RELATES HOW Mr. PICKWICK, WITH THEASSISTANCE OF SAMUEL WELLER, ESSAYEDTO SOFTEN THE HEART OF Mr. BENJAMINALLEN, AND TO MOLLIFY THE WRATH OFMr. ROBERT SAWYERr. Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer sat together in thelittle surgery behind the shop, discussing minced vealand future prospects, when the discourse, notunnaturally, turned upon the practice acquired by Bob theaforesaid, and his present chances of deriving a competentindependence from the honourable profession to which he haddevoted himself.

　　‘Which, I think,’ observed Mr. Bob Sawyer, pursuing the threadof the subject―‘which, I think, Ben, are rather dubious.’

　　‘What’s rather dubious?’ inquired Mr. Ben Allen, at the sametime sharpening his intellect with a draught of beer. ‘What’sdubious?’

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

　　‘I forgot,’ said Mr. Ben Allen. ‘The beer has reminded me that Iforgot, Bob―yes; they are dubious.’

　　‘It’s wonderful how the poor people patronise me,’ said Mr. BobSawyer reflectively. ‘They knock me up, at all hours of the night;they take medicine to an extent which I should have conceivedimpossible; they put on blisters and leeches with a perseveranceworthy of a better cause; they make additions to their families, in amanner which is quite awful. Six of those last-named littlepromissory notes, all due on the same day, Ben, and all intrustedto me!’

　　‘It’s very gratifying, isn’t it?’ said Mr. Ben Allen, holding hisplate for some more minced veal.

　　‘Oh, very,’ replied Bob; ‘only not quite so much so as theconfidence of patients with a shilling or two to spare would be.

　　This business was capitally described in the advertisement, Ben. Itis a practice, a very extensive practice―and that’s all.’

　　‘Bob,’ said Mr. Ben Allen, laying down his knife and fork, andfixing his eyes on the visage of his friend, ‘Bob, I’ll tell you what itis.’

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

　　‘You must make yourself, with as little delay as possible, masterof Arabella’s one thousand pounds.’

　　‘Three per cent. consolidated bank annuities, now standing inher name in the book or books of the governor and company of theBank of England,’ added Bob Sawyer, in legal phraseology.

　　‘Exactly so,’ said Ben. ‘She has it when she comes of age, ormarries. She wants a year of coming of age, and if you plucked upa 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 wantof taste. She don’t like me.’

　　‘It’s my opinion that she don’t know what she does like,’ saidMr. Ben Allen contemptuously.

　　‘Perhaps not,’ remarked Mr. Bob Sawyer. ‘But it’s my opinionthat she does know what she doesn’t like, and that’s of moreimportance.’

　　‘I wish,’ said Mr. Ben Allen, setting his teeth together, andspeaking more like a savage warrior who fed on raw wolf’s fleshwhich he carved with his fingers, than a peaceable younggentleman who ate minced veal with a knife and fork―‘I wish Iknew whether any rascal really has been tampering with her, andattempting to engage her affections. I think I should assassinatehim, 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 lookingmalignantly out of the porter pot. ‘If that didn’t do his business, I’dextract it afterwards, and kill him that way.’

　　Mr. Benjamin Allen gazed abstractedly on his friend for someminutes 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. RobertSawyer.

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

　　retorted Ben, with desperate calmness. ‘She shall have you, or I’llknow 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. Hepaused for a few seconds, and added in a voice broken by emotion,‘You have loved her from a child, my friend. You loved her whenwe were boys at school together, and, even then, she was waywardand slighted your young feelings. Do you recollect, with all theeagerness of a child’s love, one day pressing upon her acceptance,two small caraway-seed biscuits and one sweet apple, neatlyfolded 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 longin the pockets of my corduroys, that the apple was unpleasantlywarm.’

　　‘I remember,’ said Mr. Allen gloomily. ‘Upon which we ate itourselves, in alternate bites.’

　　Bob Sawyer intimated his recollection of the circumstance lastalluded to, by a melancholy frown; and the two friends remainedfor 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 thegrey livery, marvelling at the unwonted prolongation of thedinner, cast an anxious look, from time to time, towards the glassdoor, distracted by inward misgivings regarding the amount ofminced veal which would be ultimately reserved for his individualcravings; there rolled soberly on through the streets of Bristol, aprivate fly, painted of a sad green colour, drawn by a chubby sortof brown horse, and driven by a surly-looking man with his legsdressed like the legs of a groom, and his body attired in the coat ofa coachman. Such appearances are common to many vehiclesbelonging to, and maintained by, old ladies of economic habits;and in this vehicle sat an old lady who was its mistress andproprietor.

　　‘Martin!’ said the old lady, calling to the surly man, out of thefront 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 thesurly man’s foresight imparted to her feelings; and the surly mangiving 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 ofMr. 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 hiswhip on the roof of the fly.

　　‘I can’t permit it, on any account,’ said the old lady; ‘yourtestimony will be very important, and I must take you into thehouse with me. You must not stir from my side during the wholeinterview. Do you hear?’

　　‘I hear,’ replied Martin.

　　‘Well; what are you stopping for?’

　　‘Nothing,’ replied Martin. So saying, the surly man leisurelydescended from the wheel, on which he had been poising himselfon the tops of the toes of his right foot, and having summoned theboy in the grey livery, opened the coach door, flung down thesteps, and thrusting in a hand enveloped in a dark wash-leatherglove, pulled out the old lady with as much unconcern in hismanner as if she were a bandbox.

