sir?"said Mr. Weller, who had expected that at least he would have beencommissioned to challenge the guard and coachman to a pugilisticencounter on the spot.

  "Certainly not," replied Mr. Pickwick, eagerly; "not on any account.Jump up to your seat directly."

  "I'm wery much afeerd," muttered Sam to himself, as he turned away,"that somethin' queer's come over the governor, or he'd never ha'stood this so quiet. I hope that 'ere trial hasn't broke his spirit,but it looks bad, wery bad." Mr. Weller shook his head gravely; andit is worthy of remark, as an illustration of the manner in which hetook this circumstance to heart, that he did not speak another worduntil the coach reached the Kensington turnpike, which was so long atime for him to remain taciturn, that the fact may be considered whollyunprecedented.

  Nothing worthy of special mention occurred during the journey. Mr.Dowler related a variety of anecdotes, all illustrative of his ownpersonal prowess and desperation, and appealed to Mrs. Dowler incorroboration thereof: when Mrs. Dowler invariably brought in, in theform of an appendix, some remarkable fact or circumstance which Mr.Dowler had forgotten, or had perhaps through modesty omitted: for theaddenda in every instance went to show that Mr. Dowler was even morewonderful a fellow than he made himself out to be. Mr. Pickwick andMr. Winkle listened with great admiration, and at intervals conversedwith Mrs. Dowler, who was a very agreeable and fascinating person. Sowhat between Mr. Dowler's stories, and Mrs. Dowler's charms, and Mr.Pickwick's good humour, and Mr. Winkle's good listening, the insidescontrived to be very companionable all the way.

  The outsides did as outsides always do. They were very cheerful andtalkative at the beginning of every stage, and very dismal and sleepyin the middle, and very bright and wakeful again towards the end. Therewas one young gentleman in an india-rubber cloak, who smoked cigarsall day; and there was another young gentleman in a parody upon agreat-coat, who lighted a good many, and feeling obviously unsettledafter the second whiff, threw them away when he thought nobody waslooking at him. There was a third young man on the box who wished to belearned in cattle, and an old one behind who was familiar with farming.There was a constant succession of Christian names in smock frocks andwhite coats, who were invited to have a "lift" by the guard, and whoknew every horse and hostler on the road and off it: and there was adinner which would have been cheap at half-a-crown a mouth, if anymoderate number of mouths could have eaten it in the time. And at seveno'clock +P.M.+, Mr. Pickwick and his friends, and Mr. Dowler and hiswife, respectively retired to their private sitting-rooms at the WhiteHart Hotel, opposite the Great Pump Room, Bath, where the waiters,from their costume, might be mistaken for Westminster boys, only theydestroy the illusion by behaving themselves much better.

  Breakfast had scarcely been cleared away on the succeeding morning,when a waiter brought in Mr. Dowler's card, with a request to beallowed permission to introduce a friend. Mr. Dowler at once followedup the delivery of the card, by bringing himself and the friend also.

  The friend was a charming young man of not much more than fifty,dressed in a very bright blue coat with resplendent buttons, blacktrousers, and the thinnest possible pair of highly-polished boots.A gold eye-glass was suspended from his neck by a short broad blackribbon; a gold snuff-box was lightly clasped in his left hand; goldrings innumerable glittered on his fingers; and a large diamond pin setin gold glistened in his shirt frill. He had a gold watch, and a goldcurb chain with large gold seals; and he carried a pliant ebony canewith a heavy gold top. His linen was of the very whitest, finest, andstiffest; his wig of the glossiest, blackest, and curliest. His snuffwas prince's mixture; his scent _bouquet du roi_. His features werecontracted into a perpetual smile; and his teeth were in such perfectorder that it was difficult at a small distance to tell the real fromthe false.

  "Mr. Pickwick," said Mr. Dowler; "my friend, Angelo Cyrus Bantam,Esquire, M.C. Bantam; Mr. Pickwick. Know each other."

  "Welcome to Ba--ath, sir. This is indeed an acquisition. Most welcometo Ba--ath, sir. It is long--very long, Mr. Pickwick, since you drankthe waters. It appears an age, Mr. Pickwick. Re--markable!"

  Such were the expressions with which Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire,M.C., took Mr. Pickwick's hand; retaining it in his, meantime, andshrugging up his shoulders with a constant succession of bows, as if hereally could not make up his mind to the trial of letting it go again.

