Chapter XLVIII

RELATES HOW Mr. PICKWICK, WITH THE

ASSISTANCE OF SAMUEL WELLER, ESSAYED

TO SOFTEN THE HEART OF Mr. BENJAMIN

ALLEN, AND TO MOLLIFY THE WRATH OF

Mr. ROBERT SAWYER

r. Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer sat together in the

little surgery behind the shop, discussing minced veal

and future prospects, when the discourse, not

unnaturally, turned upon the practice acquired by Bob the

aforesaid, and his present chances of deriving a competent

independence from the honourable profession to which he had

devoted himself.

‘Which, I think,’ observed Mr. Bob Sawyer, pursuing the thread

of the subject―‘which, I think, Ben, are rather dubious.’

‘What’s rather dubious?’ inquired Mr. Ben Allen, at the same

time sharpening his intellect with a draught of beer. ‘What’s

dubious?’

‘Why, the chances,’ responded Mr. Bob Sawyer.

‘I forgot,’ said Mr. Ben Allen. ‘The beer has reminded me that I

forgot, Bob―yes; they are dubious.’

‘It’s wonderful how the poor people patronise me,’ said Mr. Bob

Sawyer reflectively. ‘They knock me up, at all hours of the night;

they take medicine to an extent which I should have conceived

impossible; they put on blisters and leeches with a perseverance

worthy of a better cause; they make additions to their families, in a

manner which is quite awful. Six of those last-named little

promissory notes, all due on the same day, Ben, and all intrusted

to me!’

‘It’s very gratifying, isn’t it?’ said Mr. Ben Allen, holding his

plate for some more minced veal.

‘Oh, very,’ replied Bob; ‘only not quite so much so as the

confidence of patients with a shilling or two to spare would be.

This business was capitally described in the advertisement, Ben. It

is a practice, a very extensive practice―and that’s all.’

‘Bob,’ said Mr. Ben Allen, laying down his knife and fork, and

fixing his eyes on the visage of his friend, ‘Bob, I’ll tell you what it

is.’

‘What is it?’ inquired Mr. Bob Sawyer.

‘You must make yourself, with as little delay as possible, master

of Arabella’s one thousand pounds.’

‘Three per cent. consolidated bank annuities, now standing in

her name in the book or books of the governor and company of the

Bank of England,’ added Bob Sawyer, in legal phraseology.

‘Exactly so,’ said Ben. ‘She has it when she comes of age, or

marries. She wants a year of coming of age, and if you plucked up

a spirit she needn’t want a month of being married.’

‘She’s a very charming and delightful creature,’ quoth Mr.

Robert Sawyer, in reply; ‘and has only one fault that I know of,

Ben. It happens, unfortunately, that that single blemish is a want

of taste. She don’t like me.’

‘It’s my opinion that she don’t know what she does like,’ said

Mr. Ben Allen contemptuously.

‘Perhaps not,’ remarked Mr. Bob Sawyer. ‘But it’s my opinion

that she does know what she doesn’t like, and that’s of more

importance.’

‘I wish,’ said Mr. Ben Allen, setting his teeth together, and

speaking more like a savage warrior who fed on raw wolf’s flesh

which he carved with his fingers, than a peaceable young

gentleman who ate minced veal with a knife and fork―‘I wish I

knew whether any rascal really has been tampering with her, and

attempting to engage her affections. I think I should assassinate

him, Bob.’

‘I’d put a bullet in him, if I found him out,’ said Mr. Sawyer,

stopping in the course of a long draught of beer, and looking

malignantly out of the porter pot. ‘If that didn’t do his business, I’d

extract it afterwards, and kill him that way.’

Mr. Benjamin Allen gazed abstractedly on his friend for some

minutes in silence, and then said―

‘You have never proposed to her, point-blank, Bob?’

‘No. Because I saw it would be of no use,’ replied Mr. Robert

Sawyer.

‘You shall do it, before you are twenty-four hours older,’

retorted Ben, with desperate calmness. ‘She shall have you, or I’ll

know the reason why. I’ll exert my authority.’

