The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens
CHAPTER XXII. MR. PICKWICK JOURNEYS TO IPSWICH AND MEETS WITH A ROMANTICADVENTURE WITH A MIDDLE-AGED LADY IN YELLOW CURL-PAPERS
That 'ere your governor's luggage, Sammy?' inquired Mr. Weller of hisaffectionate son, as he entered the yard of the Bull Inn, Whitechapel,with a travelling-bag and a small portmanteau.
'You might ha' made a worser guess than that, old feller,' replied Mr.Weller the younger, setting down his burden in the yard, and sittinghimself down upon it afterwards. 'The governor hisself'll be down herepresently.'
'He's a-cabbin' it, I suppose?' said the father.
'Yes, he's a havin' two mile o' danger at eight-pence,' responded theson. 'How's mother-in-law this mornin'?'
'Queer, Sammy, queer,' replied the elder Mr. Weller, with impressivegravity. 'She's been gettin' rayther in the Methodistical order lately,Sammy; and she is uncommon pious, to be sure. She's too good a creeturfor me, Sammy. I feel I don't deserve her.'
'Ah,' said Mr. Samuel. 'that's wery self-denyin' o' you.'
'Wery,' replied his parent, with a sigh. 'She's got hold o' someinwention for grown-up people being born again, Sammy--the new birth, Ithink they calls it. I should wery much like to see that system inhaction, Sammy. I should wery much like to see your mother-in-law bornagain. Wouldn't I put her out to nurse!'
'What do you think them women does t'other day,' continued Mr. Weller,after a short pause, during which he had significantly struck the sideof his nose with his forefinger some half-dozen times. 'What do youthink they does, t'other day, Sammy?'
'Don't know,' replied Sam, 'what?'
'Goes and gets up a grand tea drinkin' for a feller they calls theirshepherd,' said Mr. Weller. 'I was a-standing starin' in at the picturshop down at our place, when I sees a little bill about it; "ticketshalf-a-crown. All applications to be made to the committee. Secretary,Mrs. Weller"; and when I got home there was the committee a-sittin' inour back parlour. Fourteen women; I wish you could ha' heard 'em, Sammy.There they was, a-passin' resolutions, and wotin' supplies, and allsorts o' games. Well, what with your mother-in-law a-worrying me to go,and what with my looking for'ard to seein' some queer starts if I did, Iput my name down for a ticket; at six o'clock on the Friday evenin' Idresses myself out wery smart, and off I goes with the old 'ooman, andup we walks into a fust-floor where there was tea-things for thirty, anda whole lot o' women as begins whisperin' to one another, and lookin' atme, as if they'd never seen a rayther stout gen'l'm'n of eight-and-fiftyafore. By and by, there comes a great bustle downstairs, and a lankychap with a red nose and a white neckcloth rushes up, and sings out,"Here's the shepherd a-coming to wisit his faithful flock;" and in comesa fat chap in black, vith a great white face, a-smilin' avay likeclockwork. Such goin's on, Sammy! "The kiss of peace," says theshepherd; and then he kissed the women all round, and ven he'd done, theman vith the red nose began. I was just a-thinkin' whether I hadn'tbetter begin too--'specially as there was a wery nice lady a-sittin'next me--ven in comes the tea, and your mother-in-law, as had beenmakin' the kettle bile downstairs. At it they went, tooth and nail. Sucha precious loud hymn, Sammy, while the tea was a brewing; such a grace,such eatin' and drinkin'! I wish you could ha' seen the shepherd walkin'into the ham and muffins. I never see such a chap to eat and drink--never. The red-nosed man warn't by no means the sort of person you'dlike to grub by contract, but he was nothin' to the shepherd. Well;arter the tea was over, they sang another hymn, and then the shepherdbegan to preach: and wery well he did it, considerin' how heavy themmuffins must have lied on his chest. Presently he pulls up, all of asudden, and hollers out, "Where is the sinner; where is the mis'rablesinner?" Upon which, all the women looked at me, and began to groan asif they was a-dying. I thought it was rather sing'ler, but howsoever, Isays nothing. Presently he pulls up again, and lookin' wery hard at me,says, "Where is the sinner; where is the mis'rable sinner?" and all thewomen groans again, ten times louder than afore. I got rather savage atthis, so I takes a step or two for'ard and says, "My friend," says I,"did you apply that 'ere obserwation to me?" 'Stead of beggin' my pardonas any gen'l'm'n would ha' done, he got more abusive than ever:--calledme a wessel, Sammy--a wessel of wrath--and all sorts o' names. So myblood being reg'larly up, I first gave him two or three for himself, andthen two or three more to hand over to the man with the red nose, andwalked off. I wish you could ha' heard how the women screamed, Sammy,ven they picked up the shepherd from underneath the table--Hollo! here'sthe governor, the size of life.'
