SHOWING HOW DODSON AND FOGG WEREMEN OF BUSINESS, AND THEIR CLERKS MENOF PLEASURE; AND HOW AN AFFECTINGINTERVIEW TOOK PLACE BETWEEN Mr.

　　WELLER AND HIS LONG-LOST PARENT;SHOWING ALSO WHAT CHOICE SPIRITSASSEMBLED AT THE MAGPIE AND STUMP,AND WHAT A CAPITAL CHAPTER THE NEXTONE WILL BEn the ground-floor front of a dingy house, at the very farthestend of Freeman’s Court, Cornhill, sat the four clerks ofMessrs. Dodson & Fogg, two of his Majesty’s attorneys of the courts of King’s Bench and Common Pleas at Westminster, andsolicitors of the High Court of Chancery―the aforesaid clerkscatching as favourable glimpses of heaven’s light and heaven’ssun, in the course of their daily labours, as a man might hope todo, were he placed at the bottom of a reasonably deep well; andwithout the opportunity of perceiving the stars in the day-time,which the latter secluded situation affords.

　　The clerks’ office of Messrs. Dodson & Fogg was a dark,mouldy, earthy-smelling room, with a high wainscotted partitionto screen the clerks from the vulgar gaze, a couple of old woodenchairs, a very loud-ticking clock, an almanac, an umbrella-stand, arow of hat-pegs, and a few shelves, on which were depositedseveral ticketed bundles of dirty papers, some old deal boxes withpaper labels, and sundry decayed stone ink bottles of variousshapes and sizes. There was a glass door leading into the passagewhich formed the entrance to the court, and on the outer side ofthis glass door, Mr. Pickwick, closely followed by Sam Weller,presented himself on the Friday morning succeeding theoccurrence of which a faithful narration is given in the lastchapter.

　　‘Come in, can’t you!’ cried a voice from behind the partition, inreply to Mr. Pickwick’s gentle tap at the door. And Mr. Pickwickand Sam entered accordingly.

　　‘Mr. Dodson or Mr. Fogg at home, sir?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick,gently, advancing, hat in hand, towards the partition.

　　‘Mr. Dodson ain’t at home, and Mr. Fogg’s particularlyengaged,’ replied the voice; and at the same time the head towhich the voice belonged, with a pen behind its ear, looked overthe partition, and at Mr. Pickwick.

　　it was a ragged head, the sandy hair of which, scrupulouslyparted on one side, and flattened down with pomatum, wastwisted into little semi-circular tails round a flat face ornamentedwith a pair of small eyes, and garnished with a very dirty shirtcollar, and a rusty black stock.

　　‘Mr. Dodson ain’t at home, and Mr. Fogg’s particularlyengaged,’ said the man to whom the head belonged.

　　‘When will Mr. Dodson be back, sir?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘Can’t say.’

　　‘Will it be long before Mr. Fogg is disengaged, sir?’

　　‘Don’t know.’

　　Here the man proceeded to mend his pen with greatdeliberation, while another clerk, who was mixing a Seidlitzpowder, under cover of the lid of his desk, laughed approvingly.

　　‘I think I’ll wait,’ said Mr. Pickwick. There was no reply; so Mr.

　　Pickwick sat down unbidden, and listened to the loud ticking ofthe clock and the murmured conversation of the clerks.

　　‘That was a game, wasn’t it?’ said one of the gentlemen, in abrown coat and brass buttons, inky drabs, and bluchers, at theconclusion of some inaudible relation of his previous evening’sadventures.

　　‘Devilish good―devilish good,’ said the Seidlitz-powder man.

　　‘Tom Cummins was in the chair,’ said the man with the browncoat. ‘It was half-past four when I got to Somers Town, and then Iwas so uncommon lushy, that I couldn’t find the place where thelatch-key went in, and was obliged to knock up the old ’ooman. Isay, I wonder what old Fogg ’ud say, if he knew it. I should get thesack, I s’pose―eh?’

　　At this humorous notion, all the clerks laughed in concert.

　　‘There was such a game with Fogg here, this mornin’,’ said theman in the brown coat, ‘while Jack was upstairs sorting thepapers, and you two were gone to the stamp-office. Fogg wasdown here, opening the letters when that chap as we issued thewrit against at Camberwell, you know, came in―what’s his nameagain?’