‘Well,’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer, ‘we shall see.’

‘We shall see, my friend,’ replied Mr. Ben Allen fiercely. He

paused for a few seconds, and added in a voice broken by emotion,

‘You have loved her from a child, my friend. You loved her when

we were boys at school together, and, even then, she was wayward

and slighted your young feelings. Do you recollect, with all the

eagerness of a child’s love, one day pressing upon her acceptance,

two small caraway-seed biscuits and one sweet apple, neatly

folded into a circular parcel with the leaf of a copy-book?’

‘I do,’ replied Bob Sawyer.

‘She slighted that, I think?’ said Ben Allen.

‘She did,’ rejoined Bob. ‘She said I had kept the parcel so long

in the pockets of my corduroys, that the apple was unpleasantly

warm.’

‘I remember,’ said Mr. Allen gloomily. ‘Upon which we ate it

ourselves, in alternate bites.’

Bob Sawyer intimated his recollection of the circumstance last

alluded to, by a melancholy frown; and the two friends remained

for some time absorbed, each in his own meditations.

While these observations were being exchanged between Mr.

Bob Sawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen; and while the boy in the

grey livery, marvelling at the unwonted prolongation of the

dinner, cast an anxious look, from time to time, towards the glass

door, distracted by inward misgivings regarding the amount of

minced veal which would be ultimately reserved for his individual

cravings; there rolled soberly on through the streets of Bristol, a

private fly, painted of a sad green colour, drawn by a chubby sort

of brown horse, and driven by a surly-looking man with his legs

dressed like the legs of a groom, and his body attired in the coat of

a coachman. Such appearances are common to many vehicles

belonging to, and maintained by, old ladies of economic habits;

and in this vehicle sat an old lady who was its mistress and

proprietor.

‘Martin!’ said the old lady, calling to the surly man, out of the

front window.

‘Well?’ said the surly man, touching his hat to the old lady.

‘Mr. Sawyer’s,’ said the old lady.

‘I was going there,’ said the surly man.

The old lady nodded the satisfaction which this proof of the

surly man’s foresight imparted to her feelings; and the surly man

giving a smart lash to the chubby horse, they all repaired to Mr.

Bob Sawyer’s together.

‘Martin!’ said the old lady, when the fly stopped at the door of

Mr. Robert Sawyer, late Nockemorf.

‘Well?’ said Martin.

‘Ask the lad to step out, and mind the horse.’

‘I’m going to mind the horse myself,’ said Martin, laying his

whip on the roof of the fly.

‘I can’t permit it, on any account,’ said the old lady; ‘your

testimony will be very important, and I must take you into the

house with me. You must not stir from my side during the whole

interview. Do you hear?’

‘I hear,’ replied Martin.

‘Well; what are you stopping for?’

‘Nothing,’ replied Martin. So saying, the surly man leisurely

descended from the wheel, on which he had been poising himself

on the tops of the toes of his right foot, and having summoned the

boy in the grey livery, opened the coach door, flung down the

steps, and thrusting in a hand enveloped in a dark wash-leather

glove, pulled out the old lady with as much unconcern in his

manner as if she were a bandbox.

‘Dear me!’ exclaimed the old lady. ‘I am so flurried, now I have

got here, Martin, that I’m all in a tremble.’

Mr. Martin coughed behind the dark wash-leather gloves, but

expressed no sympathy; so the old lady, composing herself, trotted

up Mr. Bob Sawyer’s steps, and Mr. Martin followed. Immediately

on the old lady’s entering the shop, Mr. Benjamin Allen and Mr.

Bob Sawyer, who had been putting the spirits-and-water out of

sight, and upsetting nauseous drugs to take off the smell of the

tobacco smoke, issued hastily forth in a transport of pleasure and

affection.

‘My dear aunt,’ exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen, ‘how kind of you to

look in upon us! Mr. Sawyer, aunt; my friend Mr. Bob Sawyer

whom I have spoken to you about, regarding―you know, aunt.’