As Mr. Weller spoke, Mr. Pickwick dismounted from a cab, and entered theyard.
'Fine mornin', Sir,' said Mr. Weller, senior.
'Beautiful indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'Beautiful indeed,' echoes a red-haired man with an inquisitive nose andgreen spectacles, who had unpacked himself from a cab at the same momentas Mr. Pickwick. 'Going to Ipswich, Sir?'
'I am,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'Extraordinary coincidence. So am I.'
Mr. Pickwick bowed.
'Going outside?' said the red-haired man.
Mr. Pickwick bowed again.
'Bless my soul, how remarkable--I am going outside, too,' said the red-haired man; 'we are positively going together.' And the red-haired man,who was an important-looking, sharp-nosed, mysterious-spoken personage,with a bird-like habit of giving his head a jerk every time he saidanything, smiled as if he had made one of the strangest discoveries thatever fell to the lot of human wisdom.
'I am happy in the prospect of your company, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Ah,' said the new-comer, 'it's a good thing for both of us, isn't it?Company, you see--company--is--is--it's a very different thing fromsolitude--ain't it?'
'There's no denying that 'ere,' said Mr. Weller, joining in theconversation, with an affable smile. 'That's what I call a self-evidentproposition, as the dog's-meat man said, when the housemaid told him hewarn't a gentleman.'
'Ah,' said the red-haired man, surveying Mr. Weller from head to footwith a supercilious look. 'Friend of yours, sir?'
'Not exactly a friend,' replied Mr. Pickwick, in a low tone. 'The factis, he is my servant, but I allow him to take a good many liberties;for, between ourselves, I flatter myself he is an original, and I amrather proud of him.'
'Ah,' said the red-haired man, 'that, you see, is a matter of taste. Iam not fond of anything original; I don't like it; don't see thenecessity for it. What's your name, sir?'
'Here is my card, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, much amused by theabruptness of the question, and the singular manner of the stranger.
'Ah,' said the red-haired man, placing the card in his pocket-book,'Pickwick; very good. I like to know a man's name, it saves so muchtrouble. That's my card, sir. Magnus, you will perceive, sir--Magnus ismy name. It's rather a good name, I think, sir.'
'A very good name, indeed,' said Mr. Pickwick, wholly unable to repressa smile.
'Yes, I think it is,' resumed Mr. Magnus. 'There's a good name beforeit, too, you will observe. Permit me, sir--if you hold the card a littleslanting, this way, you catch the light upon the up-stroke. There--PeterMagnus--sounds well, I think, sir.'
'Very,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Curious circumstance about those initials, sir,' said Mr. Magnus. 'Youwill observe--P.M.--post meridian. In hasty notes to intimateacquaintance, I sometimes sign myself "Afternoon." It amuses my friendsvery much, Mr. Pickwick.'
'It is calculated to afford them the highest gratification, I shouldconceive,' said Mr. Pickwick, rather envying the ease with which Mr.Magnus's friends were entertained.
'Now, gen'l'm'n,' said the hostler, 'coach is ready, if you please.'
'Is all my luggage in?' inquired Mr. Magnus.
'All right, sir.'
'Is the red bag in?'
'All right, Sir.'