　　‘Dear me!’ exclaimed the old lady. ‘I am so flurried, now I havegot here, Martin, that I’m all in a tremble.’

　　Mr. Martin coughed behind the dark wash-leather gloves, butexpressed no sympathy; so the old lady, composing herself, trottedup Mr. Bob Sawyer’s steps, and Mr. Martin followed. Immediatelyon the old lady’s entering the shop, Mr. Benjamin Allen and Mr.

　　Bob Sawyer, who had been putting the spirits-and-water out ofsight, and upsetting nauseous drugs to take off the smell of thetobacco smoke, issued hastily forth in a transport of pleasure andaffection.

　　‘My dear aunt,’ exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen, ‘how kind of you tolook in upon us! Mr. Sawyer, aunt; my friend Mr. Bob Sawyerwhom I have spoken to you about, regarding―you know, aunt.’

　　And here Mr. Ben Allen, who was not at the momentextraordinarily sober, added the word ‘Arabella,’ in what wasmeant to be a whisper, but which was an especially audible anddistinct tone of speech which nobody could avoid hearing, ifanybody were so disposed.

　　‘My dear Benjamin,’ said the old lady, struggling with a greatshortness of breath, and trembling from head to foot, ‘don’t bealarmed, 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. ‘Stepthis way, my dear ma’am. Don’t be frightened, ma’am. We shall beable 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. BobSawyer having handed the old lady to a chair, shut the door, drewanother chair close to her, and waited to hear detailed thesymptoms of some disorder from which he saw in perspective along train of profits and advantages.

　　The first thing the old lady did, was to shake her head a greatmany times, and began to cry.

　　‘Nervous,’ said Bob Sawyer complacently. ‘Camphor-julep andwater three times a day, and composing draught at night.’

　　‘I don’t know how to begin, Mr. Sawyer,’ said the old lady. ‘It isso very painful and distressing.’

　　‘You need not begin, ma’am,’ rejoined Mr. Bob Sawyer. ‘I cananticipate all you would say. The head is in fault.’

　　‘I should be very sorry to think it was the heart,’ said the oldlady, 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, lookingwondrous wise. ‘Medicine, in time, my dear ma’am, would haveprevented it all.’

　　‘Mr. Sawyer,’ said the old lady, more flurried than before, ‘thisconduct is either great impertinence to one in my situation, sir, orit arises from your not understanding the object of my visit. If ithad been in the power of medicine, or any foresight I could haveused, to prevent what has occurred, I should certainly have doneso. I had better see my nephew at once,’ said the old lady, twirlingher reticule indignantly, and rising as she spoke.

　　‘Stop a moment, ma’am,’ said Bob Sawyer; ‘I’m afraid I havenot 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 tantalisingdeliberation, as old ladies often do. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

　　‘Left my home, Mr. Sawyer, three days ago, on a pretended visitto my sister, another aunt of hers, who keeps the large boarding-school, just beyond the third mile-stone, where there is a verylarge laburnum-tree and an oak gate,’ said the old lady, stoppingin this place to dry her eyes.

　　‘Oh, devil take the laburnum-tree, ma’am!’ said Bob, quiteforgetting his professional dignity in his anxiety. ‘Get on a littlefaster; 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 greatanimation. ‘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 Iwant to prepare Benjamin’s mind for, gently and by degrees; shesaid 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 yourtime 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 thesurgery into the outer shop, cried in a stentorian voice, ‘Ben, myboy, 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 heardthis appalling communication, than he made a precipitate rush atMr. Martin, and, twisting his hand in the neck-cloth of thattaciturn servitor, expressed an obliging intention of choking himwhere he stood. This intention, with a promptitude often the effectof 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 butlittle power of eloquence or persuasion, submitted to thisoperation with a very calm and agreeable expression ofcountenance, for some seconds; finding, however, that itthreatened speedily to lead to a result which would place it beyondhis power to claim any wages, board or otherwise, in all time tocome, he muttered an inarticulate remonstrance and felled Mr.

　　Benjamin Allen to the ground. As that gentleman had his handsentangled in his cravat, he had no alternative but to follow him tothe floor. There they both lay struggling, when the shop dooropened, and the party was increased by the arrival of two mostunexpected visitors, to wit, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Samuel Weller.

　　The impression at once produced on Mr. Weller’s mind by whathe saw, was, that Mr. Martin was hired by the establishment ofSawyer, late Nockemorf, to take strong medicine, or to go into fitsand be experimentalised upon, or to swallow poison now and thenwith the view of testing the efficacy of some new antidotes, or to dosomething or other to promote the great science of medicine, andgratify the ardent spirit of inquiry burning in the bosoms of its twoyoung professors. So, without presuming to interfere, Sam stoodperfectly still, and looked on, as if he were mightily interested inthe result of the then pending experiment. Not so, Mr. Pickwick.

　　He at once threw himself on the astonished combatants, with hisaccustomed energy, and loudly called upon the bystanders tointerpose.

　　This roused Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been hitherto quiteparalysed by the frenzy of his companion. With that gentleman’sassistance, Mr. Pickwick raised Ben Allen to his feet. Mr. Martinfin............