And here Mr. Ben Allen, who was not at the moment

extraordinarily sober, added the word ‘Arabella,’ in what was

meant to be a whisper, but which was an especially audible and

distinct tone of speech which nobody could avoid hearing, if

anybody were so disposed.

‘My dear Benjamin,’ said the old lady, struggling with a great

shortness of breath, and trembling from head to foot, ‘don’t be

alarmed, my dear, but I think I had better speak to Mr. Sawyer,

alone, for a moment. Only for one moment.’

‘Bob,’ said Mr. Allen, ‘will you take my aunt into the surgery?’

‘Certainly,’ responded Bob, in a most professional voice. ‘Step

this way, my dear ma’am. Don’t be frightened, ma’am. We shall be

able to set you to rights in a very short time, I have no doubt,

ma’am. Here, my dear ma’am. Now then!’ With this, Mr. Bob

Sawyer having handed the old lady to a chair, shut the door, drew

another chair close to her, and waited to hear detailed the

symptoms of some disorder from which he saw in perspective a

long train of profits and advantages.

The first thing the old lady did, was to shake her head a great

many times, and began to cry.

‘Nervous,’ said Bob Sawyer complacently. ‘Camphor-julep and

water three times a day, and composing draught at night.’

‘I don’t know how to begin, Mr. Sawyer,’ said the old lady. ‘It is

so very painful and distressing.’

‘You need not begin, ma’am,’ rejoined Mr. Bob Sawyer. ‘I can

anticipate all you would say. The head is in fault.’

‘I should be very sorry to think it was the heart,’ said the old

lady, with a slight groan.

‘Not the slightest danger of that, ma’am,’ replied Bob Sawyer.

‘The stomach is the primary cause.’

‘Mr. Sawyer!’ exclaimed the old lady, starting.

‘Not the least doubt of it, ma’am,’ rejoined Bob, looking

wondrous wise. ‘Medicine, in time, my dear ma’am, would have

prevented it all.’

‘Mr. Sawyer,’ said the old lady, more flurried than before, ‘this

conduct is either great impertinence to one in my situation, sir, or

it arises from your not understanding the object of my visit. If it

had been in the power of medicine, or any foresight I could have

used, to prevent what has occurred, I should certainly have done

so. I had better see my nephew at once,’ said the old lady, twirling

her reticule indignantly, and rising as she spoke.

‘Stop a moment, ma’am,’ said Bob Sawyer; ‘I’m afraid I have

not understood you. What is the matter, ma’am?’

‘My niece, Mr. Sawyer,’ said the old lady: ‘your friend’s sister.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Bob, all impatience; for the old lady,

although much agitated, spoke with the most tantalising

deliberation, as old ladies often do. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Left my home, Mr. Sawyer, three days ago, on a pretended visit

to my sister, another aunt of hers, who keeps the large boarding-

school, just beyond the third mile-stone, where there is a very

large laburnum-tree and an oak gate,’ said the old lady, stopping

in this place to dry her eyes.

‘Oh, devil take the laburnum-tree, ma’am!’ said Bob, quite

forgetting his professional dignity in his anxiety. ‘Get on a little

faster; put a little more steam on, ma’am, pray.’

‘This morning,’ said the old lady slowly―‘this morning, she―’

‘She came back, ma’am, I suppose,’ said Bob, with great

animation. ‘Did she come back?’

‘No, she did not; she wrote,’ replied the old lady.

‘What did she say?’ inquired Bob eagerly.

‘She said, Mr. Sawyer,’ replied the old lady―‘and it is this I

want to prepare Benjamin’s mind for, gently and by degrees; she

said that she was―I have got the letter in my pocket, Mr. Sawyer,

but my glasses are in the carriage, and I should only waste your

time if I attempted to point out the passage to you, without them;

she said, in short, Mr. Sawyer, that she was married.’

‘What!’ said, or rather shouted, Mr. Bob Sawyer.