'And the striped bag?'
'Fore boot, Sir.'
'And the brown-paper parcel?'
'Under the seat, Sir.'
'And the leather hat-box?'
'They
'Now, will you get up?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Excuse me,' replied Magnus, standing on the wheel. 'Excuse me, Mr.Pickwick. I cannot consent to get up, in this state of uncertainty. I amquite satisfied from that man's manner, that the leather hat-box is notin.'
The solemn protestations of the hostler being wholly unavailing, theleather hat-box was obliged to be raked up from the lowest depth of theboot, to satisfy him that it had been safely packed; and after he hadbeen assured on this head, he felt a solemn presentiment, first, thatthe red bag was mislaid, and next that the striped bag had been stolen,and then that the brown-paper parcel 'had come untied.' At length whenhe had received ocular demonstration of the groundless nature of eachand every of these suspicions, he consented to climb up to the roof ofthe coach, observing that now he had taken everything off his mind, hefelt quite comfortable and happy.
'You're given to nervousness, ain't you, Sir?' inquired Mr. Weller,senior, eyeing the stranger askance, as he mounted to his place.
'Yes; I always am rather about these little matters,' said the stranger,'but I am all right now--quite right.'
'Well, that's a blessin', said Mr. Weller. 'Sammy, help your master upto the box; t'other leg, Sir, that's it; give us your hand, Sir. Up withyou. You was a lighter weight when you was a boy, sir.'
True enough, that, Mr. Weller,' said the breathless Mr. Pickwick good-humouredly, as he took his seat on the box beside him.
'Jump up in front, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller. 'Now Villam, run 'em out.Take care o' the archvay, gen'l'm'n. "Heads," as the pieman says.That'll do, Villam. Let 'em alone.' And away went the coach upWhitechapel, to the admiration of the whole population of that prettydensely populated quarter.
'Not a wery nice neighbourhood, this, Sir,' said Sam, with a touch ofthe hat, which always preceded his entering into conversation with hismaster.
'It is not indeed, Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick, surveying the crowded andfilthy street through which they were passing.
'It's a wery remarkable circumstance, Sir,' said Sam, 'that poverty andoysters always seem to go together.'
'I don't understand you, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'What I mean, sir,' said Sam, 'is, that the poorer a place is, thegreater call there seems to be for oysters. Look here, sir; here's aoyster-stall to every half-dozen houses. The street's lined vith 'em.Blessed if I don't think that ven a man's wery poor, he rushes out ofhis lodgings, and eats oysters in reg'lar desperation.'
'To be sure he does,' said Mr. Weller, senior; 'and it's just the samevith pickled salmon!'
'Those are two very remarkable facts, which never occurred to mebefore,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'The very first place we stop at, I'll makea note of them.'
By this time they had reached the turnpike at Mile End; a profoundsilence prevailed until they had got two or three miles farther on, whenMr. Weller, senior, turning suddenly to Mr. Pickwick, said--
'Wery queer life is a pike-keeper's, sir.'
'A what?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'A pike-keeper.'
'What do you mean by a pike-keeper?' inquired Mr. Peter Magnus.
'The old 'un means a turnpike-keeper, gen'l'm'n,' observed Mr. SamuelWeller, in explanation.
'Oh,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I see. Yes; very curious life. Veryuncomfortable.'
'They're all on 'em men as has met vith some disappointment in life,'said Mr. Weller, senior.
'Ay, ay,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Yes. Consequence of vich, they retires from the world, and shutsthemselves up in pikes; partly with the view of being solitary, andpartly to rewenge themselves on mankind by takin' tolls.'
'Dear me,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I never knew that before.'
'Fact, Sir,' said Mr. Weller; 'if they was gen'l'm'n, you'd call 'emmisanthropes, but as it is, they only takes to pike-keepin'.'