  "It is a very long time since I drank the waters, certainly," repliedMr. Pickwick; "for to the best of my knowledge, I was never herebefore."

  "Never in Ba--ath, Mr. Pickwick!" exclaimed the Grand Master, lettingthe hand fall in astonishment. "Never in Ba--ath! He! he! Mr. Pickwick,you are a wag. Not bad, not bad. Good, good. He! he! he! Re--markable!"

  "To my shame, I must say that I am perfectly serious," rejoined Mr.Pickwick. "I really never was here before."

  "Oh, I see," exclaimed the Grand Master, looking extremely pleased;"yes, yes--good, good--better and better. You are the gentleman of whomwe have heard. Yes; we know you, Mr. Pickwick; we know you."

  "The reports of the trial in those confounded papers," thought Mr.Pick
wick. "They have heard all about me."

  "You are the gentleman residing on Clapham Green," resumed Bantam,"who lost the use of his limbs from imprudently taking cold after portwine; who could not be moved in consequence of acute suffering, and whohad the water from the King's Bath bottled at one hundred and threedegrees, and sent by waggon to his bed-room in town, where he bathed,sneezed, and same day recovered. Very re--markable!"

  Mr. Pickwick acknowledged the compliment which the suppositionimplied, but had the self-denial to repudiate it, notwithstanding; andtaking advantage of a moment's silence on the part of the M.C., beggedto introduce his friends, Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. Anintroduction which overwhelmed the M.C. with delight and honour.

  "Bantam," said Mr. Dowler, "Mr. Pickwick and his friends are strangers.They must put their names down. Where's the book?"

  "The register of the distinguished visitors in Ba--ath will be at thePump Room this morning at two o'clock," replied the M.C. "Will youguide our friends to that splendid building, and enable me to procuretheir autographs?"

  "I will," rejoined Dowler. "This is a long call. It's time to go. Ishall be here again in an hour. Come."

  "This is a ball-night," said the M.C., again taking Mr. Pickwick's handas he rose to go. "The ball-nights in Ba--ath are moments snatched fromParadise; rendered bewitching by music, beauty, elegance, fashion,etiquette, and--and--above all, by the absence of tradespeople, whoare quite inconsistent with Paradise; and who have an amalgamationof themselves at the Guildhall every fortnight, which is, to say theleast, remarkable. Good-bye, good-bye!" and protesting all the waydown-stairs that he was most satisfied, and most delighted, and mostoverpowered, and most flattered, Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire, M.C.,stepped into a very elegant chariot that waited at the door, andrattled off.

  At the appointed hour, Mr. Pickwick and his friends, escorted byDowler, repaired to the Assembly Rooms, and wrote their names down ina book. An instance of condescension at which Angelo Bantam was evenmore overpowered than before. Tickets of admission to that evening'sassembly were to have been prepared for the whole party, but as theywere not ready, Mr. Pickwick undertook, despite all the protestationsto the contrary of Angelo Bantam, to send Sam for them at four o'clockin the afternoon, to the M.C.'s house in Queen Square. Having taken ashort walk through the city, and arrived at the unanimous conclusionthat Park Street was very much like the perpendicular streets a mansees in a dream, which he cannot get up for the life of him, theyreturned to the White Hart, and despatched Sam on the errand to whichhis master had pledged him.

  Sam Weller put on his hat in a very easy and graceful manner, andthrusting his hands in his waistcoat pockets, walked with greatdeliberation to Queen Square, whistling, as he went along, severalof the most popular airs of the day, as arranged with entirely newmovements for that noble instrument the organ, either mouth orbarrel. Arriving at the number in Queen Square to which he had beendirected, he left off whistling, and gave a cheerful knock, which wasinstantaneously answered by a powdered-headed footman in gorgeouslivery, and of symmetrical stature.

  "Is this here Mr. Bantam's, old feller?" inquired Sam Weller, nothingabashed by the blaze of splendour which burst upon his sight, in theperson of the powdered-headed footman with the gorgeous livery.

  "Why, young man?" was the haughty inquiry of the powdered-headedfootman.

  "'Cos if it is, jist you step into him with that 'ere card, and say Mr.Veller's a waitin', will you?" said Sam. And saying it, he very coollywalked into the hall, and sat down.

  The powdered-headed footman slammed the door very hard, and scowledvery grandly; but both the slam and the scowl were lost upon Sam, whowas regarding a mahogany umbrella-stand with every outward token ofcritical approval.