‘Married,’ repeated the old lady.

Mr. Bob Sawyer stopped to hear no more; but darting from the

surgery into the outer shop, cried in a stentorian voice, ‘Ben, my

boy, she’s bolted!’

Mr. Ben Allen, who had been slumbering behind the counter,

with his head half a foot or so below his knees, no sooner heard

this appalling communication, than he made a precipitate rush at

Mr. Martin, and, twisting his hand in the neck-cloth of that

taciturn servitor, expressed an obliging intention of choking him

where he stood. This intention, with a promptitude often the effect

of desperation, he at once commenced carrying into execution,

with much vigour and surgical skill.

Mr. Martin, who was a man of few words and possessed but

little power of eloquence or persuasion, submitted to this

operation with a very calm and agreeable expression of

countenance, for some seconds; finding, however, that it

threatened speedily to lead to a result which would place it beyond

his power to claim any wages, board or otherwise, in all time to

come, he muttered an inarticulate remonstrance and felled Mr.

Benjamin Allen to the ground. As that gentleman had his hands

entangled in his cravat, he had no alternative but to follow him to

the floor. There they both lay struggling, when the shop door

opened, and the party was increased by the arrival of two most

unexpected visitors, to wit, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Samuel Weller.

The impression at once produced on Mr. Weller’s mind by what

he saw, was, that Mr. Martin was hired by the establishment of

Sawyer, late Nockemorf, to take strong medicine, or to go into fits

and be experimentalised upon, or to swallow poison now and then

with the view of testing the efficacy of some new antidotes, or to do

something or other to promote the great science of medicine, and

gratify the ardent spirit of inquiry burning in the bosoms of its two

young professors. So, without presuming to interfere, Sam stood

perfectly still, and looked on, as if he were mightily interested in

the result of the then pending experiment. Not so, Mr. Pickwick.

He at once threw himself on the astonished combatants, with his

accustomed energy, and loudly called upon the bystanders to

interpose.

This roused Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been hitherto quite

paralysed by the frenzy of his companion. With that gentleman’s

assistance, Mr. Pickwick raised Ben Allen to his feet. Mr. Martin

finding himself alone on the floor, got up, and looked about him.

‘Mr. Allen,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘what is the matter, sir?’

‘Never mind, sir!’ replied Mr. Allen, with haughty defiance.

‘What is it?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, looking at Bob Sawyer. ‘Is

he unwell?’

Before Bob could reply, Mr. Ben Allen seized Mr. Pickwick by

the hand, and murmured, in sorrowful accents, ‘My sister, my dear

sir; my sister.’

‘Oh, is that all!’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘We shall easily arrange that

matter, I hope. Your sister is safe and well, and I am here, my dear

sir, to―’

‘Sorry to do anythin’ as may cause an interruption to such wery

pleasant proceedin’s, as the king said wen he dissolved the

parliament,’ interposed Mr. Weller, who had been peeping

through the glass door; ‘but there’s another experiment here, sir.

Here’s a wenerable old lady a-lyin’ on the carpet waitin’ for

dissection, or galwinism, or some other rewivin’ and scientific

inwention.’

‘I forgot,’ exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen. ‘It is my aunt.’

‘Dear me!’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Poor lady! Gently Sam, gently.’

‘Strange sitivation for one o’ the family,’ observed Sam Weller,

hoisting the aunt into a chair. ‘Now depitty sawbones, bring out

the wollatilly!’

The latter observation was addressed to the boy in gray, who,

having handed over the fly to the care of the street-keeper, had

come back to see what all the noise was about. Between the boy in

gray, and Mr. Bob Sawyer, and Mr. Benjamin Allen (who having

frightened his aunt into a fainting fit, was affectionately solicitous

for her recovery) the old lady was at length restored to

consciousness; then Mr. Ben Allen, turning with a puzzled

countenance to Mr. Pickwick, asked him what he was about to say,

when he had been so alarmingly interrupted.

