IN WHICH Mr. PICKWICK THINKS HE HADBETTER GO TO BATH; AND GOESACCORDINGLYut surely, my dear sir,’ said little Perker, as he stood inMr. Pickwick’s apartment on the morning after thetrial, ‘surely you don’t really mean―really andseriously now, and irritation apart―that you won’t pay these costsand damages?’
‘Not one halfpenny,’ said Mr. Pickwick firmly; ‘not onehalfpenny.’
‘Hooroar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven hevouldn’t renew the bill,’ observed Mr. Weller, who was clearingaway the breakfast-things.
‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘have the goodness to stepdownstairs.’
‘Cert’nly, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; and acting on Mr. Pickwick’sgentle hint, Sam retired.
‘No, Perker,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with great seriousness ofmanner, ‘my friends here have endeavoured to dissuade me fromthis determination, but without avail. I shall employ myself asusual, until the opposite party have the power of issuing a legalprocess of execution against me; and if they are vile enough toavail themselves of it, and to arrest my person, I shall yield myselfup with perfect cheerfulness and content of heart. When can theydo this?’
‘They can issue execution, my dear sir, for the amount of thedamages and taxed costs, next term,’ replied Perker, ‘just twomonths hence, my dear sir.’
‘Very good,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Until that time, my dear fellow,let me hear no more of the matter. And now,’ continued Mr.
Pickwick, looking round on his friends with a good-humouredsmile, and a sparkle in the eye which no spectacles could dim orconceal, ‘the only question is, Where shall we go next?’
Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were too much affected bytheir friend’s heroism to offer any reply. Mr. Winkle had not yetsufficiently recovered the recollection of his evidence at the trial,to make any observation on any subject, so Mr. Pickwick pausedin vain.
‘Well,’ said that gentleman, ‘if you leave me to suggest ourdestination, I say Bath. I think none of us have ever been there.’
Nobody had; and as the proposition was warmly seconded byPerker, who considered it extremely probable that if Mr. Pickwicksaw a little change and gaiety he would be inclined to think betterof his determination, and worse of a debtor’s prison, it was carriedunanimously; and Sam was at once despatched to the White HorseCellar, to take five places by the half-past seven o’clock coach, nextmorning.
There were just two places to be had inside, and just three to behad out; so Sam Weller booked for them all, and having exchangeda few compliments with the booking-office clerk on the subject of apewter half-crown which was tendered him as a portion of his‘change,’ walked back to the George and Vulture, where he waspretty busily employed until bed-time in reducing clothes andlinen into the smallest possible compass, and exerting hismechanical genius in constructing a variety of ingenious devicesfor keeping the lids on boxes which had neither locks nor hinges.
The next was a very unpropitious morning for a journey―muggy, damp, and drizzly. The horses in the stages that weregoing out, and had come through the city, were smoking so, thatthe outside passengers were invisible. The newspaper-sellerslooked moist, and smelled mouldy; the wet ran off the hats of theorange-vendors as they thrust their heads into the coach windows,and diluted the insides in a refreshing manner. The Jews with thefifty-bladed penknives shut them up in despair; the men with thepocket-books made pocket-books of them. Watch-guards andtoasting-forks were alike at a discount, and pencil-cases andsponges were a drug in the market.
Leaving Sam Weller to rescue the luggage from the seven oreight porters who flung themselves savagely upon it, the momentthe coach stopped, and finding that they were about twentyminutes too early, Mr. Pickwick and his friends went for shelterinto the travellers’ room―the last resource of human dejection.
The travellers’ room at the White Horse Cellar is of courseuncomfortable; it would be no travellers’ room if it were not. It isthe right-hand parlour, into which an aspiring kitchen fireplaceappears to have walked, accompanied by a rebellious poker, tongs,and shovel. It is divided into boxes, for the solitary confinement oftravellers, and is furnished with a clock, a looking-glass, and a livewaiter, which latter article is kept in a small kennel for washingglasses, in a corner of the apartment.