With such conversation, possessing the inestimable charm of blendingamusement with instruction, did Mr. Weller beguile the tediousness ofthe journey, during the greater part of the day. Topics of conversationwere never wanting, for even when any pause occurred in Mr. Weller'sloquacity, it was abundantly supplied by the desire evinced by Mr.Magnus to make himself acquainted with the whole of the personal historyof his fellow-travellers, and his loudly-expressed anxiety at everystage, respecting the safety and well-being of the two bags, the leatherhat-box, and the brown-paper parcel.
In the main street of Ipswich, on the left-hand side of the way, a shortdistance after you have passed through the open space fronting the TownHall, stands an inn known far and wide by the appellation of the GreatWhite Horse, rendered the more conspicuous by a stone statue of somerampacious animal with flowing mane and tail, distantly resembling aninsane cart-horse, which is elevated above the principal door. The GreatWhite Horse is famous in the neighbourhood, in the same degree as aprize ox, or a county-paper-chronicled turnip, or unwieldy pig--for itsenormous size. Never was such labyrinths of uncarpeted passages, suchclusters of mouldy, ill-lighted rooms, such huge numbers of small densfor eating or sleeping in, beneath any one roof, as are collectedtogether between the four walls of the Great White Horse at Ipswich.
It was at the door of this overgrown tavern that the London coachstopped, at the same hour every evening; and it was from this sameLondon coach that Mr. Pickwick, Sam Weller, and Mr. Peter Magnusdismounted, on the particular evening to which this chapter of ourhistory bears reference.
'Do you stop here, sir?' inquired Mr. Peter Magnus, when the stripedbag, and the red bag, and the brown-paper parcel, and the leather hat-box, had all been deposited in the passage. 'Do you stop here, sir?'
'I do,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Dear me,' said Mr. Magnus, 'I never knew anything like theseextraordinary coincidences. Why, I stop here too. I hope we dinetogether?'
'With pleasure,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'I am not quite certain whether Ihave any friends here or not, though. Is there any gentleman of the nameof Tupman here, waiter?'
A corpulent man, with a fortnight's napkin under his arm, and coevalstockings on his legs, slowly desisted from his occupation of staringdown the street, on this question being put to him by Mr. Pickwick; and,after minutely inspecting that gentleman's appearance, from the crown ofhis hat to the lowest button of his gaiters, replied emphatically--
'No!'
'Nor any gentleman of the name of Snodgrass?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'No!'
'Nor Winkle?'
'No!'
'My friends have not arrived to-day, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'We willdine alone, then. Show us a private room, waiter.'
On this request being preferred, the corpulent man condescended to orderthe boots to bring in the gentlemen's luggage; and preceding them down along, dark passage, ushered them into a large, badly-furnishedapartment, with a dirty grate, in which a small fire was making awretched attempt to be cheerful, but was fast sinking beneath thedispiriting influence of the place. After the lapse of an hour, a bit offish and a steak was served up to the travellers, and when the dinnerwas cleared away, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Peter Magnus drew their chairs upto the fire, and having ordered a bottle of the worst possible portwine, at the highest possible price, for the good of the house, drankbrandy-and-water for their own.
Mr. Peter Magnus was naturally of a very communicative disposition, andthe brandy-and-water operated with wonderful effect in warming into lifethe deepest hidden secrets of his bosom. After sundry accounts ofhimself, his family, his connections, his friends, his jokes, hisbusiness, and his brothers (most talkative men have a great deal to sayabout their brothers), Mr. Peter Magnus took a view of Mr. Pickwickthrough his coloured spectacles for several minutes, and then said, withan air of modesty--
'And what do you think--what _do_ you think, Mr. Pickwick--I have comedown here for?'
'Upon my word,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'it is wholly impossible for me toguess; on business, perhaps.'
'Partly right, Sir,' replied Mr. Peter Magnus, 'but partly wrong at thesame time; try ag
'Really,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I must throw myself on your mercy, to tellme or not, as you may think best; for I should never guess, if I were totry all night.'
'Why, then, he-he-he!' said Mr. Peter Magnus, with a bashful titter,'what should you think, Mr. Pickwick, if I had come down here to make aproposal, Sir, eh? He, he, he!'
