WHICH IS ALL ABOUT THE LAW, AND SUNDRYGREAT AUTHORITIES LEARNED THEREINcattered about, in various holes and corners of the Temple,are certain dark and dirty chambers1, in and out of which,all the morning in vacation, and half the evening too interm time, there may be seen constantly hurrying with bundles ofpapers under their arms, and protruding2 from their pockets, analmost uninterrupted succession of lawyers’ clerks. There areseveral grades of lawyers’ clerks. There is the articled clerk, whohas paid a premium3, and is an attorney in perspective, who runs atailor’s bill, receives invitations to parties, knows a family inGower Street, and another in Tavistock Square; who goes out oftown every long vacation to see his father, who keeps live horsesinnumerable; and who is, in short, the very aristocrat4 of clerks.
There is the salaried clerk―out of door, or in door, as the casemay be―who devotes the major part of his thirty shillings a weekto his Personal pleasure and adornments, repairs half-price to theAdelphi Theatre at least three times a week, dissipatesmajestically at the cider cellars afterwards, and is a dirtycaricature of the fashion which expired six months ago. There isthe middle-aged5 copying clerk, with a large family, who is alwaysshabby, and often drunk. And there are the office lads in their firstsurtouts, who feel a befitting contempt for boys at day-schools,club as they go home at night, for saveloys and porter, and thinkthere’s nothing like ‘life.’ There are varieties of the genus, toonumerous to recapitulate6, but however numerous they may be,they are all to be seen, at certain regulated business hours,hurrying to and from the places we have just mentioned.
These sequestered7 nooks are the public offices of the legalprofession, where writs8 are issued, judgments9 signed, declarationsfiled, and numerous other ingenious machines put in motion forthe torture and torment11 of His Majesty’s liege subjects, and thecomfort and emolument12 of the practitioners13 of the law. They are,for the most part, low-roofed, mouldy rooms, where innumerablerolls of parchment, which have been perspiring14 in secret for thelast century, send forth10 an agreeable odour, which is mingled15 byday with the scent16 of the dry-rot, and by night with the variousexhalations which arise from damp cloaks, festering umbrellas,and the coarsest tallow candles.
About half-past seven o’clock in the evening, some ten days or afortnight after Mr. Pickwick and his friends returned to London,there hurried into one of these offices, an individual in a browncoat and brass17 buttons, whose long hair was scrupulously18 twistedround the rim19 of his napless hat, and whose soiled drab trouserswere so tightly strapped20 over his Blucher boots, that his kneesthreatened every moment to start from their concealment21. Heproduced from his coat pockets a long and narrow strip ofparchment, on which the presiding functionary22 impressed anillegible black stamp. He then drew forth four scraps23 of paper, ofsimilar dimensions, each containing a printed copy of the strip ofparchment with blanks for a name; and having filled up theblanks, put all the five documents in his pocket, and hurried away.
The man in the brown coat, with the cabalistic documents in hispocket, was no other than our old acquaintance Mr. Jackson, ofthe house of Dodson & Fogg, Freeman’s Court, Cornhill. Insteadof returning to the office whence he came, however, he bent25 hissteps direct to Sun Court, and walking straight into the Georgeand Vulture, demanded to know whether one Mr. Pickwick waswithin.
‘Call Mr. Pickwick’s servant, Tom,’ said the barmaid of theGeorge and Vulture.
‘Don’t trouble yourself,’ said Mr. Jackson. ‘I’ve come onbusiness. If you’ll show me Mr. Pickwick’s room I’ll step upmyself.’
‘What name, sir?’ said the waiter.
‘Jackson,’ replied the clerk.
The waiter stepped upstairs to announce Mr. Jackson; but Mr.
Jackson saved him the trouble by following close at his heels, andwalking into the apartment before he could articulate a syllable26.
Mr. Pickwick had, that day, invited his three friends to dinner;they were all seated round the fire, drinking their wine, when Mr.
Jackson presented himself, as above described.
‘How de do, sir?’ said Mr. Jackson, nodding to Mr. Pickwick.
That gentleman bowed, and looked somewhat surprised, for thephysiognomy of Mr. Jackson dwelt not in his recollection.
‘I have called from Dodson and Fogg’s,’ said Mr. Jackson, in anexplanatory tone.
Mr. Pickwick roused at the name. ‘I refer you to my attorney,sir; Mr. Perker, of Gray’s Inn,’ said he. ‘Waiter, show thisgentleman out.’
‘Beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Jackson, deliberatelydepositing his hat on the floor, and drawing from his pocket thestrip of parchment. ‘But personal service, by clerk or agent, inthese cases, you know, Mr. Pickwick―nothing like caution, sir, inall legal forms―eh?’
Here Mr. Jackson cast his eye on the parchment; and, restinghis hands on the table, and looking round with a winning andpersuasive smile, said, ‘Now, come; don’t let’s have no wordsabout such a little matter as this. Which of you gentlemen’s name’sSnodgrass?’
At this inquiry28, Mr. Snodgrass gave such a very undisguisedand palpable start, that no further reply was needed.
‘Ah! I thought so,’ said Mr. Jackson, more affably than before.