　　‘Ramsey,’ said the clerk who had spoken to Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘Ah, Ramsey―a precious seedy-looking customer. “Well, sir,”

　　says old Fogg, looking at him very fierce―you know his way―“well, sir, have you come to settle?” “Yes, I have, sir,” saidRamsey, putting his hand in his pocket, and bringing out themoney, “the debt’s two pound ten, and the costs three pound five,and here it is, sir;” and he sighed like bricks, as he lugged out themoney, done up in a bit of blotting-paper. Old Fogg looked first atthe money, and then at him, and then he coughed in his rum way,so that I knew something was coming. “You don’t know there’s adeclaration filed, which increases the costs materially, I suppose,”

　　said Fogg. “You don’t say that, sir,” said Ramsey, starting back;“the time was only out last night, sir.” “I do say it, though,” saidFogg, “my clerk’s just gone to file it. Hasn’t Mr. Jackson gone tofile that declaration in Bullman and Ramsey, Mr. Wicks?” Ofcourse I said yes, and then Fogg coughed again, and looked atRamsey. “My God!” said Ramsey; “and here have I nearly drivenmyself mad, scraping this money together, and all to no purpose.”

　　“None at all,” said Fogg coolly; “so you had better go back andscrape some more together, and bring it here in time.” “I can’t getit, by God!” said Ramsey, striking the desk with his fist. “Don’tbully me, sir,” said Fogg, getting into a passion on purpose. “I amnot bullying you, sir,” said Ramsey. “You are,” said Fogg; “get out,sir; get out of this office, sir, and come back, sir, when you knowhow to behave yourself.” Well, Ramsey tried to speak, but Foggwouldn’t let him, so he put the money in his pocket, and sneakedout. The door was scarcely shut, when old Fogg turned round tome, with a sweet smile on his face, and drew the declaration out ofhis coat pocket. “Here, Wicks,” says Fogg, “take a cab, and godown to the Temple as quick as you can, and file that. The costsare quite safe, for he’s a steady man with a large family, at a salaryof five-and-twenty shillings a week, and if he gives us a warrant ofattorney, as he must in the end, I know his employers will see itpaid; so we may as well get all we can get out of him, Mr. Wicks;it’s a Christian act to do it, Mr. Wicks, for with his large family andsmall income, he’ll be all the better for a good lesson againstgetting into debt―won’t he, Mr. Wicks, won’t he?”―and he smiledso good-naturedly as he went away, that it was delightful to seehim. He is a capital man of business,’ said Wicks, in a tone of thedeepest admiration, ‘capital, isn’t he?’

　　The other three cordially subscribed to this opinion, and theanecdote afforded the most unlimited satisfaction.

　　‘Nice men these here, sir,’ whispered Mr. Weller to his master;‘wery nice notion of fun they has, sir.’

　　Mr. Pickwick nodded assent, and coughed to attract theattention of the young gentlemen behind the partition, who,having now relaxed their minds by a little conversation amongthemselves, condescended to take some notice of the stranger.

　　‘I wonder whether Fogg’s disengaged now?’ said Jackson.

　　‘I’ll see,’ said Wicks, dismounting leisurely from his stool. ‘Whatname shall I tell Mr. Fogg?’

　　‘Pickwick,’ replied the illustrious subject of these memoirs.

　　Mr. Jackson departed upstairs on his errand, and immediatelyreturned with a message that Mr. Fogg would see Mr. Pickwick infive minutes; and having delivered it, returned again to his desk.

　　‘What did he say his name was?’ whispered Wicks.

　　‘Pickwick,’ replied Jackson; ‘it’s the defendant in Bardell andPickwick.’

　　A sudden scraping of feet, mingled with the sound ofsuppressed laughter, was heard from behind the partition.

　　‘They’re a-twiggin’ of you, sir,’ whispered Mr. Weller.

　　‘Twigging of me, Sam!’ replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘what do youmean by twigging me?’

　　Mr. Weller replied by pointing with his thumb over hisshoulder, and Mr. Pickwick, on looking up, became sensible of thepleasing fact, that all the four clerks, with countenancesexpressive of the utmost amusement, and with their heads thrustover the wooden screen, were minutely inspecting the figure andgeneral appearance of the supposed trifler with female hearts, anddisturber of female happiness. On his looking up, the row of headssuddenly disappeared, and the sound of pens travelling at afurious rate over paper, immediately succeeded.

　　A sudden ring at the bell which hung in the office, summonedMr. Jackson to the apartment of Fogg, from whence he came backto say that he (Fogg) was ready to see Mr. Pickwick if he wouldstep upstairs. Upstairs Mr. Pickwick did step accordingly, leavingSam Weller below. The room door of the one-pair back, boreinscribed in legible characters the imposing words, ‘Mr. Fogg’;and, having tapped thereat, and been desired to come in, Jacksonushered Mr. Pickwick into the presence.

　　‘Is Mr. Dodson in?’ inquired Mr. Fogg.

