Chapter XLVII

IS CHIEFLY DEVOTED TO MATTERS OF

BUSINESS, AND THE TEMPORAL ADVANTAGE

OF DODSON AND FOGG―Mr. WINKLE

REAPPEARS UNDER EXTRAORDINARY

CIRCUMSTANCES―Mr. PICKWICK’S

BENEVOLENCE PROVES STRONGER THAN

HIS OBSTINACY

ob Trotter, abating nothing of his speed, ran up Holborn,

sometimes in the middle of the road, sometimes on the

pavement, sometimes in the gutter, as the chances of getting

along varied with the press of men, women, children, and coaches,

in each division of the thoroughfare, and, regardless of all

obstacles stopped not for an instant until he reached the gate of

Gray’s Inn. Notwithstanding all the expedition he had used,

however, the gate had been closed a good half-hour when he

reached it, and by the time he had discovered Mr. Perker’s

laundress, who lived with a married daughter, who had bestowed

her hand upon a non-resident waiter, who occupied the one-pair

of some number in some street closely adjoining to some brewery

somewhere behind Gray’s Inn Lane, it was within fifteen minutes

of closing the prison for the night. Mr. Lowten had still to be

ferreted out from the back parlour of the Magpie and Stump; and

Job had scarcely accomplished this object, and communicated

Sam Weller’s message, when the clock struck ten.

‘There,’ said Lowten, ‘it’s too late now. You can’t get in to-night;

you’ve got the key of the street, my friend.’

‘Never mind me,’ replied Job. ‘I can sleep anywhere. But won’t

it be better to see Mr. Perker to-night, so that we may be there, the

first thing in the morning?’

‘Why,’ responded Lowten, after a little consideration, ‘if it was

in anybody else’s case, Perker wouldn’t be best pleased at my

going up to his house; but as it’s Mr. Pickwick’s, I think I may

venture to take a cab and charge it to the office.’ Deciding on this

line of conduct, Mr. Lowten took up his hat, and begging the

assembled company to appoint a deputy-chairman during his

temporary absence, led the way to the nearest coach-stand.

Summoning the cab of most promising appearance, he directed

the driver to repair to Montague Place, Russell Square.

Mr. Perker had had a dinner-party that day, as was testified by

the appearance of lights in the drawing-room windows, the sound

of an improved grand piano, and an improvable cabinet voice

issuing therefrom, and a rather overpowering smell of meat which

pervaded the steps and entry. In fact, a couple of very good

country agencies happening to come up to town, at the same time,

an agreeable little party had been got together to meet them,

comprising Mr. Snicks, the Life Office Secretary, Mr. Prosee, the

eminent counsel, three solicitors, one commissioner of bankrupts,

a special pleader from the Temple, a small-eyed peremptory

young gentleman, his pupil, who had written a lively book about

the law of demises, with a vast quantity of marginal notes and

references; and several other eminent and distinguished

personages. From this society, little Mr. Perker detached himself,

on his clerk being announced in a whisper; and repairing to the

dining-room, there found Mr. Lowten and Job Trotter looking

very dim and shadowy by the light of a kitchen candle, which the

gentleman who condescended to appear in plush shorts and

cottons for a quarterly stipend, had, with a becoming contempt for

the clerk and all things appertaining to ‘the office,’ placed upon

the table.

‘Now, Lowten,’ said little Mr. Perker, shutting the door, ‘what’s

the matter? No important letter come in a parcel, is there?’

‘No, sir,’ replied Lowten. ‘This is a messenger from Mr.

Pickwick, sir.’

‘From Pickwick, eh?’ said the little man, turning quickly to Job.

‘Well, what is it?’

‘Dodson and Fogg have taken Mrs. Bardell in execution for her

costs, sir,’ said Job.

‘No!’ exclaimed Perker, putting his hands in his pockets, and

reclining against the sideboard.

‘Yes,’ said Job. ‘It seems they got a cognovit out of her, for the

amount of ’em, directly after the trial.’

‘By Jove!’ said Perker, taking both hands out of his pockets,

and striking the knuckles of his right against the palm of his left,

emphatically, ‘those are the cleverest scamps I ever had anything

to do with!’