'Think! That you are very likely to succeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick, withone of his beaming smiles.
'Ah!' said Mr. Magnus. 'But do you really think so, Mr. Pickwick? Doyou, though?'
'Certainly,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'No; but you're joking, though.'
'I am not, indeed.'
'Why, then,' said Mr. Magnus, 'to let you into a little secret, I thinkso too. I don't mind telling you, Mr. Pickwick, although I'm dreadfuljealous by nature--horrid--that the lady is in this house.' Here Mr.Magnus took off his spectacles, on purpose to wink, and then put them onagain.
'That's what you were running out of the room for, before dinner, then,so often,' said Mr. Pickwick archly.
'Hush! Yes, you're right, that was it; not such a fool as to see her,though.'
'No!'
'No; wouldn't do, you know, after having just come off a journey. Waittill to-morrow, sir; double the chance then. Mr. Pickwick, Sir, there isa suit of clothes in that bag, and a hat in that box, which, I expect,in the effect they will produce, will be invaluable to me, sir.'
'Indeed!' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Yes; you must have observed my anxiety about them to-day. I do notbelieve that such another suit of clothes, and such a hat, could bebought for money, Mr. Pickwick.'
Mr. Pickwick congratulated the fortunate owner of the irresistiblegarments on their acquisition; and Mr. Peter Magnus remained a fewmoments apparently absorbed in contemplation.
'She's a fine creature,' said Mr. Magnus.
'Is she?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Very,' said Mr. Magnus. 'Very. She lives about twenty miles from here,Mr. Pickwick. I heard she would be here to-night and all to-morrowforenoon, and came down to seize the opportunity. I think an inn is agood sort of a place to propose to a single woman in, Mr. Pickwick. Sheis more likely to feel the loneliness of her situation in travelling,perhaps, than she would be at home. What do you think, Mr. Pickwick?'
'I think it is very probable,' replied that gentleman.
'I beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick,' said Mr. Peter Magnus, 'but I amnaturally rather curious; what may you have come down here for?'
'On a far less pleasant errand, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, the colourmounting to his face at the recollection. 'I have come down here, Sir,to expose the treachery and falsehood of an individual, upon whose truthand honour I placed implicit reliance.'
'Dear me,' said Mr. Peter Magnus, 'that's very unpleasant. It is a lady,I presume? Eh? ah! Sly, Mr. Pickwick, sly. Well, Mr. Pickwick, sir, Iwouldn't probe your feelings for the world. Painful subjects, these,sir, very painful. Don't mind me, Mr. Pickwick, if you wish to give ventto your feelings. I know what it is to be jilted, Sir; I have enduredthat sort of thing three or four times.'
'I am much obliged to you, for your condolence on what you presume to bemy melancholy case,' said Mr. Pickwick, winding up his watch, and layingit on the table, 'but--'
'No, no,' said Mr. Peter Magnus, 'not a word more; it's a painfulsubject. I see, I see. What's the time, Mr. Pickwick?'
Past twelve.'
'Dear me, it's time to go to bed. It will never do, sitting here. Ishall be pale to-morrow, Mr. Pickwick.'
At the bare notion of such a calamity, Mr. Peter Magnus rang the bellfor the chambermaid; and the striped bag, the red bag, the leathern hat-box, and the brown-paper parcel, having been conveyed to his bedroom, heretired in company with a japanned candlestick, to one side of thehouse, while Mr. Pickwick, and another japanned candlestick, wereconducted through a multitude of tortuous windings, to another.
'This is your room, sir,' said the chambermaid.
'Very well,' replied Mr. Pickwick, looking round him. It was a tolerablylarge double-bedded room, with a fire; upon the whole, a morecomfortable-looking apartment than Mr. Pickwick's short experience ofthe accommodations of the Great White Horse had led him to expect.
'Nobody sleeps in the other bed, of course,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Oh, no, Sir.'
'Very good. Tell my servant to bring me up some hot water at half-pasteight in the morning, and that I shall not want him any more to-night.'