‘I’ve a little something to trouble you with, sir.’
‘Me!’ exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass.
‘It’s only a subpoena29 in Bardell and Pickwick on behalf of theplaintiff,’ replied Jackson, singling out one of the slips of paper,and producing a shilling from his waistcoat pocket. ‘It’ll come on,in the settens after Term: fourteenth of Febooary, we expect;we’ve marked it a special jury cause, and it’s only ten down thepaper. That’s yours, Mr. Snodgrass.’ As Jackson said this, hepresented the parchment before the eyes of Mr. Snodgrass, andslipped the paper and the shilling into his hand.
Mr. Tupman had witnessed this process in silent astonishment,when Jackson, turning sharply upon him, said―‘I think I ain’t mistaken when I say your name’s Tupman, amI?’
Mr. Tupman looked at Mr. Pickwick; but, perceiving noencouragement in that gentleman’s widely-opened eyes to denyhis name, said―‘Yes, my name is Tupman, sir.’
‘And that other gentleman’s Mr. Winkle, I think?’ said Jackson.
Mr. Winkle faltered30 out a reply in the affirmative; and bothgentlemen were forthwith invested with a slip of paper, and ashilling each, by the dexterous31 Mr. Jackson.
‘Now,’ said Jackson, ‘I’m afraid you’ll think me rathertroublesome, but I want somebody else, if it ain’t inconvenient32. Ihave Samuel Weller’s name here, Mr. Pickwick.’
‘Send my servant here, waiter,’ said Mr. Pickwick. The waiterretired, considerably33 astonished, and Mr. Pickwick motionedJackson to a seat.
There was a painful pause, which was at length broken by theinnocent defendant34. ‘I suppose, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, hisindignation rising while he spoke―‘I suppose, sir, that it is theintention of your employers to seek to criminate me upon thetestimony of my own friends?’
Mr. Jackson struck his forefinger36 several times against the leftside of his nose, to intimate that he was not there to disclose thesecrets of the prison house, and playfully rejoined―‘Not knowin’, can’t say.’
‘For what other reason, sir,’ pursued Mr. Pickwick, ‘are thesesubpoenas served upon them, if not for this?’
‘Very good plant, Mr. Pickwick,’ replied Jackson, slowlyshaking his head. ‘But it won’t do. No harm in trying, but there’slittle to be got out of me.’
Here Mr. Jackson smiled once more upon the company, and,applying his left thumb to the tip of his nose, worked a visionarycoffee-mill with his right hand, thereby38 performing a very gracefulpiece of pantomime (then much in vogue39, but now, unhappily,almost obsolete) which was familiarly denominated ‘taking agrinder.’
‘No, no, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Jackson, in conclusion; ‘Perker’speople must guess what we’ve served these subpoenas37 for. If theycan’t, they must wait till the action comes on, and then they’ll findout.’ Mr. Pickwick bestowed40 a look of excessive disgust on hisunwelcome visitor, and would probably have hurled41 sometremendous anathema42 at the heads of Messrs. Dodson & Fogg,had not Sam’s entrance at the instant interrupted him.
‘Samuel Weller?’ said Mr. Jackson, inquiringly.
‘Vun o’ the truest things as you’ve said for many a long year,’
replied Sam, in a most composed manner.
‘Here’s a subpoena for you, Mr. Weller,’ said Jackson.
‘What’s that in English?’ inquired Sam.
‘Here’s the original,’ said Jackson, declining the requiredexplanation.
‘Which?’ said Sam.
‘This,’ replied Jackson, shaking the parchment.
‘Oh, that’s the ’rig’nal, is it?’ said Sam. ‘Well, I’m wery glad I’veseen the ’rig’nal, ’cos it’s a gratifyin’ sort o’ thing, and eases vun’smind so much.’
‘And here’s the shilling,’ said Jackson. ‘It’s from Dodson andFogg’s.’
‘And it’s uncommon43 handsome o’ Dodson and Fogg, as knowsso little of me, to come down vith a present,’ said Sam. ‘I feel it as awery high compliment, sir; it’s a wery honorable thing to them, asthey knows how to reward merit werever they meets it. Besideswhich, it’s affectin’ to one’s feelin’s.’
As Mr. Weller said this, he inflicted44 a little friction45 on his righteyelid, with the sleeve of his coat, after the most approved mannerof actors when they are in domestic pathetics. Mr. Jackson seemed rather puzzled by Sam’s proceedings46; but,as he had served the subpoenas, and had nothing more to say, hemade a feint of putting on the one glove which he usually carriedin his hand, for the sake of appearances; and returned to the officeto report progress.
Mr. Pickwick slept little that night; his memory had received avery disagreeable refresher on the subject of Mrs. Bardell’s action.
He breakfasted betimes next morning, and, desiring Sam toaccompany him, set forth towards Gray’s Inn Square.
‘Sam!’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking round, when they got to theend of Cheapside.
‘Sir?’ said Sam, stepping up to his master.
‘Which way?’
‘Up Newgate Street.’
Mr. Pickwick did not turn round immediately, but lookedvacantly in Sam’s face for a few seconds, and heaved a deep sigh.