‘The sharpest practitioners I ever knew, sir,’ observed Lowten.

‘Sharp!’ echoed Perker. ‘There’s no knowing where to have

them.’

‘Very true, sir, there is not,’ replied Lowten; and then, both

master and man pondered for a few seconds, with animated

countenances, as if they were reflecting upon one of the most

beautiful and ingenious discoveries that the intellect of man had

ever made. When they had in some measure recovered from their

trance of admiration, Job Trotter discharged himself of the rest of

his commission. Perker nodded his head thoughtfully, and pulled

out his watch.

‘At ten precisely, I will be there,’ said the little man. ‘Sam is

quite right. Tell him so. Will you take a glass of wine, Lowten?’

‘No, thank you, sir.’

‘You mean yes, I think,’ said the little man, turning to the

sideboard for a decanter and glasses.

As Lowten did mean yes, he said no more on the subject, but

inquired of Job, in an audible whisper, whether the portrait of

Perker, which hung opposite the fireplace, wasn’t a wonderful

likeness, to which Job of course replied that it was. The wine being

by this time poured out, Lowten drank to Mrs. Perker and the

children, and Job to Perker. The gentleman in the plush shorts

and cottons considering it no part of his duty to show the people

from the office out, consistently declined to answer the bell, and

they showed themselves out. The attorney betook himself to his

drawing-room, the clerk to the Magpie and Stump, and Job to

Covent Garden Market to spend the night in a vegetable basket.

Punctually at the appointed hour next morning, the good-

humoured little attorney tapped at Mr. Pickwick’s door, which was

opened with great alacrity by Sam Weller.

‘Mr. Perker, sir,’ said Sam, announcing the visitor to Mr.

Pickwick, who was sitting at the window in a thoughtful attitude.

‘Wery glad you’ve looked in accidentally, sir. I rather think the

gov’nor wants to have a word and a half with you, sir.’

Perker bestowed a look of intelligence on Sam, intimating that

he understood he was not to say he had been sent for; and

beckoning him to approach, whispered briefly in his ear.

‘You don’t mean that ’ere, sir?’ said Sam, starting back in

excessive surprise.

Perker nodded and smiled.

Mr. Samuel Weller looked at the little lawyer, then at Mr.

Pickwick, then at the ceiling, then at Perker again; grinned,

laughed outright, and finally, catching up his hat from the carpet,

without further explanation, disappeared.

‘What does this mean?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, looking at

Perker with astonishment. ‘What has put Sam into this

extraordinary state?’

‘Oh, nothing, nothing,’ replied Perker. ‘Come, my dear sir, draw

up your chair to the table. I have a good deal to say to you.’

‘What papers are those?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, as the little

man deposited on the table a small bundle of documents tied with

red tape.

‘The papers in Bardell and Pickwick,’ replied Perker, undoing

the knot with his teeth.

Mr. Pickwick grated the legs of his chair against the ground;

and throwing himself into it, folded his hands and looked sternly―

if Mr. Pickwick ever could look sternly―at his legal friend.

‘You don’t like to hear the name of the cause?’ said the little

man, still busying himself with the knot.

‘No, I do not indeed,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.

‘Sorry for that,’ resumed Perker, ‘because it will form the

subject of our conversation.’

‘I would rather that the subject should be never mentioned

between us, Perker,’ interposed Mr. Pickwick hastily.

‘Pooh, pooh, my dear sir,’ said the little man, untying the

The Pickwick Papers

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

916

bundle, and glancing eagerly at Mr. Pickwick out of the corners of

his eyes. ‘It must be mentioned. I have come here on purpose.

Now, are you ready to hear what I have to say, my dear sir? No

hurry; if you are not, I can wait. I have this morning’s paper here.

Your time shall be mine. There!’ Hereupon, the little man threw

one leg over the other, and made a show of beginning to read with

great composure and application.

‘Well, well,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with a sigh, but softening into a

smile at the same time. ‘Say what you have to say; it’s the old

story, I suppose?’

‘With a difference, my dear sir; with a difference,’ rejoined

Perker, deliberately folding up the paper and putting it into his

pocket again. ‘Mrs. Bardell, the plaintiff in the action, is within

these walls, sir.’