'Yes, Sir,' and bidding Mr. Pickwick good-night, the chambermaidretired, and left him alone.
Mr. Pickwick sat himself down in a chair before the fire, and fell intoa train of rambling meditations. First he thought of his friends, andwondered when they would join him; then his mind reverted to Mrs. MarthaBardell; and from that lady it wandered, by a natural process, to thedingy counting-house of Dodson & Fogg. From Dodson & Fogg's it flew offat a tangent, to the very centre of the history of the queer client; andthen it came back to the Great White Horse at Ipswich, with sufficientclearness to convince Mr. Pickwick that he was falling asleep. So heroused himself, and began to undress, when he recollected he had lefthis watch on the table downstairs.
Now this watch was a special favourite with Mr. Pickwick, having beencarried about, beneath the shadow of his waistcoat, for a greater numberof years than we feel called upon to state at present. The possibilityof going to sleep, unless it were ticking gently beneath his pillow, orin the watch-pocket over his head, had never entered Mr. Pickwick'sbrain. So as it was pretty late now, and he was unwilling to ring hisbell at that hour of the night, he slipped on his coat, of which he hadjust divested himself, and taking the japanned candlestick in his hand,walked quietly downstairs.
The more stairs Mr. Pickwick went down, the more stairs there seemed tobe to descend, and again and again, when Mr. Pickwick got into somenarrow passage, and began to congratulate himself on having gained theground-floor, did another flight of stairs appear before his astonishedeyes. At last he reached a stone hall, which he remembered to have seenwhen he entered the house. Passage after passage did he explore; roomafter room did he peep into; at length, as he was on the point of givingup the search in despair, he opened the door of the identical room inwhich he had spent the evening, and beheld his missing property on thetable.
Mr. Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, and proceeded to retrace hissteps to his bedchamber. If his progress downward had been attended withdifficulties and uncertainty, his journey back was infinitely moreperplexing. Rows of doors, garnished with boots of every shape, make,and size, branched off in every possible direction. A dozen times did hesoftly turn the handle of some bedroom door which resembled his own,when a gruff cry from within of 'Who the devil's that?' or 'What do youwant here?' caused him to steal away, on tiptoe, with a perfectlymarvellous celerity. He was reduced to the verge of despair, when anopen door attracted his attention. He peeped in. Right at last! Therewere the two beds, whose situation he perfectly remembered, and the firestill burning. His candle, not a long one when he first received it, hadflickered away in the drafts of air through which he had passed and sankinto the socket as he closed the door after him. 'No matter,' said Mr.Pickwick, 'I can undress myself just as well by the light of the fire.'
The bedsteads stood one on each side of the door; and on the inner sideof each was a little path, terminating in a rush-bottomed chair, justwide enough to admit of a person's getting into or out of bed, on thatside, if he or she thought proper. Having carefully drawn the curtainsof his bed on the outside, Mr. Pickwick sat down on the rush-bottomedchair, and leisurely divested himself of his shoes and gaiters. He thentook off and folded up his coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, and slowlydrawing on his tasselled nightcap, secured it firmly on his head, bytying beneath his chin the strings which he always had attached to thatarticle of dress. It was at this moment that the absurdity of his recentbewilderment struck upon his mind. Throwing himself back in the rush-bottomed chair, Mr. Pickwick laughed to himself so heartil
'It is the best idea,' said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiling till healmost cracked the nightcap strings--'it is the best idea, my losingmyself in this place, and wandering about these staircases, that I everheard of. Droll, droll, very droll.' Here Mr. Pickwick smiled again, abroader smile than before, and was about to continue the process ofundressing, in the best possible humour, when he was suddenly stopped bya most unexpected interruption: to wit, the entrance into the room ofsome person with a candle, who, after locking the door, advanced to thedressing-table, and set down the light upon it.
