THE STORY OF LONDON: Charles Dickens' Perspective in 11 Novels & 80+ Short Stories (Illustrated Edition). Charles Dickens
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ladies emptied their glasses in honour of the sentiment, and got very talkative directly.
‘I suppose you’ve heard what’s going forward, Mr. Weller?’ said Mrs. Bardell.
‘I’ve heerd somethin’ on it,’ replied Sam.
‘It’s a terrible thing to be dragged before the public, in that way, Mr. Weller,’ said Mrs. Bardell; ‘but I see now, that it’s the only thing I ought to do, and my lawyers, Mr. Dodson and Fogg, tell me that, with the evidence as we shall call, we must succeed. I don’t know what I should do, Mr. Weller, if I didn’t.’
The mere idea of Mrs. Bardell’s failing in her action, affected Mrs. Sanders so deeply, that she was under the necessity of refilling and re-emptying her glass immediately; feeling, as she said afterwards, that if she hadn’t had the presence of mind to do so, she must have dropped.
‘Ven is it expected to come on?’ inquired Sam.
‘Either in February or March,’ replied Mrs. Bardell.
‘What a number of witnesses there’ll be, won’t there?’ said Mrs. Cluppins.
‘Ah! won’t there!’ replied Mrs. Sanders.
‘And won’t Mr. Dodson and Fogg be wild if the plaintiff shouldn’t get it?’ added Mrs. Cluppins, ‘when they do it all on speculation!’
‘Ah! won’t they!’ said Mrs. Sanders.
‘But the plaintiff must get it,’ resumed Mrs. Cluppins.
‘I hope so,’ said Mrs. Bardell.
‘Oh, there can’t be any doubt about it,’ rejoined Mrs. Sanders.
‘Vell,’ said Sam, rising and setting down his glass, ‘all I can say is, that I vish you MAY get it.’
‘Thank’ee, Mr. Weller,’ said Mrs. Bardell fervently.
‘And of them Dodson and Foggs, as does these sort o’ things on spec,’ continued Mr. Weller, ‘as vell as for the other kind and gen’rous people o’ the same purfession, as sets people by the ears, free gratis for nothin’, and sets their clerks to work to find out little disputes among their neighbours and acquaintances as vants settlin’ by means of lawsuits — all I can say o’ them is, that I vish they had the reward I’d give ‘em.’
‘Ah, I wish they had the reward that every kind and generous heart would be inclined to bestow upon them!’ said the gratified Mrs. Bardell.
‘Amen to that,’ replied Sam, ‘and a fat and happy liven’ they’d get out of it! Wish you goodnight, ladies.’
To the great relief of Mrs. Sanders, Sam was allowed to depart without any reference, on the part of the hostess, to the pettitoes and toasted cheese; to which the ladies, with such juvenile assistance as Master Bardell could afford, soon afterwards rendered the amplest justice — indeed they wholly vanished before their strenuous exertions.
Mr. Weller wended his way back to the George and Vulture, and faithfully recounted to his master, such indications of the sharp practice of Dodson & Fogg, as he had contrived to pick up in his visit to Mrs. Bardell’s. An interview with Mr. Perker, next day, more than confirmed Mr. Weller’s statement; and Mr. Pickwick was fain to prepare for his Christmas visit to Dingley Dell, with the pleasant anticipation that some two or three months afterwards, an action brought against him for damages sustained by reason of a breach of promise of marriage, would be publicly tried in the Court of Common Pleas; the plaintiff having all the advantages derivable, not only from the force of circumstances, but from the sharp practice of Dodson & Fogg to boot.
Chapter XXVII.
Samuel Weller Makes a Pilgrimage to Dorking, and Beholds His Motherin-law
There still remaining an interval of two days before the time agreed upon for the departure of the Pickwickians to Dingley Dell, Mr. Weller sat himself down in a back room at the George and Vulture, after eating an early dinner, to muse on the best way of disposing of his time. It was a remarkably fine day; and he had not turned the matter over in his mind ten minutes, when he was suddenly stricken filial and affectionate; and it occurred to him so strongly that he ought to go down and see his father, and pay his duty to his motherin-law, that he was lost in astonishment at his own remissness in never thinking of this moral obligation before. Anxious to atone for his past neglect without another hour’s delay, he straightway walked upstairs to Mr. Pickwick, and requested leave of absence for this laudable purpose.
‘Certainly, Sam, certainly,’ said Mr. Pickwick, his eyes glistening with delight at this manifestation of filial feeling on the part of his attendant; ‘certainly, Sam.’
Mr. Weller made a grateful bow.
‘I am very glad to see that you have so high a sense of your duties as a son, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘I always had, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
‘That’s a very gratifying reflection, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick approvingly.
‘Wery, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘if ever I wanted anythin’ o’ my father, I always asked for it in a wery ‘spectful and obligin’ manner. If he didn’t give it me, I took it, for fear I should be led to do anythin’ wrong, through not havin’ it. I saved him a world o’ trouble this vay, Sir.’
‘That’s not precisely what I meant, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, shaking his head, with a slight smile.
‘All good feelin’, sir — the wery best intentions, as the gen’l’m’n said ven he run away from his wife ‘cos she seemed unhappy with him,’ replied Mr. Weller.
‘You may go, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Thank’ee, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; and having made his best bow, and put on his best clothes, Sam planted himself on the top of the Arundel coach, and journeyed on to Dorking.
The Marquis of Granby, in Mrs. Weller’s time, was quite a model of a roadside public-house of the better class — just large enough to be convenient, and small enough to be snug. On the opposite side of the road was a large signboard on a high post, representing the head and shoulders of a gentleman with an apoplectic countenance, in a red coat with deep blue facings, and a touch of the same blue over his three-cornered hat, for a sky. Over that again were a pair of flags; beneath the last button of his coat were a couple of cannon; and the whole formed an expressive and undoubted likeness of the Marquis of Granby of glorious memory.
The bar window displayed a choice collection of geranium plants, and a well-dusted row of spirit phials. The open shutters bore a variety of golden inscriptions, eulogistic of good beds and neat wines; and the choice group of countrymen and hostlers lounging about the stable door and horse-trough, afforded presumptive proof of the excellent quality of the ale and spirits which were sold within. Sam Weller paused, when he dismounted from the coach, to note all these little indications of a thriving business, with the eye of an experienced traveller; and having done so, stepped in at once, highly satisfied with everything he had observed.
‘Now, then!’ said a shrill female voice the instant Sam thrust his head in at the door, ‘what do you want, young man?’
Sam looked round in the direction whence the voice proceeded. It came from a rather stout lady of comfortable appearance, who was seated beside the fireplace in the bar, blowing the fire to make the kettle boil for tea. She was not alone; for on the other side of the fireplace, sitting bolt upright in a high-backed chair, was a man in threadbare black clothes, with a back almost as long and stiff as that of the chair itself, who caught Sam’s most particular and especial attention at once.
He was a prim-faced, red-nosed man, with a long, thin countenance, and a semi-rattlesnake sort of eye — rather sharp, but decidedly bad. He wore very short trousers,