One of these boxes was occupied, on this particular occasion, bya stern-eyed man of about five-and-forty, who had a bald andglossy forehead, with a good deal of black hair at the sides andback of his head, and large black whiskers. He was buttoned up tothe chin in a brown coat; and had a large sealskin travelling-cap,and a greatcoat and cloak, lying on the seat beside him. He lookedup from his breakfast as Mr. Pickwick entered, with a fierce andperemptory air, which was very dignified; and, having scrutinisedthat gentleman and his companions to his entire satisfaction,hummed a tune, in a manner which seemed to say that he rathersuspected somebody wanted to take advantage of him, but itwouldn’t do.
‘Waiter,’ said the gentleman with the whiskers.
‘Sir?’ replied a man with a dirty complexion, and a towel of thesame, emerging from the kennel before mentioned.
‘Some more toast.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Buttered toast, mind,’ said the gentleman fiercely.
‘Directly, sir,’ replied the waiter.
The gentleman with the whiskers hummed a tune in the samemanner as before, and pending the arrival of the toast, advancedto the front of the fire, and, taking his coat tails under his arms,looked at his boots and ruminated.
‘I wonder whereabouts in Bath this coach puts up,’ said Mr.
Pickwick, mildly addressing Mr. Winkle.
‘Hum―eh―what’s that?’ said the strange man.
‘I made an observation to my friend, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick,always ready to enter into conversation. ‘I wondered at whathouse the Bath coach put up. Perhaps you can inform me.’
‘Are you going to Bath?’ said the strange man.
‘I am, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
‘And those other gentlemen?’
‘They are going also,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Not inside―I’ll be damned if you’re going inside,’ said thestrange man.
‘Not all of us,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘No, not all of you,’ said the strange man emphatically. ‘I’vetaken two places. If they try to squeeze six people into an infernalbox that only holds four, I’ll take a post-chaise and bring an action.
I’ve paid my fare. It won’t do; I told the clerk when I took myplaces that it wouldn’t do. I know these things have been done. Iknow they are done every day; but I never was done, and I neverwill be. Those who know me best, best know it; crush me!’ Herethe fierce gentleman rang the bell with great violence, and told thewaiter he’d better bring the toast in five seconds, or he’d know thereason why.
‘My good sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘you will allow me to observethat this is a very unnecessary display of excitement. I have onlytaken places inside for two.’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ said the fierce man. ‘I withdraw myexpressions. I tender an apology. There’s my card. Give me youracquaintance.’
‘With great pleasure, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘We are to befellow-travellers, and I hope we shall find each other’s societymutually agreeable.’
‘I hope we shall,’ said the fierce gentleman. ‘I know we shall. Ilike your looks; they please me. Gentlemen, your hands andnames. Know me.’
Of course, an interchange of friendly salutations followed thisgracious speech; and the fierce gentleman immediately proceededto inform the friends, in the same short, abrupt, jerking sentences,that his name was Dowler; that he was going to Bath on pleasure;that he was formerly in the army; that he had now set up inbusiness as a gentleman; that he lived upon the profits; and thatthe individual for whom the second place was taken, was apersonage no less illustrious than Mrs. Dowler, his lady wife.
‘She’s a fine woman,’ said Mr. Dowler. ‘I am proud of her. Ihave reason.’
‘I hope I shall have the pleasure of judging,’ said Mr. Pickwick,with a smile. ‘You shall,’ replied Dowler. ‘She shall know you. Sheshall esteem you. I courted her under singular circumstances. Iwon her through a rash vow. Thus. I saw her; I loved her; Iproposed; she refused me.―“You love another?”―“Spare myblushes.”―“I know him.”―“You do.”―“Very good; if he remainshere, I’ll skin him.”’
‘Lord bless me!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick involuntarily.
‘Did you skin the gentleman, sir?’ inquired Mr. Winkle, with avery pale face.
‘I wrote him a note, I said it was a painful thing. And so it was.’
‘Certainly,’ interposed Mr. Winkle.