The smile that played on Mr. Pickwick's features was instantaneouslylost in a look of the most unbounded and wonder-stricken surprise. Theperson, whoever it was, had come in so suddenly and with so littlenoise, that Mr. Pickwick had had no time to call out, or oppose theirentrance. Who could it be? A robber? Some evil-minded person who hadseen him come upstairs with a handsome watch in his hand, perhaps. Whatwas he to do?
The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse of hismysterious visitor with the least danger of being seen himself, was bycreeping on to the bed, and peeping out from between the curtains on theopposite side. To this manoeuvre he accordingly resorted. Keeping thecurtains carefully closed with his hand, so that nothing more of himcould be seen than his face and nightcap, and putting on his spectacles,he mustered up courage and looked out.
Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standing before thedressing-glass was a middle-aged lady, in yellow curl-papers, busilyengaged in brushing what ladies call their 'back-hair.' However theunconscious middle-aged lady came into that room, it was quite clearthat she contemplated remaining there for the night; for she had broughta rushlight and shade with her, which, with praiseworthy precautionagainst fire, she had stationed in a basin on the floor, where it wasglimmering away, like a gigantic lighthouse in a particularly smallpiece of water.
'Bless my soul!' thought Mr. Pickwick, 'what a dreadful thing!'
'Hem!' said the lady; and in went Mr. Pickwick's head with automaton-like rapidity.
'I never met with anything so awful as this,' thought poor Mr. Pickwick,the cold perspiration starting in drops upon his nightcap. 'Never. Thisis fearful.'
It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see what wasgoing forward. So out went Mr. Pickwick's head again. The prospect wasworse than before. The middle-aged lady had finished arranging her hair;had carefully enveloped it in a muslin nightcap with a small plaitedborder; and was gazing pensively on the fire.
'This matter is growing alarming,' reasoned Mr. Pickwick with himself.'I can't allow things to go on in this way. By the self-possession ofthat lady, it is clear to me that I must have come into the wrong room.If I call out she'll alarm the house; but if I remain here theconsequences will be still more frightful.'
Mr. Pickwick, it is quite unnecessary to say, was one of the most modestand delicate-minded of mortals. The very idea of exhibiting his nightcapto a lady overpowered him, but he had tied those confounded strings in aknot, and, do what he would, he couldn't get it off. The disclosure mustbe made. There was only one other way of doing it. He shrunk behind thecurtains, and called out very loudly--
'Ha-hum!'
That the lady started at this unexpected sound was evident, by herfalling up against the rushlight shade; that she persuaded herself itmust have been the effect of imagination was equally clear, for when Mr.Pickwick, under the impression that she had fainted away stone-dead withfright, ventured to peep out again, she was gazing pensively on the fireas before.
'Most extraordinary female this,' thought Mr. Pickwick, popping inagain. 'Ha-hum!'
These last sounds, so like those in which, as legends inform us, theferocious giant Blunderbore was in the habit of expressing his opinionthat it was time to lay the cloth, were too distinctly audible to beagain mistaken for the workings of fancy.
'Gracious Heaven!' said the middle-aged lady, 'what's that?'
'It's--it's--only a gentleman, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, from behindthe curtains.
'A gentleman!' said the lady, with a terrific scream.
'It's all over!' thought Mr. Pickwick.
'A strange man!' shrieked the lady. Another instant and the house wouldbe alarmed. Her garments rustled as she rushed towards the door.
'Ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, thrusting out his head in the extremity ofhis desperation, 'ma'am!'
Now, although Mr. Pickwick was not actuated by any definite object inputting out his head, it was instantaneously productive of a goodeffect. The lady, as we have already stated, was near the door. She mustpass it, to reach the staircase, and she would most undoubtedly havedone so by this time, had not the sudden apparition of Mr. Pickwick'snightcap driven her back into the remotest corner of the apartment,where she stood staring wildly at Mr. Pickwick, while Mr. Pickwick inhis turn stared wildly at her.
'Wretch,' said the lady, covering her eyes with her hands, 'what do youwant here?'
'Nothing, ma'am; nothing whatever, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick earnestly.
'Nothing!' said the lady, looking up.