‘We are all friends here, I presume?’ said Mr. Pickwick, clearing

his voice, and looking towards the man of few words with the surly

countenance, who drove the fly with the chubby horse.

This reminded Mr. Bob Sawyer that the boy in grey was

looking on, with eyes wide open, and greedy ears. The incipient

chemist having been lifted up by his coat collar, and dropped

outside the door, Bob Sawyer assured Mr. Pickwick that he might

speak without reserve.

‘Your sister, my dear sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, turning to

Benjamin Allen, ‘is in London; well and happy.’

‘Her happiness is no object to me, sir,’ said Benjamin Allen,

with a flourish of the hand.

‘Her husband is an object to me, sir,’ said Bob Sawyer. ‘He shall

be an object to me, sir, at twelve paces, and a pretty object I’ll

make of him, sir―a mean-spirited scoundrel!’ This, as it stood,

was a very pretty denunciation, and magnanimous withal; but Mr.

Bob Sawyer rather weakened its effect, by winding up with some

general observations concerning the punching of heads and

knocking out of eyes, which were commonplace by comparison.

‘Stay, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘before you apply those epithets to

the gentleman in question, consider, dispassionately, the extent of

his fault, and above all remember that he is a friend of mine.’

‘What!’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer. ‘His name!’ cried Ben Allen. ‘His

name!’

‘Mr. Nathaniel Winkle,’ said Mr, Pickwick.

Mr. Benjamin Allen deliberately crushed his spectacles beneath

the heel of his boot, and having picked up the pieces, and put them

into three separate pockets, folded his arms, bit his lips, and

looked in a threatening manner at the bland features of Mr.

Pickwick.

‘Then it’s you, is it, sir, who have encouraged and brought

about this match?’ inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen at length.

‘And it’s this gentleman’s servant, I suppose,’ interrupted the

old lady, ‘who has been skulking about my house, and

endeavouring to entrap my servants to conspire against their

mistress.―Martin!’

‘Well?’ said the surly man, coming forward.

‘Is that the young man you saw in the lane, whom you told me

about, this morning?’

Mr. Martin, who, as it has already appeared, was a man of few

words, looked at Sam Weller, nodded his head, and growled forth,

‘That’s the man.’ Mr. Weller, who was never proud, gave a smile of

friendly recognition as his eyes encountered those of the surly

groom, and admitted in courteous terms, that he had ‘knowed him

afore.’

‘And this is the faithful creature,’ exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen,

‘whom I had nearly suffocated!―Mr. Pickwick, how dare you

allow your fellow to be employed in the abduction of my sister? I

demand that you explain this matter, sir.’

‘Explain it, sir!’ cried Bob Sawyer fiercely.

‘It’s a conspiracy,’ said Ben Allen.

‘A regular plant,’ added Mr. Bob Sawyer.

‘A disgraceful imposition,’ observed the old lady.

‘Nothing but a do,’ remarked Martin.

‘Pray hear me,’ urged Mr. Pickwick, as Mr. Ben Allen fell into a

chair that patients were bled in, and gave way to his pocket-

handkerchief. ‘I have rendered no assistance in this matter,

beyond being present at one interview between the young people

which I could not prevent, and from which I conceived my

presence would remove any slight colouring of impropriety that it

might otherwise have had; this is the whole share I have had in the

transaction, and I had no suspicion that an immediate marriage

was even contemplated. Though, mind,’ added Mr. Pickwick,

hastily checking himself―‘mind, I do not say I should have

prevented it, if I had known that it was intended.’

‘You hear that, all of you; you hear that?’ said Mr. Benjamin

Allen.

‘I hope they do,’ mildly observed Mr. Pickwick, looking round,

‘and,’ added that gentleman, his colour mounting as he spoke, ‘I

hope they hear this, sir, also. That from what has been stated to

me, sir, I assert that you were by no means justified in attempting

to force your sister’s inclinations as you did, and that you should

rather have endeavoured by your kindness and forbearance to

have supplied the place of other nearer relations whom she had

never known, from a child. As regards my young friend, I must

beg to add, that in every point of worldly advantage he is, at least,

on an equal footing with yourself, if not on a much better one, and

that unless I hear this question discussed with becoming temper

and moderation, I decline hearing any more said upon the

subject.’