‘I said I had pledged my word as a gentleman to skin him. Mycharacter was at stake. I had no alternative. As an officer in HisMajesty’s service, I was bound to skin him. I regretted thenecessity, but it must be done. He was open to conviction. He sawthat the rules of the service were imperative. He fled. I marriedher. Here’s the coach. That’s her head.’
As Mr. Dowler concluded, he pointed to a stage which had justdriven up, from the open window of which a rather pretty face in abright blue bonnet was looking among the crowd on thepavement, most probably for the rash man himself. Mr. Dowlerpaid his bill, and hurried out with his travelling cap, coat, andcloak; and Mr. Pickwick and his friends followed to secure theirplaces. Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass had seated themselves atthe back part of the coach; Mr. Winkle had got inside; and Mr.
Pickwick was preparing to follow him, when Sam Weller came upto his master, and whispering in his ear, begged to speak to him,with an air of the deepest mystery.
‘Well, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘what’s the matter now?’
‘Here’s rayther a rum go, sir,’ replied Sam.
‘What?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘This here, sir,’ rejoined Sam. ‘I’m wery much afeerd, sir, thatthe properiator o’ this here coach is a playin’ some imperence vithus.’
‘How is that, Sam?’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘aren’t the names downon the way-bill?’
‘The names is not only down on the vay-bill, sir,’ replied Sam,‘but they’ve painted vun on ’em up, on the door o’ the coach.’ AsSam spoke, he pointed to that part of the coach door on which theproprietor’s name usually appears; and there, sure enough, in giltletters of a goodly size, was the magic name of PICKWICK!
‘Dear me,’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite staggered by thecoincidence; ‘what a very extraordinary thing!’
‘Yes, but that ain’t all,’ said Sam, again directing his master’sattention to the coach door; ‘not content vith writin’ up “Pick-wick,” they puts “Moses” afore it, vich I call addin’ insult to injury,as the parrot said ven they not only took him from his native land,but made him talk the English langwidge arterwards.’
‘It’s odd enough, certainly, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘but if westand talking here, we shall lose our places.’
‘Wot, ain’t nothin’ to be done in consequence, sir?’ exclaimedSam, perfectly aghast at the coolness with which Mr. Pickwickprepared to ensconce himself inside.
‘Done!’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘What should be done?’
‘Ain’t nobody to be whopped for takin’ this here liberty, sir?’
said Mr. Weller, who had expected that at least he would havebeen commissioned to challenge the guard and the coachman to apugilistic encounter on the spot.
‘Certainly not,’ replied Mr. Pickwick eagerly; ‘not on anyaccount. Jump up to your seat directly.’
‘I am wery much afeered,’ muttered Sam to himself, as heturned away, ‘that somethin’ queer’s come over the governor, orhe’d never ha’ stood this so quiet. I hope that ’ere trial hasn’tbroke his spirit, but it looks bad, wery bad.’ Mr. Weller shook hishead gravely; and it is worthy of remark, as an illustration of themanner in which he took this circumstance to heart, that he didnot speak another word until the coach reached the Kensingtonturnpike. Which was so long a time for him to remain taciturn,that the fact may be considered wholly unprecedented.
Nothing worthy of special mention occurred during thejourney. Mr. Dowler related a variety of anecdotes, all illustrativeof his own personal prowess and desperation, and appealed toMrs. Dowler in corroboration thereof; when Mrs. Dowlerinvariably brought in, in the form of an appendix, someremarkable fact or circumstance which Mr. Dowler had forgotten,or had perhaps through modesty, omitted; for the addenda inevery instance went to show that Mr. Dowler was even a morewonderful fellow than he made himself out to be. Mr. Pickwickand Mr. Winkle listened with great admiration, and at intervalsconversed with Mrs. Dowler, who was a very agreeable andfascinating person. So, what between Mr. Dowler’s stories, andMrs. Dowler’s charms, and Mr. Pickwick’s good-humour, and Mr.
