All this time, Bob Sawyer had been nudging Mr. Ben Allen tosay something on the right side; Ben accordingly now burst,without the slightest preliminary notice, into a brief butimpassioned piece of eloquence.

'Sir,' said Mr. Ben Allen, staring at the old gentleman, out of apair of very dim and languid eyes, and working his right armvehemently up and down, 'you--you ought to be ashamed ofyourself.'

'As the lady's brother, of course you are an excellent judge ofthe question,' retorted Mr. Winkle, senior. 'There; that'senough. Pray say no more, Mr. Pickwick. Good-night, gentlemen!'

With these words the old gentleman took up the candle-stickand opening the room door, politely motioned towards the passage.

'You will regret this, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, setting his teethclose together to keep down his choler; for he felt howimportant the effect might prove to his young friend.

'I am at present of a different opinion,' calmly replied Mr.Winkle, senior. 'Once again, gentlemen, I wish you a good-night.'

Mr. Pickwick walked with angry strides into the street. Mr.Bob Sawyer, completely quelled by the decision of the old gentleman'smanner, took the same course. Mr. Ben Allen's hat rolleddown the steps immediately afterwards, and Mr. Ben Allen'sbody followed it directly. The whole party went silent and supperlessto bed; and Mr. Pickwick thought, just before he fell asleep,that if he had known Mr. Winkle, senior, had been quite so muchof a man of business, it was extremely probable he might neverhave waited upon him, on such an errand.

CHAPTER LIIN WHICH Mr. PICKWICK ENCOUNTERS AN OLDACQUAINTANCE--TO WHICH FORTUNATE CIRCUMSTANCETHE READER IS MAINLY INDEBTED FOR MATTER OFTHRILLING INTEREST HEREIN SET DOWN, CONCERNINGTWO GREAT PUBLIC MEN OF MIGHT AND POWER

The morning which broke upon Mr. Pickwick's sight at eighto'clock, was not at all calculated to elevate his spirits, orto lessen the depression which the unlooked-for result of hisembassy inspired. The sky was dark and gloomy, the air was dampand raw, the streets were wet and sloppy. The smoke hung sluggishlyabove the chimney-tops as if it lacked the courage to rise, andthe rain came slowly and doggedly down, as if it had not even thespirit to pour. A game-cock in the stableyard, deprived of everyspark of his accustomed animation, balanced himself dismally onone leg in a corner; a donkey, moping with drooping head under thenarrow roof of an outhouse, appeared from his meditative andmiserable countenance to be contemplating suicide. In thestreet, umbrellas were the only things to be seen, and theclicking of pattens and splashing of rain-drops were the onlysounds to be heard.

The breakfast was interrupted by very little conversation; evenMr. Bob Sawyer felt the influence of the weather, and the previousday's excitement. In his own expressive language he was 'floored.'So was Mr. Ben Allen. So was Mr. Pickwick.

In protracted expectation of the weather clearing up, the lastevening paper from London was read and re-read with anintensity of interest only known in cases of extreme destitution;every inch of the carpet was walked over with similar perseverance;the windows were looked out of, often enough to justifythe imposition of an additional duty upon them; all kinds oftopics of conversation were started, and failed; and at lengthMr. Pickwick, when noon had arrived, without a change for thebetter, rang the bell resolutely, and ordered out the chaise.

Although the roads were miry, and the drizzling rain camedown harder than it had done yet, and although the mud and wetsplashed in at the open windows of the carriage to such anextent that the discomfort was almost as great to the pair ofinsides as to the pair of outsides, still there was something in themotion, and the sense of being up and doing, which was soinfinitely superior to being pent in a dull room, looking at thedull rain dripping into a dull street, that they all agreed, onstarting, that the change was a great improvement, and wonderedhow they could possibly have delayed making it as long as theyhad done.

When they stopped to change at Coventry, the steam ascendedfrom the horses in such clouds as wholly to obscure the hostler,whose voice was however heard to declare from the mist, that heexpected the first gold medal from the Humane Society on theirnext distribution of rewards, for taking the postboy's hat off; thewater descending from the brim of which, the invisible gentlemandeclared, must have drowned him (the postboy), but for hisgreat presence of mind in tearing it promptly from his head, anddrying the gasping man's countenance with a wisp of straw.

'This is pleasant,' said Bob Sawyer, turning up his coat collar,and pulling the shawl over his mouth to concentrate the fumes ofa glass of brandy just swallowed.

