HOW Mr. WINKLE, WHEN HE STEPPED OUT OFTHE FRYING-PAN, WALKED GENTLY ANDCOMFORTABLY INTO THE FIREhe ill-starred gentleman who had been the unfortunatecause of the unusual noise and disturbance which alarmedthe inhabitants of the Royal Crescent in manner and formalready described, after passing a night of great confusion andanxiety, left the roof beneath which his friends still slumbered,bound he knew not whither. The excellent and consideratefeelings which prompted Mr. Winkle to take this step can never betoo highly appreciated or too warmly extolled. ‘If,’ reasoned Mr.

　　Winkle with himself―‘if this Dowler attempts (as I have no doubthe will) to carry into execution his threat of personal violenceagainst myself, it will be incumbent on me to call him out. He has awife; that wife is attached to, and dependent on him. Heavens! If Ishould kill him in the blindness of my wrath, what would be myfeelings ever afterwards!’ This painful consideration operated sopowerfully on the feelings of the humane young man, as to causehis knees to knock together, and his countenance to exhibitalarming manifestations of inward emotion. Impelled by suchreflections, he grasped his carpet-bag, and creeping stealthilydownstairs, shut the detestable street door with as little noise aspossible, and walked off. Bending his steps towards the RoyalHotel, he found a coach on the point of starting for Bristol, and,thinking Bristol as good a place for his purpose as any other hecould go to, he mounted the box, and reached his place ofdestination in such time as the pair of horses, who went the wholestage and back again, twice a day or more, could be reasonablysupposed to arrive there. He took up his quarters at the Bush, anddesigning to postpone any communication by letter with Mr.

　　Pickwick until it was probable that Mr. Dowler’s wrath might havein some degree evaporated, walked forth to view the city, whichstruck him as being a shade more dirty than any place he had everseen. Having inspected the docks and shipping, and viewed thecathedral, he inquired his way to Clifton, and being directedthither, took the route which was pointed out to him. But as thepavements of Bristol are not the widest or cleanest upon earth, soits streets are not altogether the straightest or least intricate; andMr. Winkle, being greatly puzzled by their manifold windings andtwistings, looked about him for a decent shop in which he couldapply afresh for counsel and instruction.

　　His eye fell upon a newly-painted tenement which had beenrecently converted into something between a shop and a privatehouse, and which a red lamp, projecting over the fanlight of thestreet door, would have sufficiently announced as the residence ofa medical practitioner, even if the word ‘Surgery’ had not beeninscribed in golden characters on a wainscot ground, above thewindow of what, in times bygone, had been the front parlour.

　　Thinking this an eligible place wherein to make his inquiries, Mr.

　　Winkle stepped into the little shop where the gilt-labelled drawersand bottles were; and finding nobody there, knocked with a half-crown on the counter, to attract the attention of anybody whomight happen to be in the back parlour, which he judged to be theinnermost and peculiar sanctum of the establishment, from therepetition of the word surgery on the door―painted in whiteletters this time, by way of taking off the monotony.

　　At the first knock, a sound, as of persons fencing with fire-irons,which had until now been very audible, suddenly ceased; at thesecond, a studious-looking young gentleman in green spectacles,with a very large book in his hand, glided quietly into the shop,and stepping behind the counter, requested to know the visitor’spleasure.

　　‘I am sorry to trouble you, sir,’ said Mr. Winkle, ‘but will youhave the goodness to direct me to―’

　　‘Ha! ha! ha!’ roared the studious young gentleman, throwingthe large book up into the air, and catching it with great dexterityat the very moment when it threatened to smash to atoms all thebottles on the counter. ‘Here’s a start!’

　　There was, without doubt; for Mr. Winkle was so very muchastonished at the extraordinary behaviour of the medicalgentleman, that he involuntarily retreated towards the door, andlooked very much disturbed at his strange reception.

　　‘What, don’t you know me?’ said the medical gentleman. Mr.

　　Winkle murmured, in reply, that he had not that pleasure.

　　‘Why, then,’ said the medical gentleman, ‘there are hopes forme yet; I may attend half the old women in Bristol, if I’ve decentluck. Get out, you mouldy old villain, get out!’ With this adjuration,which was addressed to the large book, the medical gentlemankicked the volume with remarkable agility to the farther end of theshop, and, pulling off his green spectacles, grinned the identicalgrin of Robert Sawyer, Esquire, formerly of Guy’s Hospital in theBorough, with a private residence in Lant Street.

　　‘You don’t mean to say you weren’t down upon me?’ said Mr.

　　Bob Sawyer, shaking Mr. Winkle’s hand with friendly warmth.

　　‘Upon my word I was not,’ replied Mr. Winkle, returning hispressure.

　　‘I wonder you didn’t see the name,’ said Bob Sawyer, calling hisfriend’s attention to the outer door, on which, in the same whitepaint, were traced the words ‘Sawyer, late Nockemorf.’

　　‘It never caught my eye,’ returned Mr. Winkle.

