The delicate nature of this commission, and the difficulty ofexecuting it in a satisfactory manner, were by no means lessenedby the voluntary companionship of Mr. Bob Sawyer. Truth totell, Mr. Pickwick felt that his presence on the occasion, howeverconsiderate and gratifying, was by no means an honour hewould willingly have sought; in fact, he would cheerfully havegiven a reasonable sum of money to have had Mr. Bob Sawyerremoved to any place at not less than fifty miles' distance,without delay.

Mr. Pickwick had never held any personal communicationwith Mr. Winkle, senior, although he had once or twice correspondedwith him by letter, and returned satisfactory answers tohis inquiries concerning the moral character and behaviour ofhis son; he felt nervously sensible that to wait upon him, for thefirst time, attended by Bob Sawyer and Ben Allen, both slightlyfuddled, was not the most ingenious and likely means that couldhave been hit upon to prepossess him in his favour.

'However,' said Mr. Pickwick, endeavouring to reassurehimself, 'I must do the best I can. I must see him to-night, for Ifaithfully promised to do so. If they persist in accompanyingme, I must make the interview as brief as possible, and be contentthat, for their own sakes, they will not expose themselves.'

As he comforted himself with these reflections, the chaisestopped at the door of the Old Royal. Ben Allen having beenpartially awakened from a stupendous sleep, and dragged out bythe collar by Mr. Samuel Weller, Mr. Pickwick was enabled toalight. They were shown to a comfortable apartment, and Mr.Pickwick at once propounded a question to the waiter concerningthe whereabout of Mr. Winkle's residence.

'Close by, Sir,' said the waiter, 'not above five hundred yards,Sir. Mr. Winkle is a wharfinger, Sir, at the canal, sir. Privateresidence is not--oh dear, no, sir, not five hundred yards, sir.'Here the waiter blew a candle out, and made a feint of lighting itagain, in order to afford Mr. Pickwick an opportunity of askingany further questions, if he felt so disposed.'Take anything now, Sir?' said the waiter, lighting the candlein desperation at Mr. Pickwick's silence. 'Tea or coffee, Sir?Dinner, sir?'

'Nothing now.'

'Very good, sir. Like to order supper, Sir?'

'Not just now.'

'Very good, Sir.' Here, he walked slowly to the door, and thenstopping short, turned round and said, with great suavity--

'Shall I send the chambermaid, gentlemen?'

'You may if you please,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'If YOU please, sir.'

'And bring some soda-water,' said Bob Sawyer.

'Soda-water, Sir! Yes, Sir.' With his mind apparently relievedfrom an overwhelming weight, by having at last got an order forsomething, the waiter imperceptibly melted away. Waiters neverwalk or run. They have a peculiar and mysterious power ofskimming out of rooms, which other mortals possess not.

Some slight symptoms of vitality having been awakened inMr. Ben Allen by the soda-water, he suffered himself to beprevailed upon to wash his face and hands, and to submit to bebrushed by Sam. Mr. Pickwick and Bob Sawyer having alsorepaired the disorder which the journey had made in theirapparel, the three started forth, arm in arm, to Mr. Winkle's;Bob Sawyer impregnating the atmosphere with tobacco smoke ashe walked along.

About a quarter of a mile off, in a quiet, substantial-lookingstreet, stood an old red brick house with three steps before thedoor, and a brass plate upon it, bearing, in fat Roman capitals,the words, 'Mr. Winkle.'The steps were very white, and the brickswere very red, and the house was very clean; and here stoodMr. Pickwick, Mr. Benjamin Allen, and Mr. Bob Sawyer, as theclock struck ten.

A smart servant-girl answered the knock, and started onbeholding the three strangers.

'Is Mr. Winkle at home, my dear?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'He is just going to supper, Sir,' replied the girl.

'Give him that card if you please,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick.'Say I am sorry to trouble him at so late an hour; but I amanxious to see him to-night, and have only just arrived.'The girl looked timidly at Mr. Bob Sawyer, who was expressinghis admiration of her personal charms by a variety of wonderfulgrimaces; and casting an eye at the hats and greatcoats whichhung in the passage, called another girl to mind the door whileshe went upstairs. The sentinel was speedily relieved; for the girlreturned immediately, and begging pardon of the gentlemen forleaving them in the street, ushered them into a floor-clothed backparlour, half office and half dressing room, in which the principaluseful and ornamental articles of furniture were a desk, a wash-hand stand and shaving-glass, a boot-rack and boot-jack, a highstool, four chairs, a table, and an old eight-day clock. Over themantelpiece were the sunken doors of an iron safe, while acouple of hanging shelves for books, an almanac, and severalfiles of dusty papers, decorated the walls.