　　‘Just come in, sir,’ replied Jackson.

　　‘Ask him to step here.’

　　‘Yes, sir.’ Exit Jackson.

　　‘Take a seat, sir,’ said Fogg; ‘there is the paper, sir; my partnerwill be here directly, and we can converse about this matter, sir.’

　　Mr. Pickwick took a seat and the paper, but, instead of readingthe latter, peeped over the top of it, and took a survey of the manof business, who was an elderly, pimply-faced, vegetable-diet sortof man, in a black coat, dark mixture trousers, and small blackgaiters; a kind of being who seemed to be an essential part of thedesk at which he was writing, and to have as much thought orfeeling.

　　After a few minutes’ silence, Mr. Dodson, a plump, portly, stern-looking man, with a loud voice, appeared; and the conversationcommenced.

　　‘This is Mr. Pickwick,’ said Fogg.

　　‘Ah! You are the defendant, sir, in Bardell and Pickwick?’ saidDodson.

　　‘I am, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘Well, sir,’ said Dodson, ‘and what do you propose?’

　　‘Ah!’ said Fogg, thrusting his hands into his trousers’ pockets,and throwing himself back in his chair, ‘what do you propose, MrPickwick?’

　　‘Hush, Fogg,’ said Dodson, ‘let me hear what Mr. Pickwick hasto say.’

　　‘I came, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Pickwick, gazing placidly on thetwo partners, ‘I came here, gentlemen, to express the surprisewith which I received your letter of the other day, and to inquirewhat grounds of action you can have against me.’

　　‘Grounds of―’ Fogg had ejaculated this much, when he wasstopped by Dodson.

　　‘Mr. Fogg,’ said Dodson, ‘I am going to speak.’

　　‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Dodson,’ said Fogg.

　　‘For the grounds of action, sir,’ continued Dodson, with moralelevation in his air, ‘you will consult your own conscience and yourown feelings. We, sir, we, are guided entirely by the statement ofour client. That statement, sir, may be true, or it may be false; itmay be credible, or it may be incredible; but, if it be true, and if itbe credible, I do not hesitate to say, sir, that our grounds of action,sir, are strong, and not to be shaken. You may be an unfortunateman, sir, or you may be a designing one; but if I were called upon,as a juryman upon my oath, sir, to express an opinion of yourconduct, sir, I do not hesitate to assert that I should have but oneopinion about it.’ Here Dodson drew himself up, with an air ofoffended virtue, and looked at Fogg, who thrust his hands fartherin his pockets, and nodding his head sagely, said, in a tone of thefullest concurrence, ‘Most certainly.’

　　‘Well, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with considerable pain depicted inhis countenance, ‘you will permit me to assure you that I am amost unfortunate man, so far as this case is concerned.’

　　‘I hope you are, sir,’ replied Dodson; ‘I trust you may be, sir. Ifyou are really innocent of what is laid to your charge, you aremore unfortunate than I had believed any man could possibly be.

　　What do you say, Mr. Fogg?’

　　‘I say precisely what you say,’ replied Fogg, with a smile ofincredulity.

　　‘The writ, sir, which commences the action,’ continued Dodson,‘was issued regularly. Mr. Fogg, where is the praecipe book?’

　　‘Here it is,’ said Fogg, handing over a square book, with aparchment cover.

　　‘Here is the entry,’ resumed Dodson. ‘“Middlesex, CapiasMartha Bardell, widow, v. Samuel Pickwick. Damages ?1500.

　　Dodson & Fogg for the plaintiff, Aug. 28, 1827.” All regular, sir;perfectly.’ Dodson coughed and looked at Fogg, who said‘Perfectly,’ also. And then they both looked at Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘I am to understand, then,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that it really isyour intention to proceed with this action?’

　　‘Understand, sir!―that you certainly may,’ replied Dodson,with something as near a smile as his importance would allow.

　　‘And that the damages are actually laid at fifteen hundredpounds?’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘To which understanding you may add my assurance, that if wecould have prevailed upon our client, they would have been laid attreble the amount, sir,’ replied Dodson. ‘I believe Mrs. Bardellspecially said, however,’ observed Fogg, glancing at Dodson, ‘thatshe would not compromise for a farthing less.’

　　‘Unquestionably,’ replied Dodson sternly. For the action wasonly just begun; and it wouldn’t have done to let Mr. Pickwickcompromise it then, even if he had been so disposed.

　　‘As you offer no terms, sir,’ said Dodson, displaying a slip ofparchment in his right hand, and affectionately pressing a papercopy of it, on Mr. Pickwick with his left, ‘I had better serve youwith a copy of this writ, sir. Here is the original, sir.’