　　‘Lord, if I had known who you were, I should have rushed out,and caught you in my arms,’ said Bob Sawyer; ‘but upon my life, Ithought you were the King’s-taxes.’

　　‘No!’ said Mr. Winkle.

　　‘I did, indeed,’ responded Bob Sawyer, ‘and I was just going tosay that I wasn’t at home, but if you’d leave a message I’d be sureto give it to myself; for he don’t know me; no more does theLighting and Paving. I think the Church-rates guesses who I am,and I know the Water-works does, because I drew a tooth of hiswhen I first came down here. But come in, come in!’ Chattering inthis way, Mr. Bob Sawyer pushed Mr. Winkle into the back room,where, amusing himself by boring little circular caverns in thechimney-piece with a red-hot poker, sat no less a person than Mr.

　　Benjamin Allen.

　　‘Well!’ said Mr. Winkle. ‘This is indeed a pleasure I did notexpect. What a very nice place you have here!’

　　‘Pretty well, pretty well,’ replied Bob Sawyer. ‘I passed, soonafter that precious party, and my friends came down with theneedful for this business; so I put on a black suit of clothes, and apair of spectacles, and came here to look as solemn as I could.’

　　‘And a very snug little business you have, no doubt?’ said Mr.

　　Winkle knowingly.

　　‘Very,’ replied Bob Sawyer. ‘So snug, that at the end of a fewyears you might put all the profits in a wine-glass, and cover ’emover with a gooseberry leaf.’

　　‘You cannot surely mean that?’ said Mr. Winkle. ‘The stockitself―’

　　‘Dummies, my dear boy,’ said Bob Sawyer; ‘half the drawershave nothing in ’em, and the other half don’t open.’

　　‘Nonsense!’ said Mr. Winkle.

　　‘Fact―honour!’ returned Bob Sawyer, stepping out into theshop, and demonstrating the veracity of the assertion by divershard pulls at the little gilt knobs on the counterfeit drawers.

　　‘Hardly anything real in the shop but the leeches, and they aresecond-hand.’

　　‘I shouldn’t have thought it!’ exclaimed Mr. Winkle, muchsurprised.

　　‘I hope not,’ replied Bob Sawyer, ‘else where’s the use ofappearances, eh? But what will you take? Do as we do? That’sright. Ben, my fine fellow, put your hand into the cupboard, andbring out the patent digester.’

　　Mr. Benjamin Allen smiled his readiness, and produced fromthe closet at his elbow a black bottle half full of brandy.

　　‘You don’t take water, of course?’ said Bob Sawyer.

　　‘Thank you,’ replied Mr. Winkle. ‘It’s rather early. I should liketo qualify it, if you have no objection.’

　　‘None in the least, if you can reconcile it to your conscience,’

　　replied Bob Sawyer, tossing off, as he spoke, a glass of the liquorwith great relish. ‘Ben, the pipkin!’

　　Mr. Benjamin Allen drew forth, from the same hiding-place, asmall brass pipkin, which Bob Sawyer observed he prided himselfupon, particularly because it looked so business-like. The water inthe professional pipkin having been made to boil, in course oftime, by various little shovelfuls of coal, which Mr. Bob Sawyertook out of a practicable window-seat, labelled ‘Soda Water,’ Mr.

　　Winkle adulterated his brandy; and the conversation wasbecoming general, when it was interrupted by the entrance intothe shop of a boy, in a sober grey livery and a gold-laced hat, witha small covered basket under his arm, whom Mr. Bob Sawyerimmediately hailed with, ‘Tom, you vagabond, come here.’

　　The boy presented himself accordingly.

　　‘You’ve been stopping to “over” all the posts in Bristol, you idleyoung scamp!’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer.

　　‘No, sir, I haven’t,’ replied the boy.

　　‘You had better not!’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with a threateningaspect. ‘Who do you suppose will ever employ a professional man,when they see his boy playing at marbles in the gutter, or flyingthe garter in the horse-road? Have you no feeling for yourprofession, you groveller? Did you leave all the medicine?’

　　‘Yes, sir.’

　　‘The powders for the child, at the large house with the newfamily, and the pills to be taken four times a day at the ill-tempered old gentleman’s with the gouty leg?’

　　‘Yes, sir.’

　　‘Then shut the door, and mind the shop.’

　　‘Come,’ said Mr. Winkle, as the boy retired, ‘things are not quiteso bad as you would have me believe, either. There is somemedicine to be sent out.’

　　Mr. Bob Sawyer peeped into the shop to see that no strangerwas within hearing, and leaning forward to Mr. Winkle, said, in alow tone―‘He leaves it all at the wrong houses.’

　　Mr. Winkle looked perplexed, and Bob Sawyer and his friendlaughed.