‘I know it,’ was Mr. Pickwick’s reply,

‘Very good,’ retorted Perker. ‘And you know how she comes

here, I suppose; I mean on what grounds, and at whose suit?’

‘Yes; at least I have heard Sam’s account of the matter,’ said

Mr. Pickwick, with affected carelessness.

‘Sam’s account of the matter,’ replied Perker, ‘is, I will venture

to say, a perfectly correct one. Well now, my dear sir, the first

question I have to ask, is, whether this woman is to remain here?’

‘To remain here!’ echoed Mr. Pickwick.

‘To remain here, my dear sir,’ rejoined Perker, leaning back in

his chair and looking steadily at his client.

‘How can you ask me?’ said that gentleman. ‘It rests with

Dodson and Fogg; you know that very well.’

‘I know nothing of the kind,’ retorted Perker firmly. ‘It does not

rest with Dodson and Fogg; you know the men, my dear sir, as

well as I do. It rests solely, wholly, and entirely with you.’

‘With me!’ ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, rising nervously from his

chair, and reseating himself directly afterwards.

The little man gave a double-knock on the lid of his snuff-box,

opened it, took a great pinch, shut it up again, and repeated the

words, ‘With you.’

‘I say, my dear sir,’ resumed the little man, who seemed to

gather confidence from the snuff―‘I say, that her speedy

liberation or perpetual imprisonment rests with you, and with you

alone. Hear me out, my dear sir, if you please, and do not be so

very energetic, for it will only put you into a perspiration and do

no good whatever. I say,’ continued Perker, checking off each

position on a different finger, as he laid it down―‘I say that

nobody but you can rescue her from this den of wretchedness; and

that you can only do that, by paying the costs of this suit―both of

plaintive and defendant―into the hands of these Freeman Court

sharks. Now pray be quiet, my dear sir.’

Mr. Pickwick, whose face had been undergoing most surprising

changes during this speech, and was evidently on the verge of a

strong burst of indignation, calmed his wrath as well as he could.

Perker, strengthening his argumentative powers with another

pinch of snuff, proceeded―

‘I have seen the woman, this morning. By paying the costs, you

can obtain a full release and discharge from the damages; and

further―this I know is a far greater object of consideration with

you, my dear sir―a voluntary statement, under her hand, in the

form of a letter to me, that this business was, from the very first,

fomented, and encouraged, and brought about, by these men,

Dodson and Fogg; that she deeply regrets ever having been the

instrument of annoyance or injury to you; and that she entreats

me to intercede with you, and implore your pardon.’

‘If I pay her costs for her,’ said Mr. Pickwick indignantly. ‘A

valuable document, indeed!’

‘No “if” in the case, my dear sir,’ said Perker triumphantly.

‘There is the very letter I speak of. Brought to my office by another

woman at nine o’clock this morning, before I had set foot in this

place, or held any communication with Mrs. Bardell, upon my

honour.’ Selecting the letter from the bundle, the little lawyer laid

it at Mr. Pickwick’s elbow, and took snuff for two consecutive

minutes, without winking.

‘Is this all you have to say to me?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick mildly.