　　‘Very well, gentlemen, very well,’ said Mr. Pickwick, rising inperson and wrath at the same time; ‘you shall hear from mysolicitor, gentlemen.’

　　‘We shall be very happy to do so,’ said Fogg, rubbing his hands. ‘Very,’ said Dodson, opening the door.

　　‘And before I go, gentlemen,’ said the excited Mr. Pickwick,turning round on the landing, ‘permit me to say, that of all thedisgraceful and rascally proceedings―’

　　‘Stay, sir, stay,’ interposed Dodson, with great politeness. ‘Mr.

　　Jackson! Mr. Wicks!’

　　‘Sir,’ said the two clerks, appearing at the bottom of the stairs.

　　‘I merely want you to hear what this gentleman says,’ repliedDodson. ‘Pray, go on, sir―disgraceful and rascally proceedings, Ithink you said?’

　　‘I did,’ said Mr. Pickwick, thoroughly roused. ‘I said, sir, that ofall the disgraceful and rascally proceedings that ever wereattempted, this is the most so. I repeat it, sir.’

　　‘You hear that, Mr. Wicks,’ said Dodson.

　　‘You won’t forget these expressions, Mr. Jackson?’ said Fogg.

　　‘Perhaps you would like to call us swindlers, sir,’ said Dodson.

　　‘Pray do, sir, if you feel disposed; now pray do, sir.’

　　‘I do,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘You are swindlers.’

　　‘Very good,’ said Dodson. ‘You can hear down there, I hope, Mr.

　　Wicks?’

　　‘Oh, yes, sir,’ said Wicks.

　　‘You had better come up a step or two higher, if you can’t,’

　　added Mr. Fogg. ‘Go on, sir; do go on. You had better call usthieves, sir; or perhaps You would like to assault one Of US. Praydo it, sir, if you would; we will not make the smallest resistance.

　　Pray do it, sir.’

　　As Fogg put himself very temptingly within the reach of Mr.

　　Pickwick’s clenched fist, there is little doubt that that gentlemanwould have complied with his earnest entreaty, but for theinterposition of Sam, who, hearing the dispute, emerged from theoffice, mounted the stairs, and seized his master by the arm.

　　‘You just come avay,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Battledore andshuttlecock’s a wery good game, vhen you ain’t the shuttlecockand two lawyers the battledores, in which case it gets too excitin’

　　to be pleasant. Come avay, sir. If you want to ease your mind byblowing up somebody, come out into the court and blow up me;but it’s rayther too expensive work to be carried on here.’

　　And without the slightest ceremony, Mr. Weller hauled hismaster down the stairs, and down the court, and having safelydeposited him in Cornhill, fell behind, prepared to followwhithersoever he should lead.

　　Mr. Pickwick walked on abstractedly, crossed opposite theMansion House, and bent his steps up Cheapside. Sam began towonder where they were going, when his master turned round,and said―‘Sam, I will go immediately to Mr. Perker’s.’

　　‘That’s just exactly the wery place vere you ought to have gonelast night, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.

　　‘I think it is, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘I know it is,’ said Mr. Weller.

　　‘Well, well, Sam,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, ‘we will go there atonce; but first, as I have been rather ruffled, I should like a glass ofbrandy-and-water warm, Sam. Where can I have it, Sam?’

　　Mr. Weller’s knowledge of London was extensive and peculiar.

　　He replied, without the slightest consideration―‘Second court on the right hand side―last house but vun on thesame side the vay―take the box as stands in the first fireplace,‘cos there ain’t no leg in the middle o’ the table, which all theothers has, and it’s wery inconvenient.’

　　Mr. Pickwick observed his valet’s directions implicitly, andbidding Sam follow him, entered the tavern he had pointed out,where the hot brandy-and-water was speedily placed before him;while Mr. Weller, seated at a respectful distance, though at thesame table with his master, was accommodated with a pint ofporter.

　　The room was one of a very homely description, and wasapparently under the especial patronage of stage-coachmen; forseveral gentleman, who had all the appearance of belonging tothat learned profession, were drinking and smoking in thedifferent boxes. Among the number was one stout, red-faced,elderly man, in particular, seated in an opposite box, whoattracted Mr. Pickwick’s attention. The stout man was smokingwith great vehemence, but between every half-dozen puffs, hetook his pipe from his mouth, and looked first at Mr. Weller andthen at Mr. Pickwick. Then, he would bury in a quart pot, as muchof his countenance as the dimensions of the quart pot admitted ofits receiving, and take another look at Sam and Mr. Pickwick.

　　Then he would take another half-dozen puffs with an air ofprofound meditation and look at them again. At last th............