  Apparently, his master's reception of the card had impressed thepowdered-headed footman in Sam's favour, for when he came back fromdelivering it, he smiled in a friendly manner, and said that the answerwould be ready directly.

  "Wery good," said Sam. "Tell the old gen'l'm'n not to put himself in aperspiration. No hurry, six-foot. I've had my dinner."

  "You dine early, sir," said the powdered-headed footman.

  "I find I gets on better at supper when I does," replied Sam.

  "Have you been long in Bath, sir?" inquired the powdered-headedfootman. "I have not had the pleasure of hearing of you before."

  "I haven't created any wery surprisin' sensation here, as yet,"rejoined Sam, "for me and the other fashionables only come last night."

  "Nice place, sir," said the powdered-headed footman.

  "Seems so," observed Sam.

  "Pleasant society, sir," remarked the powdered-headed footman. "Veryagreeable servants, sir."

  "I should think they wos," replied Sam. "Affable, unaffected,say-nothing-to-nobody sort o' fellers."

  "Oh, very much so indeed, sir," said the powdered-headed footman,taking Sam's remark as a high compliment. "Very much so indeed. Do youdo anything in this way, sir?" inquired the tall footman, producing asmall snuff-box with a fox's head on the top of it.

  "Not without sneezing," replied Sam.

  "Why, it _is_ difficult, sir, I confess," said the tall footman. "Itmay be done by degrees, sir. Coffee is the best practice. I carriedcoffee, sir, for a long time. It looks very like rappee, sir."

  Here, a sharp peal at the bell, reduced the powdered-headed footmanto the ignominious necessity of putting the fox's head in his pocket,and hastening with a humble countenance to Mr. Bantam's "study."By-the-bye, who ever knew a man who never read, or wrote either, whohadn't got some small back parlour which he _would_ call a study?

  "There is the answer, sir," said the powdered-headed footman. "I amafraid you'll find it inconveniently large."

  "Don't mention it," said Sam, taking a letter with a small enclosure."It's just possible as exhausted nature may manage to surwive it."

  "I hope we shall meet again, sir," said the powdered-headed footman,rubbing his hands, and following Sam out to the door-step.

  "You are wery obligin', sir," replied Sam. "Now, don't allow yourselfto be fatigued beyond your powers; there's a amiable bein'. Considerwhat you owe to society, and don't let yourself be injured by too muchwork. For the sake o' your feller creeturs, keep yourself as quiet asyou can; only think what a loss you would be!" With these patheticwords, Sam Weller departed.

  "A very singular young man that," said the powdered-headed footman,looking after Mr. Weller, with a countenance which clearly showed hecould make nothing of him.

  Sam said nothing at all. He winked, shook his head, smiled, winkedagain; and with an expression of countenance which seemed to denotethat he was greatly amused with something or other, walked merrily away.

  _"Do you do anything in this way, sir?" inquired thetall footman_]

  At precisely twenty minutes before eight o'clock that night, AngeloCyrus Bantam, Esq., the Master of the Ceremonies, emerged from hischariot at the door of the Assembly Rooms in the same wig, the sameteeth, the same eye-glass, the same watch and seals, the same rings,the same shirt-pin, and the same cane. The only observable alterationsin his appearance were, that he wore a brighter blue coat, with a whitesilk lining: black tights, black silk stockings, and pumps, and a whitewaistcoat, and was, if possible, just a thought more scented.

  Thus attired, the Master of the Ceremonies, in strict discharge of theimportant duties of his all-important office, planted himself in therooms to receive the company.

  Bath being full, the company and the sixpences for tea poured in, inshoals. In the ball-room, the long card-room, the octagonal card-room,the staircases, and the passages, the hum of many voices and the soundof many feet were perfectly bewildering. Dresses rustled, featherswaved, lights shone, and jewels sparkled. There was the music--not ofthe quadrille band, for it had not yet commenced; but the music ofsoft tiny footsteps, with now and then a clear merry laugh--low andgentle, but very pleasant to hear in a female voice, whether in Bathor elsewhere. Brilliant eyes, lighted up with pleasurable expec
tation,gleamed from every side; and look where you would, some exquisite formglided gracefully through the throng, and was no sooner lost, than itwas replaced by another as dainty and bewitching.