‘Not quite,’ replied Perker. ‘I cannot undertake to say, at this

moment, whether the wording of the cognovit, the nature of the

ostensible consideration, and the proof we can get together about

the whole conduct of the suit, will be sufficient to justify an

indictment for conspiracy. I fear not, my dear sir; they are too

clever for that, I doubt. I do mean to say, however, that the whole

facts, taken together, will be sufficient to justify you, in the minds

of all reasonable men. And now, my dear sir, I put it to you. This

one hundred and fifty pounds, or whatever it may be―take it in

round numbers―is nothing to you. A jury had decided against

you; well, their verdict is wrong, but still they decided as they

thought right, and it is against you. You have now an opportunity,

on easy terms, of placing yourself in a much higher position than

you ever could, by remaining here; which would only be imputed,

by people who didn’t know you, to sheer dogged, wrongheaded,

brutal obstinacy; nothing else, my dear sir, believe me. Can you

hesitate to avail yourself of it, when it restores you to your friends,

your old pursuits, your health and amusements; when it liberates

your faithful and attached servant, whom you otherwise doom to

imprisonment for the whole of your life; and above all, when it

enables you to take the very magnanimous revenge―which I

know, my dear sir, is one after your own heart―of releasing this

woman from a scene of misery and debauchery, to which no man

should ever be consigned, if I had my will, but the infliction of

which on any woman, is even more frightful and barbarous. Now I

ask you, my dear sir, not only as your legal adviser, but as your

very true friend, will you let slip the occasion of attaining all these

objects, and doing all this good, for the paltry consideration of a

few pounds finding their way into the pockets of a couple of

rascals, to whom it makes no manner of difference, except that the

more they gain, the more they’ll seek, and so the sooner be led into

some piece of knavery that must end in a crash? I have put these

considerations to you, my dear sir, very feebly and imperfectly, but

I ask you to think of them. Turn them over in your mind as long as

you please. I wait here most patiently for your answer.’

Before Mr. Pickwick could reply, before Mr. Perker had taken

one twentieth part of the snuff with which so unusually long an

address imperatively required to be followed up, there was a low

murmuring of voices outside, and then a hesitating knock at the

door.

‘Dear, dear,’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who had been evidently

roused by his friend’s appeal; ‘what an annoyance that door is!

Who is that?’

‘Me, sir,’ replied Sam Weller, putting in his head.

‘I can’t speak to you just now, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘I am

engaged at this moment, Sam.’

‘Beg your pardon, sir,’ rejoined Mr. Weller. ‘But here’s a lady

here, sir, as says she’s somethin’ wery partickler to disclose.’

‘I can’t see any lady,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, whose mind was

filled with visions of Mrs. Bardell.

‘I wouldn’t make too sure o’ that, sir,’ urged Mr. Weller, shaking

his head. ‘If you know’d who was near, sir, I rayther think you’d

change your note; as the hawk remarked to himself vith a cheerful

laugh, ven he heerd the robin-redbreast a-singin’ round the

corner.’

‘Who is it?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.

‘Will you see her, sir?’ asked Mr. Weller, holding the door in his

hand as if he had some curious live animal on the other side.

‘I suppose I must,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking at Perker.

‘Well then, all in to begin!’ cried Sam. ‘Sound the gong, draw up

the curtain, and enter the two conspiraytors.’

As Sam Weller spoke, he threw the door open, and there rushed

tumultuously into the room, Mr. Nathaniel Winkle, leading after

him by the hand, the identical young lady who at Dingley Dell had

worn the boots with the fur round the tops, and who, now a very

pleasing compound of blushes and confusion, and lilac silk, and a

smart bonnet, and a rich lace veil, looked prettier than ever.

‘Miss Arabella Allen!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, rising from his

chair.

‘No,’ replied Mr. Winkle, dropping on his knees. ‘Mrs. Winkle.

Pardon, my dear friend, pardon!’

Mr. Pickwick could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses,

and perhaps would not have done so, but for the corroborative

testimony afforded by the smiling countenance of Perker, and the

bodily presence, in the background, of Sam and the pretty

housemaid; who appeared to contemplate the proceedings with

the liveliest satisfaction.

‘Oh, Mr. Pickwick!’ said Arabella, in a low voice, as if alarmed at

the silence. ‘Can you forgive my imprudence?’

Mr. Pickwick returned no verbal response to this appeal; but he

took off his spectacles in great haste, and seizing both the young

lady’s hands in his, kissed her a great number of times―perhaps a

greater number than was absolutely necessary―and then, still

retaining one of her hands, told Mr. Winkle he was an audacious

young dog, and bade him get up. This, Mr. Winkle, who had been

for some seconds scratching his nose with the brim of his hat, in a

penitent manner, did; whereupon Mr. Pickwick slapped him on

the back several times, and then shook hands heartily with Perker,

who, not to be behind-hand in the compliments of the occasion,

saluted both the bride and the pretty housemaid with right good-

will, and, having wrung Mr, Winkle’s hand most cordially, wound

up his demonstrations of joy by taking snuff enough to set any

half-dozen men with ordinarily-constructed noses, a-sneezing for

life. ‘Why, my dear girl,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘how has all this come

about? Come! Sit down, and let me hear it all. How well she looks,

doesn’t she, Perker?’ added Mr. Pickwick, surveying Arabella’s

face with a look of as much pride and exultation, as if she had been

his daughter.