'Wery,' replied Sam composedly.

'You don't seem to mind it,' observed Bob.

'Vy, I don't exactly see no good my mindin' on it 'ud do, sir,'replied Sam.

'That's an unanswerable reason, anyhow,' said Bob.

'Yes, sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller. 'Wotever is, is right, as theyoung nobleman sweetly remarked wen they put him down in thepension list 'cos his mother's uncle's vife's grandfather vunce litthe king's pipe vith a portable tinder-box.''Not a bad notion that, Sam,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer approvingly.

, Just wot the young nobleman said ev'ry quarter-day arterwardsfor the rest of his life,' replied Mr. Weller.

'Wos you ever called in,' inquired Sam, glancing at the driver,after a short silence, and lowering his voice to a mysteriouswhisper--'wos you ever called in, when you wos 'prentice to asawbones, to wisit a postboy.'

'I don't remember that I ever was,' replied Bob Sawyer.

'You never see a postboy in that 'ere hospital as you WALKED(as they says o' the ghosts), did you?' demanded Sam.

'No,' replied Bob Sawyer. 'I don't think I ever did.'

'Never know'd a churchyard were there wos a postboy'stombstone, or see a dead postboy, did you?' inquired Sam,pursuing his catechism.

'No,' rejoined Bob, 'I never did.'

'No!' rejoined Sam triumphantly. 'Nor never vill; and there'sanother thing that no man never see, and that's a dead donkey.No man never see a dead donkey 'cept the gen'l'm'n in the blacksilk smalls as know'd the young 'ooman as kep' a goat; and thatwos a French donkey, so wery likely he warn't wun o' the reg'lar breed.'

'Well, what has that got to do with the postboys?' asked Bob Sawyer.

'This here,' replied Sam. 'Without goin' so far as to as-sert, assome wery sensible people do, that postboys and donkeys is bothimmortal, wot I say is this: that wenever they feels theirselvesgettin' stiff and past their work, they just rides off together, wunpostboy to a pair in the usual way; wot becomes on 'em nobodyknows, but it's wery probable as they starts avay to take theirpleasure in some other vorld, for there ain't a man alive as eversee either a donkey or a postboy a-takin' his pleasure in this!'

Expatiating upon this learned and remarkable theory, andciting many curious statistical and other facts in its support, SamWeller beguiled the time until they reached Dunchurch, where adry postboy and fresh horses were procured; the next stage wasDaventry, and the next Towcester; and at the end of each stageit rained harder than it had done at the beginning.

'I say,' remonstrated Bob Sawyer, looking in at the coachwindow, as they pulled up before the door of the Saracen's Head,Towcester, 'this won't do, you know.'

'Bless me!' said Mr. Pickwick, just awakening from a nap, 'I'mafraid you're wet.'

'Oh, you are, are you?' returned Bob. 'Yes, I am, a little thatway, Uncomfortably damp, perhaps.'

Bob did look dampish, inasmuch as the rain was streamingfrom his neck, elbows, cuffs, skirts, and knees; and his wholeapparel shone so with the wet, that it might have been mistakenfor a full suit of prepared oilskin.

'I AM rather wet,' said Bob, giving himself a shake and castinga little hydraulic shower around, like a Newfoundland dog justemerged from the water.

'I think it's quite impossible to go on to-night,' interposed Ben.

'Out of the question, sir,' remarked Sam Weller, coming toassist in the conference; 'it's a cruelty to animals, sir, to ask 'emto do it. There's beds here, sir,' said Sam, addressing his master,'everything clean and comfortable. Wery good little dinner, sir,they can get ready in half an hour--pair of fowls, sir, and a wealcutlet; French beans, 'taturs, tart, and tidiness. You'd betterstop vere you are, sir, if I might recommend. Take adwice, sir,as the doctor said.'

The host of the Saracen's Head opportunely appeared at thismoment, to confirm Mr. Weller's statement relative to theaccommodations of the establishment, and to back his entreatieswith a variety of dismal conjectures regarding the state of theroads, the doubt of fresh horses being to be had at the next stage,the dead certainty of its raining all night, the equally mortalcertainty of its clearing up in the morning, and other topics ofinducement familiar to innkeepers.

'Well,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but I must send a letter to Londonby some conveyance, so that it may be delivered the very firstthing in the morning, or I must go forwards at all hazards.'