‘I wish to make a wery few remarks in addition to wot has been

put for’ard by the honourable gen’l’m’n as has jist give over,’ said

Mr. Weller, stepping forth, ‘wich is this here: a indiwidual in

company has called me a feller.’

‘That has nothing whatever to do with the matter, Sam,’

interposed Mr. Pickwick. ‘Pray hold your tongue.’

‘I ain’t a-goin’ to say nothin’ on that ’ere pint, sir,’ replied Sam,

‘but merely this here. P’raps that gen’l’m’n may think as there wos

a priory ’tachment; but there worn’t nothin’ o’ the sort, for the

young lady said in the wery beginnin’ o’ the keepin’ company, that

she couldn’t abide him. Nobody’s cut him out, and it ‘ud ha’ been

jist the wery same for him if the young lady had never seen Mr.

Vinkle. That’s what I wished to say, sir, and I hope I’ve now made

that ’ere gen’l’m’n’s mind easy.

A short pause followed these consolatory remarks of Mr. Weller.

Then Mr. Ben Allen rising from his chair, protested that he would

never see Arabella’s face again; while Mr. Bob Sawyer, despite

Sam’s flattering assurance, vowed dreadful vengeance on the

happy bridegroom.

But, just when matters were at their height, and threatening to

remain so, Mr. Pickwick found a powerful assistant in the old lady,

who, evidently much struck by the mode in which he had

advocated her niece’s cause, ventured to approach Mr. Benjamin

Allen with a few comforting reflections, of which the chief were,

that after all, perhaps, it was well it was no worse; the least said

the soonest mended, and upon her word she did not know that it

was so very bad after all; what was over couldn’t be begun, and

what couldn’t be cured must be endured; with various other

assurances of the like novel and strengthening description. To all

of these, Mr. Benjamin Allen replied that he meant no disrespect

to his aunt, or anybody there, but if it were all the same to them,

and they would allow him to have his own way, he would rather

have the pleasure of hating his sister till death, and after it.

At length, when this determination had been announced half a

hundred times, the old lady suddenly bridling up and looking very

majestic, wished to know what she had done that no respect was

to be paid to her years or station, and that she should be obliged to

beg and pray, in that way, of her own nephew, whom she

remembered about five-and-twenty years before he was born, and

whom she had known, personally, when he hadn’t a tooth in his

head; to say nothing of her presence on the first occasion of his

having his hair cut, and assistance at numerous other times and

ceremonies during his babyhood, of sufficient importance to found

a claim upon his affection, obedience, and sympathies, for ever.

While the good lady was bestowing this objurgation on Mr. Ben

Allen, Bob Sawyer and Mr. Pickwick had retired in close

conversation to the inner room, where Mr. Sawyer was observed

to apply himself several times to the mouth of a black bottle, under

the influence of which, his features gradually assumed a cheerful

and even jovial expression. And at last he emerged from the room,

bottle in hand, and, remarking that he was very sorry to say he

had been making a fool of himself, begged to propose the health

and happiness of Mr. and Mrs. Winkle, whose felicity, so far from

envying, he would be the first to congratulate them upon. Hearing

this, Mr. Ben Allen suddenly arose from his chair, and, seizing the

black bottle, drank the toast so heartily, that, the liquor being

strong, he became nearly as black in the face as the bottle. Finally,

the black bottle went round till it was empty, and there was so

much shaking of hands and interchanging of compliments, that

even the metal-visaged Mr. Martin condescended to smile.

‘And now,’ said Bob Sawyer, rubbing his hands, ‘we’ll have a

jolly night.’

‘I am sorry,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that I must return to my inn. I

have not been accustomed to fatigue lately, and my journey has

tired me exceedingly.’