‘Delightful, my dear sir,’ replied the little man. ‘If I were not a

married man myself, I should be disposed to envy you, you dog.’

Thus expressing himself, the little lawyer gave Mr. Winkle a poke

in the chest, which that gentleman reciprocated; after which they

both laughed very loudly, but not so loudly as Mr. Samuel Weller,

who had just relieved his feelings by kissing the pretty housemaid

under cover of the cupboard door.

‘I can never be grateful enough to you, Sam, I am sure,’ said

Arabella, with the sweetest smile imaginable. ‘I shall not forget

your exertions in the garden at Clifton.’

‘Don’t say nothin’ wotever about it, ma’am,’ replied Sam. ‘I only

assisted natur, ma’am; as the doctor said to the boy’s mother, after

he’d bled him to death.’

‘Mary, my dear, sit down,’ said Mr. Pickwick, cutting short

these compliments. ‘Now then; how long have you been married,

eh?’

Arabella looked bashfully at her lord and master, who replied,

‘Only three days.’

‘Only three days, eh?’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Why, what have you

been doing these three months?’

‘Ah, to be sure!’ interposed Perker; ‘come, account for this

idleness. You see Mr. Pickwick’s only astonishment is, that it

wasn’t all over, months ago.’

‘Why the fact is,’ replied Mr. Winkle, looking at his blushing

young wife, ‘that I could not persuade Bella to run away, for a long

time. And when I had persuaded her, it was a long time more

before we could find an opportunity. Mary had to give a month’s

warning, too, before she could leave her place next door, and we

couldn’t possibly have done it without her assistance.’

‘Upon my word,’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who by this time had

resumed his spectacles, and was looking from Arabella to Winkle,

and from Winkle to Arabella, with as much delight depicted in his

countenance as warmheartedness and kindly feeling can

communicate to the human face―‘upon my word! you seem to

have been very systematic in your proceedings. And is your

brother acquainted with all this, my dear?’

‘Oh, no, no,’ replied Arabella, changing colour. ‘Dear Mr.

Pickwick, he must only know it from you―from your lips alone.

He is so violent, so prejudiced, and has been so―so anxious in

behalf of his friend, Mr, Sawyer,’ added Arabella, looking down,

‘that I fear the consequences dreadfully.’

‘Ah, to be sure,’ said Perker gravely. ‘You must take this matter

in hand for them, my dear sir. These young men will respect you,

when they would listen to nobody else. You must prevent mischief,

my dear sir. Hot blood, hot blood.’ And the little man took a

warning pinch, and shook his head doubtfully.

‘You forget, my love,’ said Mr. Pickwick gently, ‘you forget that

I am a prisoner.’

‘No, indeed I do not, my dear sir,’ replied Arabella. ‘I never

have forgotten it. I have never ceased to think how great your

sufferings must have been in this shocking place. But I hoped that

what no consideration for yourself would induce you to do, a

regard to our happiness might. If my brother hears of this, first,

from you, I feel certain we shall be reconciled. He is my only

relation in the world, Mr. Pickwick, and unless you plead for me, I

fear I have lost even him. I have done wrong, very, very wrong, I

know.’ Here poor Arabella hid her face in her handkerchief, and

wept bitterly.

Mr. Pickwick’s nature was a good deal worked upon, by these

same tears; but when Mrs. Winkle, drying her eyes, took to

coaxing and entreating in the sweetest tones of a very sweet voice,

he became particularly restless, and evidently undecided how to

act, as was evinced by sundry nervous rubbings of his spectacle-

glasses, nose, tights, head, and gaiters.

Taking advantage of these symptoms of indecision, Mr. Perker

(to whom, it appeared, the young couple had driven straight that

morning) urged with legal point and shrewdness that Mr. Winkle,

senior, was still unacquainted with the important rise in life’s

flight of steps which his son had taken; that the future

expectations of the said son depended entirely upon the said

Winkle, senior, continuing to regard him with undiminished

feelings of affection and attachment, which it was very unlikely he

would, if this great event were long kept a secret from him; that

Mr. Pickwick, repairing to Bristol to seek Mr. Allen, might, with

equal reason, repair to Birmingham to seek Mr. Winkle, senior;

lastly, that Mr. Winkle, senior, had good right and title to consider

Mr. Pickwick as in some degree the guardian and adviser of his

son, and that it consequently behoved that gentleman, and was

indeed due to his personal character, to acquaint the aforesaid

Winkle, senior, personally, and by word of mouth, with the whole

circumstances of the case, and with the share he had taken in the

transaction.

Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass arrived, most opportunely, in

this stage of the pleadings, and as it was necessary to explain to

them all that had occurred, together with the various reasons pro

and con, the whole of the arguments were gone over again, after

which everybody urged every argument in his own way, and at his

own length. And, at last, Mr. Pickwick, fairly argued and

remonstrated out of all his resolutions, and being in imminent

danger of being argued and remonstrated out of his wits, caught

Arabella in his arms, and declaring that she was a very amiable

creature, and that he didn’t know how it was, but he had always

been very fond of her from the first, said he could never find it in

his heart to stand in the way of young people’s happiness, and they

might do with him as they pleased.

Mr. Weller’s first act, on hearing this concession, was to

despatch Job Trotter to the illustrious Mr. Pell, with an authority

to deliver to the bearer the formal discharge which his prudent

parent had had the foresight to leave in the hands of that learned

gentleman, in case it should be, at any time, required on an

emergency; his next proceeding was, to invest his whole stock of

ready-money in the purchase of five-and-twenty gallons of mild

porter, which he himself dispensed on the racket-ground to

everybody who would partake of it; this done, he hurra’d in divers

parts of the building until he lost his voice, and then quietly

relapsed into his usual collected and philosophical condition.

At three o’clock that afternoon, Mr. Pickwick took a last look at

his little room, and made his way, as well as he could, through the

throng of debtors who pressed eagerly forward to shake him by

the hand, until he reached the lodge steps. He turned here, to look

about him, and his eye lightened as he did so. In all the crowd of

wan, emaciated faces, he saw not one which was not happier for

his sympathy and charity.

‘Perker,’ said Mr. Pickwick, beckoning one young man towards

him, ‘this is Mr. Jingle, whom I spoke to you about.’

‘Very good, my dear sir,’ replied Perker, looking hard at Jingle.

‘You will see me again, young man, to-morrow. I hope you may

live to remember and feel deeply, what I shall have to

communicate, sir.’

Jingle bowed respectfully, trembled very much as he took Mr.

Pickwick’s proffered hand, and withdrew.

‘Job you know, I think?’ said Mr. Pickwick, presenting that

gentleman.

‘I know the rascal,’ replied Perker good-humouredly. ‘See after

your friend, and be in the way to-morrow at one. Do you hear?

Now, is there anything more?’

‘Nothing,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick. ‘You have delivered the little

parcel I gave you for your old landlord, Sam?’

‘I have, sir,’ replied Sam. ‘He bust out a-cryin’, sir, and said you

wos wery gen’rous and thoughtful, and he only wished you could

have him innockilated for a gallopin’ consumption, for his old

friend as had lived here so long wos dead, and he’d noweres to

look for another.’

‘Poor fellow, poor fellow!’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘God bless you, my

friends!’

As Mr. Pickwick uttered this adieu, the crowd raised a loud

shout. Many among them were pressing forward to shake him by

the hand again, when he drew his arm through Perker’s, and

hurried from the prison, far more sad and melancholy, for the

moment, than when he had first entered it. Alas! how many sad

and unhappy beings had he left behind!

A happy evening was that for at least one party in the George

and Vulture; and light and cheerful were two of the hearts that

emerged from its hospitable door next morning. The owners

thereof were Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller, the former of whom

was speedily deposited inside a comfortable post-coach, with a

little dickey behind, in which the latter mounted with great agility.

‘Sir,’ called out Mr. Weller to his master.

‘Well, Sam,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, thrusting his head out of the

window.

‘I wish them horses had been three months and better in the

Fleet, sir.’

‘Why, Sam?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.

‘Wy, sir,’ exclaimed Mr. Weller, rubbing his hands, ‘how they

would go if they had been!’

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