  In the tea-room, and hovering round the card-tables, were a vastnumber of queer old ladies and decrepit old gentlemen, discussingall the small talk and scandal of the day, with a relish and gustowhich sufficiently bespoke the intensity of the pleasure they derivedfrom the occupation. Mingled with these groups, were three or fourmatchmaking mammas, appearing to be wholly absorbed by the conversationin which they were taking part, but failing not from time to time tocast an anxious sidelong glance upon their daughters, who, rememberingthe maternal injunction to make the best use of their youth, hadalready commenced incipient flirtations in the mislaying of scarves,putting on gloves, setting down cups, and so forth; slight mattersapparently, but which may be turned to surprisingly good account byexpert practitioners.

  Lounging near the doors, and in remote corners, were various knotsof silly young men, displaying various varieties of puppyism andstupidity; amusing all sensible people near them with their follyand conceit; and happily thinking themselves the objects of generaladmiration. A wise and merciful dispensation which no good man willquarrel with.

  And lastly, seated on some of the back benches, where they had alreadytaken up their positions for the evening, were divers unmarried ladiespast their grand climacteric, who, not dancing because there were nopartners for them, and not playing cards lest they should be set downas irretrievably single, were in the favourable situation of beingable to abuse everybody without reflecting on themselves. In short,they could abuse everybody, because everybody was there. It was ascene of gaiety, glitter, and show; of richly-dressed people, handsomemirrors, chalked floors, girandoles, and wax candles; and in all partsof the scene, gliding from spot to spot in silent softness, bowingobsequiously to this party, nodding familiarly to that, and smilingcomplacently on all, was the sprucely attired person of Angelo CyrusBantam, Esquire, Master of the Ceremonies.

  "Stop in the tea-room. Take your sixpenn'orth. They lay on hot water,and call it tea. Drink it," said Mr. Dowler, in a loud voice, directingMr. Pickwick, who advanced at the head of the little party, with Mrs.Dowler on his arm. Into the tea-room Mr. Pickwick turned; and catchingsight of him, Mr. Bantam cork-screwed his way through the crowd, andwelcomed him with ecstasy.

  "My dear sir, I am highly honoured. Ba--ath is favoured. Mrs. Dowler,you embellish the rooms. I congratulate you on your feathers.Re--markable!"

  "Anybody here?" inquired Dowler, suspiciously.

  "Anybody! The _?lite_ of Ba--ath. Mr. Pickwick, do you see the lady inthe gauze turban?"

  "The fat old lady?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, innocently.

  "Hush, my dear sir--nobody's fat or old in Ba--ath. That's the DowagerLady Snuphanuph."

  "Is it indeed?" said Mr. Pickwick.

  "No less a person, I assure you," said the Master of the Ceremonies."Hush. Draw a little nearer, Mr. Pickwick. You see the splendidlydressed young man coming this way?"

  "The one with the long hair, and the particularly small forehead?"inquired Mr. Pickwick.

  "The same. The richest young man in Ba--ath at this moment. Young LordMutanhed."

  "You don't say so?" said Mr. Pickwick.

  "Yes. You'll hear his voice in a moment, Mr. Pickwick. He'll speak tome. The other gentleman with him, in the red under-waistcoat and darkmoustache, is the Honourable Mr. Crushton, his bosom friend. How do youdo, my lord?"

  "Veway hot, Bantam," said his lordship.

  "It _is_ very warm, my lord," replied the M.C.

  "Confounded," assented the Honourable Mr. Crushton.

  "Have you seen his lordship's mail cart, Bantam?" inquired theHonourable Mr. Crushton, after a short pause, during which youngLord Mutanhed had been endeavouring to stare Mr. Pickwick out ofcountenance, and Mr. Crushton had been reflecting what subject hislordship could talk about best.

  "Dear me, no," replied the M.C. "A mail cart! What an excellent idea.Re--markable!"

  "Gwacious heavens!" said his lordship, "I thought evewebody had seenthe new mail cart; it's the neatest, pwettiest, gwacefullest thing thatever wan upon wheels. Painted wed, with a cweam piebald."

  "With a real box for the letters, and all complete," said theHonourable Mr. Crushton.

  "And a little seat in fwont, with an iwon wail, for the dwiver," addedhis lordship. "I dwove it over to Bristol the other morning, in acwimson coat, with two servants widing a quarter of a mile behind; andconfound me if the people didn't wush out of their cottages, and awestmy pwogwess, to know if I wasn't the post. Glorwious, glorwious!"