The landlord smiled his delight. Nothing could be easier thanfor the gentleman to inclose a letter in a sheet of brown paper,and send it on, either by the mail or the night coach fromBirmingham. If the gentleman were particularly anxious to haveit left as soon as possible, he might write outside, 'To be deliveredimmediately,' which was sure to be attended to; or 'Pay thebearer half-a-crown extra for instant delivery,' which was surer still.

'Very well,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'then we will stop here.'

'Lights in the Sun, John; make up the fire; the gentlemen arewet!' cried the landlord. 'This way, gentlemen; don't troubleyourselves about the postboy now, sir. I'll send him to you whenyou ring for him, sir. Now, John, the candles.'

The candles were brought, the fire was stirred up, and afresh log of wood thrown on. In ten minutes' time, a waiterwas laying the cloth for dinner, the curtains were drawn, the firewas blazing brightly, and everything looked (as everythingalways does, in all decent English inns) as if the travellers hadbeen expected, and their comforts prepared, for days beforehand.

Mr. Pickwick sat down at a side table, and hastily indited anote to Mr. Winkle, merely informing him that he was detainedby stress of weather, but would certainly be in London next day;until when he deferred any account of his proceedings. This notewas hastily made into a parcel, and despatched to the bar perMr. Samuel Weller.

Sam left it with the landlady, and was returning to pull hismaster's boots off, after drying himself by the kitchen fire, whenglancing casually through a half-opened door, he was arrested bythe sight of a gentleman with a sandy head who had a largebundle of newspapers lying on the table before him, and wasperusing the leading article of one with a settled sneer whichcurled up his nose and all other features into a majestic expressionof haughty contempt.

'Hollo!' said Sam, 'I ought to know that 'ere head and themfeatures; the eyeglass, too, and the broad-brimmed tile! Eatansvillto vit, or I'm a Roman.'

Sam was taken with a troublesome cough, at once, for thepurpose of attracting the gentleman's attention; the gentlemanstarting at the sound, raised his head and his eyeglass, anddisclosed to view the profound and thoughtful features of Mr.Pott, of the Eatanswill GAZETTE.

'Beggin' your pardon, sir,' said Sam, advancing with a bow,'my master's here, Mr. Pott.'

'Hush! hush!' cried Pott, drawing Sam into the room, andclosing the door, with a countenance of mysterious dread andapprehension.

'Wot's the matter, Sir?' inquired Sam, looking vacantly about him.

'Not a whisper of my name,' replied Pott; 'this is a buffneighbourhood. If the excited and irritable populace knew I washere, I should be torn to pieces.'

'No! Vould you, sir?' inquired Sam.

'I should be the victim of their fury,' replied Pott. 'Nowyoung man, what of your master?'

'He's a-stopping here to-night on his vay to town, with acouple of friends,' replied Sam.

'Is Mr. Winkle one of them?' inquired Pott, with a slight frown.

'No, Sir. Mr. Vinkle stops at home now,' rejoined Sam. 'He'smarried.'

'Married!' exclaimed Pott, with frightful vehemence. Hestopped, smiled darkly, and added, in a low, vindictive tone, 'Itserves him right!'Having given vent to this cruel ebullition of deadly malice andcold-blooded triumph over a fallen enemy, Mr. Pott inquiredwhether Mr. Pickwick's friends were 'blue?' Receiving a mostsatisfactory answer in the affirmative from Sam, who knew asmuch about the matter as Pott himself, he consented to accompanyhim to Mr. Pickwick's room, where a hearty welcomeawaited him, and an agreement to club their dinners together wasat once made and ratified.

'And how are matters going on in Eatanswill?' inquired Mr.Pickwick, when Pott had taken a seat near the fire, and the wholeparty had got their wet boots off, and dry slippers on. 'Is theINDEPENDENT still in being?'

'The INDEPENDENT, sir,' replied Pott, 'is still dragging on a wretchedand lingering career. Abhorred and despised by even the fewwho are cognisant of its miserable and disgraceful existence, stifledby the very filth it so profusely scatters, rendered deaf and blindby the exhalations of its own slime, the obscene journal, happilyunconscious of its degraded state, is rapidly sinking beneath thattreacherous mud which, while it seems to give it a firm standingwith the low and debased classes of society, is nevertheless risingabove its detested head, and will speedily engulf it for ever.'

Title: The Pickwick Papers
Author: Charles Dickens
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