'Nothing, ma'am, upon my honour,' said Mr. Pickwick, nodding his head soenergetically, that the tassel of his nightcap danced again. 'I amalmost ready to sink, ma'am, beneath the confusion of addressing a ladyin my nightcap (here the lady hastily snatched off hers), but I can'tget it off, ma'am (here Mr. Pickwick gave it a tremendous tug, in proofof the statement). It is evident to me, ma'am, now, that I have mistakenthis bedroom for my own. I had not been here five minutes, ma'am, whenyou suddenly entered it.'
'If this improbable story be really true, Sir,' said the lady, sobbingviolently, 'you will leave it instantly.'
'I will, ma'am, with the greatest pleasure,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'Instantly, sir,' said the lady.
'Certainly, ma'am,' interposed Mr. Pickwick, very quickly. 'Certainly,ma'am. I--I--am very sorry, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, making hisappearance at the bottom of the bed, 'to have been the innocent occasionof this alarm and emotion; deeply sorry, ma'am.'
The lady pointed to the door. One excellent quality of Mr. Pickwick'scharacter was beautifully displayed at this moment, under the mosttrying circumstances. Although he had hastily put on his hat over hisnightcap, after the manner of the old patrol; although he carried hisshoes and gaiters in his hand, and his coat and waistcoat over his arm;nothing could subdue his native politeness.
'I am exceedingly sorry, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, bowing very low.
'If you are, Sir, you will at once leave the room,' said the lady.
'Immediately, ma'am; this instant, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, openingthe door, and dropping both his shoes with a crash in so doing.
'I trust, ma'am,' resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering up his shoes, andturning round to bow again--'I trust, ma'am, that my unblemishedcharacter, and the devoted respect I entertain for your sex, will pleadas some slight excuse for this--' But before Mr. Pickwick could concludethe sentence, the lady had thrust him into the passage, and locked andbolted the door behind him.
Whatever grounds of self-congratulation Mr. Pickwick might have forhaving escaped so quietly from his late awkward situation, his presentposition was by no means enviable. He was alone, in an open passage, ina strange house in the middle of the night, half dressed; it was not tobe supposed that he could find his way in perfect darkness to a roomwhich he had been wholly unable to discover with a light, and if he madethe slightest noise in his fruitless attempts to do so, he stood everychance of being shot at, and perhaps killed, by some wakeful traveller.He had no resource but to remain where he was until daylight appeared.So after groping his way a few paces down the passage, and, to hisinfinite alarm, stumbling over several pairs of boots in so doing, Mr.Pickwick crouched into a little recess in the wall, to wait for morning,as philosophically as he might.
He was not destined, however, to undergo this additional trial ofpatience; for he had not been long ensconced in his present concealmentwhen, to his unspeakable horror, a man, bearing a light, appeared at theend of the passage. His horror was suddenly converted into joy, however,when he recognised the form of his faithful attendant. It was indeed Mr.Samuel Weller, who after sitting up thus late, in conversation with theboots, who was sitting up for the mail, was now about to retire to rest.
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly appearing before him, 'where's mybedroom?'
Mr. Weller stared at his master with the most emphatic surprise; and itwas not until the question had been repeated three several times, thathe turned round, and led the way to the long-sought apartment.
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, as he got into bed, 'I have made one of themost extraordinary mistakes to-night, that ever were heard of.'
'Wery likely, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller drily.
'But of this I am determined, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'that if I wereto stop in this house for six months, I would never trust myself aboutit, alone, again.'
'That's the wery prudentest resolution as you could come to, Sir,'replied Mr. Weller. 'You rayther want somebody to look arter you, Sir,when your judgment goes out a wisitin'.'
'What do you mean by that, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick. He raised himself inbed, and extended his hand, as if he were about to say something more;but suddenly checking himself, turned round, and bade his valet 'Good-night.'
'Good-night, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller. He paused when he got outside thedoor--shook his head--walked on--stopped--snuffed the candle--shook hishead again--and finally proceeded slowly to his chamber, apparentlyburied in the profoundest meditation.