  At this anecdote his lordship laughed very heartily, as did thelisteners, of course. Then, drawing his arm through that of theobsequious Mr. Crushton, Lord Mutanhed walked away.

  "Delightful young man, his lordship," said the Master of theCeremonies.

  "So I should think," rejoined Mr. Pickwick, drily.

  The dancing having commenced, the necessary introductions having beenmade, and all preliminaries arranged, Angelo Bantam rejoined Mr.Pickwick, and led him into the card-room.

  Just at the very moment of their entrance, the Dowager Lady Snuphanuphand two other ladies of an ancient and whist-like appearance, werehovering over an unoccupied card-table; and they no sooner set eyesupon Mr. Pickwick under the convoy of Angelo Bantam, than theyexchanged glances with each other, seeing that he was precisely thevery person they wanted, to make up the rubber.

  "My dear Bantam," said the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph, coaxingly, "findus some nice creature to make up this table; there's a good soul."Mr. Pickwick happened to be looking another way at the moment, so herladyship nodded her head towards him, and frowned expressively.

  "My friend, Mr. Pickwick, my lady, will be most happy, I am sure,re--markably so," said the M.C., taking the hint. "Mr. Pickwick, LadySnuphanuph--Mrs. Colonel Wugsby--Miss Bolo."

  Mr. Pickwick bowed to each of the ladies, and, finding escapeimpossible, cut. Mr. Pickwick and Miss Bolo against Lady Snuphanuph andMrs. Colonel Wugsby.

  As the trump card was turned up at the commencement of the second deal,two young ladies hurried into the room, and took their stations oneither side of Mrs. Colonel Wugsby's chair, where they waited patientlyuntil the hand was over.

  "Now, Jane," said Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, turning to one of the girls,"what is it?"

  "I came to ask, ma, whether I might dance with the youngest Mr.Crawley," whispered the prettier and younger of the two.

  "Good God, Jane, how can you think of such things?" replied the mamma,indignantly. "Haven't you repeatedly heard that his father has eighthundred a-year, which dies with him? I am ashamed of you. Not on anyaccount."

  "Ma," whispered the other, who was much older than her sister and veryinsipid and artificial, "Lord Mutanhed has been introduced to me. Isaid I _thought_ I wasn't engaged, ma."

  "You're a sweet pet, my love," replied Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, tappingher daughter's cheek with her fan, "and are always to be trusted. He'simmensely rich, my dear. Bless you!" With these words Mrs. ColonelWugsby kissed her eldest daughter most affectionately, and frowning, ina warning manner, upon the other, sorted her cards.

  Poor Mr. Pickwick! he had never played with three thorough-paced femalecard-players before. They were so desperately sharp, that they quitefrightened him. If he played a wrong card, Miss Bolo looked a smallarmoury of daggers; if he stopped to consider which was the right one,Lady Snuphanuph would throw herself back in her chair, and smile witha mingled glance of impatience and pity to Mrs. Colonel Wugsby; atwhich Mrs. Colonel Wugsby would shrug up her shoulders and cough, asmuch as to say she wondered whether he ever would begin. Then, at theend of every hand, Miss Bolo would inquire with a dismal countenanceand reproachful sigh, why Mr. Pickwick had not returned that diamond,or led the club, or roughed the spade, or finessed the heart, or ledthrough the honour, or brought out the ace, or played up to the king,or some such thing; and in reply to all these grave cha
rges, Mr.Pickwick would be wholly unable to plead any justification whatever,having by this time forgotten all about the game. People came andlooked on, too, which made Mr. Pickwick nervous. Besides all this,there was a great deal of distracting conversation near the table,between Angelo Bantam and the two Miss Matinters, who, being singleand singular, paid great court to the Master of the Ceremonies, inthe hope of getting a stray partner now and then. All these things,combined with the noises and interruptions of constant comings in andgoings out, made Mr. Pickwick play rather badly; the cards were againsthim also; and when they left off at ten minutes past eleven, Miss Bolorose from the table considerably agitated, and went straight home, in aflood of tears, and a sedan chair.

  Being joined by his friends, who one and all protested that they hadscarcely ever spent a more pleasant evening, Mr. Pickwick accompaniedthem to the White Hart, and having soothed his feelings with somethinghot, went to bed, and to sleep, almost simultaneously.