'Very sorry to leave you standing at the door, Sir,' said thegirl, lighting a lamp, and addressing Mr. Pickwick with a winningsmile, 'but you was quite strangers to me; and we have such amany trampers that only come to see what they can lay theirhands on, that really--'

'There is not the least occasion for any apology, my dear,' saidMr. Pickwick good-humouredly.

'Not the slightest, my love,' said Bob Sawyer, playfullystretching forth his arms, and skipping from side to side, as if toprevent the young lady's leaving the room.

The young lady was not at all softened by these allurements,for she at once expressed her opinion, that Mr. Bob Sawyer wasan 'odous creetur;' and, on his becoming rather more pressing inhis attentions, imprinted her fair fingers upon his face, andbounced out of the room with many expressions of aversion and contempt.

Deprived of the young lady's society, Mr. Bob Sawyer proceededto divert himself by peeping into the desk, looking into allthe table drawers, feigning to pick the lock of the iron safe,turning the almanac with its face to the wall, trying on the bootsof Mr. Winkle, senior, over his own, and making several otherhumorous experiments upon the furniture, all of which affordedMr. Pickwick unspeakable horror and agony, and yielded Mr.Bob Sawyer proportionate delight.

At length the door opened, and a little old gentleman in asnuff-coloured suit, with a head and face the precise counterpartof those belonging to Mr. Winkle, junior, excepting that he wasrather bald, trotted into the room with Mr. Pickwick's card inone hand, and a silver candlestick in the other.

'Mr. Pickwick, sir, how do you do?' said Winkle the elder,putting down the candlestick and proffering his hand. 'Hope Isee you well, sir. Glad to see you. Be seated, Mr. Pickwick, I beg,Sir. This gentleman is--'

'My friend, Mr. Sawyer,' interposed Mr. Pickwick, 'your son's friend.'

'Oh,' said Mr. Winkle the elder, looking rather grimly at Bob.'I hope you are well, sir.'

'Right as a trivet, sir,' replied Bob Sawyer.

'This other gentleman,' cried Mr. Pickwick, 'is, as you will seewhen you have read the letter with which I am intrusted, a verynear relative, or I should rather say a very particular friend ofyour son's. His name is Allen.'

'THAT gentleman?' inquired Mr. Winkle, pointing with the cardtowards Ben Allen, who had fallen asleep in an attitude whichleft nothing of him visible but his spine and his coat collar.

Mr. Pickwick was on the point of replying to the question, andreciting Mr. Benjamin Allen's name and honourable distinctionsat full length, when the sprightly Mr. Bob Sawyer, with a view ofrousing his friend to a sense of his situation, inflicted a startlingpinch upon the fleshly part of his arm, which caused him to jumpup with a shriek. Suddenly aware that he was in the presence ofa stranger, Mr. Ben Allen advanced and, shaking Mr. Winklemost affectionately by both hands for about five minutes,murmured, in some half-intelligible fragments of sentences, thegreat delight he felt in seeing him, and a hospitable inquirywhether he felt disposed to take anything after his walk, orwould prefer waiting 'till dinner-time;' which done, he sat downand gazed about him with a petrified stare, as if he had not theremotest idea where he was, which indeed he had not.

All this was most embarrassing to Mr. Pickwick, the moreespecially as Mr. Winkle, senior, evinced palpable astonishmentat the eccentric--not to say extraordinary--behaviour of his twocompanions. To bring the matter to an issue at once, he drew aletter from his pocket, and presenting it to Mr. Winkle, senior, said--

'This letter, Sir, is from your son. You will see, by its contents,that on your favourable and fatherly consideration of it, dependhis future happiness and welfare. Will you oblige me by giving itthe calmest and coolest perusal, and by discussing the subjectafterwards with me, in the tone and spirit in which alone it oughtto be discussed? You may judge of the importance of yourdecision to your son, and his intense anxiety upon the subject, bymy waiting upon you, without any previous warning, at so latean hour; and,' added Mr. Pickwick, glancing slightly at his twocompanions--'and under such unfavourable circumstances.'