Winkle’s good listening, the insides contrived to be verycompanionable all the way. The outsides did as outsides alwaysdo. They were very cheerful and talkative at the beginning ofevery stage, and very dismal and sleepy in the middle, and verybright and wakeful again towards the end. There was one younggentleman in an India-rubber cloak, who smoked cigars all day;and there was another young gentleman in a parody upon agreatcoat, who lighted a good many, and feeling obviouslyunsettled after the second whiff, threw them away when hethought nobody was looking at him. There was a third young manon the box who wished to be learned in cattle; and an old onebehind, who was familiar with farming. There was a constantsuccession of Christian names in smock-frocks and white coats,who were invited to have a ‘lift’ by the guard, and who knew everyhorse and hostler on the road and off it; and there was a dinnerwhich would have been cheap at half-a-crown a mouth, if anymoderate number of mouths could have eaten it in the time. Andat seven o’clock P.m. Mr. Pickwick and his friends, and Mr.
Dowler and his wife, respectively retired to their private sitting-rooms at the White Hart Hotel, opposite the Great Pump Room,Bath, where the waiters, from their costume, might be mistakenfor Westminster boys, only they destroy the illusion by behavingthemselves much better. Breakfast had scarcely been clearedaway on the succeeding morning, when a waiter brought in Mr.
Dowler’s card, with a request to be allowed permission tointroduce a friend. Mr. Dowler at once followed up the delivery ofthe card, by bringing himself and the friend also.
The friend was a charming young man of not much more thanfifty, dressed in a very bright blue coat with resplendent buttons,black trousers, and the thinnest possible pair of highly-polishedboots. A gold eye-glass was suspended from his neck by a short,broad, black ribbon; a gold snuff-box was lightly clasped in his lefthand; gold rings innumerable glittered on his fingers; and a largediamond pin set in gold glistened in his shirt frill. He had a goldwatch, and a gold curb chain with large gold seals; and he carrieda pliant ebony cane with a gold top. His linen was of the verywhitest, finest, and stiffest; his wig of the glossiest, blackest, andcurliest. His snuff was princes’ mixture; his scent bouquet du roi.
His features were contracted into a perpetual smile; and his teethwere in such perfect order that it was difficult at a small distanceto tell the real from the false.
‘Mr. Pickwick,’ said Mr. Dowler; ‘my friend, Angelo CyrusBantam, Esquire, M.C.; Bantam; Mr. Pickwick. Know each other.’
‘Welcome to Ba-ath, sir. This is indeed an acquisition. Mostwelcome to Ba-ath, sir. It is long―very long, Mr. Pickwick, sinceyou drank the waters. It appears an age, Mr. Pickwick. Re-markable!’
Such were the expressions with which Angelo Cyrus Bantam,Esquire, M.C., took Mr. Pickwick’s hand; retaining it in his,meantime, and shrugging up his shoulders with a constantsuccession of bows, as if he really could not make up his mind tothe trial of letting it go again.
‘It is a very long time since I drank the waters, certainly,’
replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘for, to the best of my knowledge, I wasnever here before.’
‘Never in Ba-ath, Mr. Pickwick!’ exclaimed the Grand Master,letting the hand fall in astonishment. ‘Never in Ba-ath! He! he! Mr.
Pickwick, you are a wag. Not bad, not bad. Good, good. He! he! he!
Re-markable!’
‘To my shame, I must say that I am perfectly serious,’ rejoinedMr. Pickwick. ‘I really never was here before.’
‘Oh, I see,’ exclaimed the Grand Master, looking extremelypleased; ‘yes, yes―good, good―better and better. You are thegentleman of whom we have heard. Yes; we know you, Mr.
Pickwick; we know you.’
‘The reports of the trial in those confounded papers,’ thoughtMr. Pickwick. ‘They have heard all about me.’
‘You are the gentleman residing on Clapham Green,’ resumedBantam, ‘who lost the use of his limbs from imprudently takingcold after port wine; who could not be moved in consequence ofacute suffering, and who had the water from the king’s bathbottled at one hundred and three degrees, and sent by wagon tohis bedroom in town, where he bathed, sneezed, and the same dayrecovered. Very remarkable!’
Mr. Pickwick acknowledged the compliment which thesupposition i............