　　‘Don’t you see?’ said Bob. ‘He goes up to a house, rings the areabell, pokes a packet of medicine without a direction into theservant’s hand, and walks off. Servant takes it into the dining-parlour; master opens it, and reads the label: “Draught to be takenat bedtime―pills as before―lotion as usual―the powder. FromSawyer’s, late Nockemorf’s. Physicians’ prescriptions carefullyprepared,” and all the rest of it. Shows it to his wife―she reads thelabel; it goes down to the servants―they read the label. Next day,boy calls: “Very sorry―his mistake―immense business―greatmany parcels to deliver―Mr. Sawyer’s compliments―lateNockemorf.” The name gets known, and that’s the thing, my boy,in the medical way. Bless your heart, old fellow, it’s better than allthe advertising in the world. We have got one four-ounce bottlethat’s been to half the houses in Bristol, and hasn’t done yet.’

　　‘Dear me, I see,’ observed Mr. Winkle; ‘what an excellent plan!’

　　‘Oh, Ben and I have hit upon a dozen such,’ replied BobSawyer, with great glee. ‘The lamplighter has eighteenpence aweek to pull the night-bell for ten minutes every time he comesround; and my boy always rushes into the church just before thepsalms, when the people have got nothing to do but look about’em, and calls me out, with horror and dismay depicted on hiscountenance. “Bless my soul,” everybody says, “somebody takensuddenly ill! Sawyer, late Nockemorf, sent for. What a businessthat young man has!”’

　　At the termination of this disclosure of some of the mysteries ofmedicine, Mr. Bob Sawyer and his friend, Ben Allen, threwthemselves back in their respective chairs, and laughedboisterously. When they had enjoyed the joke to their heart’scontent, the discourse changed to topics in which Mr. Winkle wasmore immediately interested.

　　We think we have hinted elsewhere, that Mr. Benjamin Allenhad a way of becoming sentimental after brandy. The case is not apeculiar one, as we ourself can testify, having, on a few occasions,had to deal with patients who have been afflicted in a similarmanner. At this precise period of his existence, Mr. BenjaminAllen had perhaps a greater predisposition to maudlinism than hehad ever known before; the cause of which malady was brieflythis. He had been staying nearly three weeks with Mr. BobSawyer; Mr. Bob Sawyer was not remarkable for temperance, norwas Mr. Benjamin Allen for the ownership of a very strong head;the consequence was that, during the whole space of time justmentioned, Mr. Benjamin Allen had been wavering betweenintoxication partial, and intoxication complete.

　　‘My dear friend,’ said Mr. Ben Allen, taking advantage of Mr.

　　Bob Sawyer’s temporary absence behind the counter, whither hehad retired to dispense some of the second-hand leeches,previously referred to; ‘my dear friend, I am very miserable.’

　　Mr. Winkle professed his heartfelt regret to hear it, and beggedto know whether he could do anything to alleviate the sorrows ofthe suffering student.

　　‘Nothing, my dear boy, nothing,’ said Ben. ‘You recollectArabella, Winkle? My sister Arabella―a little girl, Winkle, withblack eyes―when we were down at Wardle’s? I don’t knowwhether you happened to notice her―a nice little girl, Winkle.

　　Perhaps my features may recall her countenance to yourrecollection?’

　　Mr. Winkle required nothing to recall the charming Arabella tohis mind; and it was rather fortunate he did not, for the features ofher brother Benjamin would unquestionably have proved but anindifferent refresher to his memory. He answered, with as muchcalmness as he could assume, that he perfectly remembered theyoung lady referred to, and sincerely trusted she was in goodhealth.

　　‘Our friend Bob is a delightful fellow, Winkle,’ was the onlyreply of Mr. Ben Allen.

　　‘Very,’ said Mr. Winkle, not much relishing this closeconnection of the two names.

　　‘I designed ’em for each other; they were made for each other,sent into the world for each other, born for each other, Winkle,’

　　said Mr. Ben Allen, setting down his glass with emphasis. ‘There’sa special destiny in the matter, my dear sir; there’s only five years’

　　difference between ’em, and both their birthdays are in August.’

　　Mr. Winkle was too anxious to hear what was to follow toexpress much wonderment at this extraordinary coincidence,marvellous as it was; so Mr. Ben Allen, after a tear or two, went onto say that, notwithstanding all his esteem and respect andveneration for his friend, Arabella had unaccountably andundutifully evinced the most determined antipathy to his person.

　　‘And I think,’ said Mr. Ben Allen, in conclusion. ‘I think there’sa prior attachment.’

　　‘Have you any idea who the object of it might be?’ asked Mr.

　　Winkle, with great trepidation.

　　Mr. Ben Allen seized the poker, flourished it in a warlikemanner above his head, inflicted a savage blow on an imaginaryskull, and wound up by saying, in a very expressive manner, thathe only wished he could guess; that was all.

　　‘I’d show him what I thought of him,’ said Mr. Ben Allen. Andround went the poker again, more fiercely than before.

　　All this was, of course, very soothing to the feelings of Mr.

　　Winkle, who remained silent for a few minutes; but at lengthmustered up resolution to inquire whether Miss Allen was in Kent.

　　‘No, no,’ said Mr. Ben Allen, laying aside the poker, and lookingvery cunning; ‘I didn�............