‘You’ll take some tea, Mr. Pickwick?’ said the old lady, with

irresistible sweetness.

‘Thank you, I would rather not,’ replied that gentleman. The

truth is, that the old lady’s evidently increasing admiration was

Mr. Pickwick’s principal inducement for going away. He thought

of Mrs. Bardell; and every glance of the old lady’s eyes threw him

into a cold perspiration.

As Mr. Pickwick could by no means be prevailed upon to stay, it

was arranged at once, on his own proposition, that Mr. Benjamin

Allen should accompany him on his journey to the elder Mr.

Winkle’s, and that the coach should be at the door, at nine o’clock

next morning. He then took his leave, and, followed by Samuel

Weller, repaired to the Bush. It is worthy of remark, that Mr.

Martin’s face was horribly convulsed as he shook hands with Sam

at parting, and that he gave vent to a smile and an oath

simultaneously; from which tokens it has been inferred by those

who were best acquainted with that gentleman’s peculiarities, that

he expressed himself much pleased with Mr. Weller’s society, and

requested the honour of his further acquaintance.

‘Shall I order a private room, sir?’ inquired Sam, when they

reached the Bush.

‘Why, no, Sam,’ replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘as I dined in the coffee-

room, and shall go to bed soon, it is hardly worth while. See who

there is in the travellers’ room, Sam.’

Mr. Weller departed on his errand, and presently returned to

say that there was only a gentleman with one eye; and that he and

the landlord were drinking a bowl of bishop together.

‘I will join them,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘He’s a queer customer, the vun-eyed vun, sir,’ observed Mr.

Weller, as he led the way. ‘He’s a-gammonin’ that ’ere landlord, he

is, sir, till he don’t rightly know wether he’s a-standing on the soles

of his boots or the crown of his hat.’

The individual to whom this observation referred, was sitting at

the upper end of the room when Mr. Pickwick entered, and was

smoking a large Dutch pipe, with his eye intently fixed on the

round face of the landlord; a jolly-looking old personage, to whom

he had recently been relating some tale of wonder, as was testified

by sundry disjointed exclamations of, ‘Well, I wouldn’t have

believed it! The strangest thing I ever heard! Couldn’t have

supposed it possible!’ and other expressions of astonishment

which burst spontaneously from his lips, as he returned the fixed

gaze of the one-eyed man.

‘Servant, sir,’ said the one-eyed man to Mr. Pickwick. ‘Fine

night, sir.’

‘Very much so indeed,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, as the waiter

placed a small decanter of brandy, and some hot water before him.

While Mr. Pickwick was mixing his brandy-and-water, the one-

eyed man looked round at him earnestly, from time to time, and at

length said―

‘I think I’ve seen you before.’

‘I don’t recollect you,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick.

‘I dare say not,’ said the one-eyed man. ‘You didn’t know me,

but I knew two friends of yours that were stopping at the Peacock

at Eatanswill, at the time of the election.’

‘Oh, indeed!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.

‘Yes,’ rejoined the one-eyed man. ‘I mentioned a little

circumstance to them about a friend of mine of the name of Tom

Smart. Perhaps you’ve heard them speak of it.’

‘Often,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick, smiling. ‘He was your uncle, I

think?’

‘No, no; only a friend of my uncle’s,’ replied the one-eyed man.

‘He was a wonderful man, that uncle of yours, though,’

remarked the landlord shaking his head.

‘Well, I think he was; I think I may say he was,’ answered the

one-eyed man. ‘I could tell you a story about that same uncle,

gentlemen, that would rather surprise you.’

‘Could you?’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Let us hear it, by all means.’

The one-eyed bagman ladled out a glass of negus from the bowl,

and drank it; smoked a long whiff out of the Dutch pipe; and then,

calling to Sam Weller who was lingering near the door, that he

needn’t go away unless he wanted to, because the story was no

secret, fixed his eye upon the landlord’s, and proceeded, in the

words of the next chapter.

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