With this prelude, Mr. Pickwick placed four closely-writtensides of extra superfine wire-wove penitence in the hands of theastounded Mr. Winkle, senior. Then reseating himself in his chair,he watched his looks and manner: anxiously, it is true, but withthe open front of a gentleman who feels he has taken no partwhich he need excuse or palliate.The old wharfinger turned the letter over, looked at the front,back, and sides, made a microscopic examination of the fat littleboy on the seal, raised his eyes to Mr. Pickwick's face, and then,seating himself on the high stool, and drawing the lamp closer tohim, broke the wax, unfolded the epistle, and lifting it to thelight, prepared to read.Just at this moment, Mr. Bob Sawyer, whose wit had laindormant for some minutes, placed his hands on his knees, andmade a face after the portraits of the late Mr. Grimaldi, as clown.It so happened that Mr. Winkle, senior, instead of being deeplyengaged in reading the letter, as Mr. Bob Sawyer thought,chanced to be looking over the top of it at no less a person thanMr. Bob Sawyer himself; rightly conjecturing that the face aforesaidwas made in ridicule and derision of his own person, hefixed his eyes on Bob with such expressive sternness, that the lateMr. Grimaldi's lineaments gradually resolved themselves into avery fine expression of humility and confusion.

'Did you speak, Sir?' inquired Mr. Winkle, senior, after anawful silence.

'No, sir,' replied Bob, With no remains of the clown about him,save and except the extreme redness of his cheeks.

'You are sure you did not, sir?' said Mr. Winkle, senior.

'Oh dear, yes, sir, quite,' replied Bob.

'I thought you did, Sir,' replied the old gentleman, withindignant emphasis. 'Perhaps you LOOKED at me, sir?'

'Oh, no! sir, not at all,' replied Bob, with extreme civility.

'I am very glad to hear it, sir,' said Mr. Winkle, senior. Havingfrowned upon the abashed Bob with great magnificence, the oldgentleman again brought the letter to the light, and began toread it seriously.

Mr. Pickwick eyed him intently as he turned from the bottomline of the first page to the top line of the second, and from thebottom of the second to the top of the third, and from thebottom of the third to the top of the fourth; but not the slightestalteration of countenance afforded a clue to the feelings withwhich he received the announcement of his son's marriage, whichMr. Pickwick knew was in the very first half-dozen lines.

He read the letter to the last word, folded it again with all thecarefulness and precision of a man of business, and, just whenMr. Pickwick expected some great outbreak of feeling, dipped apen in the ink-stand, and said, as quietly as if he were speakingon the most ordinary counting-house topic--

'What is Nathaniel's address, Mr. Pickwick?'

'The George and Vulture, at present,' replied that gentleman.

'George and Vulture. Where is that?'

'George Yard, Lombard Street.'

'In the city?'

'Yes.'

The old gentleman methodically indorsed the address on theback of the letter; and then, placing it in the desk, which helocked, said, as he got off the stool and put the bunch of keys inhis pocket--

'I suppose there is nothing else which need detain us, Mr. Pickwick?'

'Nothing else, my dear Sir!' observed that warm-heartedperson in indignant amazement. 'Nothing else! Have you noopinion to express on this momentous event in our young friend'slife? No assurance to convey to him, through me, of thecontinuance of your affection and protection? Nothing to say whichwill cheer and sustain him, and the anxious girl who looks to himfor comfort and support? My dear Sir, consider.'

'I will consider,' replied the old gentleman. 'I have nothing tosay just now. I am a man of business, Mr. Pickwick. I nevercommit myself hastily in any affair, and from what I see of this,I by no means like the appearance of it. A thousand pounds isnot much, Mr. Pickwick.'

'You're very right, Sir,' interposed Ben Allen, just awakeenough to know that he had spent his thousand pounds withoutthe smallest difficulty. 'You're an intelligent man. Bob, he's avery knowing fellow this.'

'I am very happy to find that you do me the justice to make theadmission, sir,' said Mr. Winkle, senior, looking contemptuouslyat Ben Allen, who was shaking his head profoundly. 'The fact is,Mr. Pickwick, that when I gave my son a roving license for ayear or so, to see something of men and manners (which he hasdone under your auspices), so that he might not enter life a mereboarding-school milk-sop to be gulled by everybody, I neverbargained for this. He knows that very well, so if I withdraw mycountenance from him on this account, he has no call to besurprised. He shall hear from me, Mr. Pickwick. Good-night, sir.--Margaret, open the door.'

Title: The Pickwick Papers
Author: Charles Dickens
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