‘What’s the matter, sir?’ inquired Sam.
‘This action, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘is expected to come on,on the fourteenth of next month.’
‘Remarkable47 coincidence that ’ere, sir,’ replied Sam.
‘Why remarkable, Sam?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘Walentine’s day, sir,’ responded Sam; ‘reg’lar good day for abreach o’ promise trial.’
Mr. Weller’s smile awakened49 no gleam of mirth in his master’scountenance. Mr. Pickwick turned abruptly51 round, and led theway in silence.
They had walked some distance, Mr. Pickwick trotting52 onbefore, plunged53 in profound meditation54, and Sam followingbehind, with a countenance50 expressive55 of the most enviable andeasy defiance56 of everything and everybody, when the latter, whowas always especially anxious to impart to his master anyexclusive information he possessed57, quickened his pace until hewas close at Mr. Pickwick’s heels; and, pointing up at a house theywere passing, said―‘Wery nice pork-shop that ’ere, sir.’
‘Yes, it seems so,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Celebrated sassage factory,’ said Sam.
‘Is it?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Is it!’ reiterated58 Sam,with some indignation; ‘I should raytherthink it was. Why, sir, bless your innocent eyebrows59, that’s wherethe mysterious disappearance60 of a ’spectable tradesman took placefour years ago.’
‘You don’t mean to say he was burked, Sam?’ said Mr.
Pickwick, looking hastily round.
‘No, I don’t indeed, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, ‘I wish I did; farworse than that. He was the master o’ that ’ere shop, sir, and theinwentor o’ the patent-never-leavin’-off sassage steam-ingin, as ’udswaller up a pavin’ stone if you put it too near, and grind it intosassages as easy as if it was a tender young babby. Wery proud o’
that machine he was, as it was nat’ral he should be, and he’d standdown in the celler a-lookin’ at it wen it was in full play, till he gotquite melancholy61 with joy. A wery happy man he’d ha’ been, sir, inthe procession o’ that ’ere ingin and two more lovely hinfantsbesides, if it hadn’t been for his wife, who was a most owdaciouswixin. She was always a-follerin’ him about, and dinnin’ in hisears, till at last he couldn’t stand it no longer. “I’ll tell you what itis, my dear,” he says one day; “if you persewere in this here sort ofamusement,” he says, “I’m blessed if I don’t go away to ’Merriker;and that’s all about it.” “You’re a idle willin,” says she, “and I wishthe ’Merrikins joy of their bargain.” Arter which she keeps onabusin’ of him for half an hour, and then runs into the littleparlour behind the shop, sets to a-screamin’, says he’ll be thedeath on her, and falls in a fit, which lasts for three good hours―one o’ them fits wich is all screamin’ and kickin’. Well, nextmornin’, the husband was missin’. He hadn’t taken nothin’ fromthe till―hadn’t even put on his greatcoat―so it was quite clear hewarn’t gone to ’Merriker. Didn’t come back next day; didn’t comeback next week; missis had bills printed, sayin’ that, if he’d comeback, he should be forgiven everythin’ (which was very liberal,seein’ that he hadn’t done nothin’ at all); the canals was dragged,and for two months arterwards, wenever a body turned up, it wascarried, as a reg’lar thing, straight off to the sassage shop.
Hows’ever, none on ’em answered; so they gave out that he’d runaway62, and she kep’ on the bis’ness. One Saturday night, a little,thin, old gen’l’m’n comes into the shop in a great passion and says,“Are you the missis o’ this here shop?” “Yes, I am,” says she.
“Well, ma’am,” says he, “then I’ve just looked in to say that me andmy family ain’t a-goin’ to be choked for nothin’; and more thanthat, ma’am,” he says, “you’ll allow me to observe that as you don’tuse the primest parts of the meat in the manafacter o’ sassages, I’dthink you’d find beef come nearly as cheap as buttons.” “Asbuttons, sir!” says she. “Buttons, ma’am,” says the little, oldgentleman, unfolding a bit of paper, and showin’ twenty or thirtyhalves o’ buttons. “Nice seasonin’ for sassages, is trousers’
buttons, ma’am.” “They’re my husband’s buttons!” says thewidder beginnin’ to faint, “What!” screams the little old gen’l’m’n,turnin’ wery pale. “I see it all,” says the widder; “in a fit oftemporary insanity63 he rashly converted hisself into sassages!” Andso he had, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, looking steadily64 into Mr.
Pickwick’s horror-stricken countenance, ‘or else he’d been draw’dinto the ingin; but however that might ha’ been, the little, oldgen’l’m’n, who had been remarkably65 partial to sassages all his life,rushed out o’ the shop in a wild state, and was never heerd onarterwards!’
The relation of this affecting incident of private life broughtmaster and man to Mr. Perker’s chambers. Lowten, holding thedoor half open, was in conversation with a rustily-clad, miserable-looking man, in boots without toes and gloves without fingers.
There were traces of privation and suffering―almost of despair―in his lank24 and care-worn countenance; he felt his poverty, for heshrank to the dark side of the staircase as Mr. Pickwickapproached.
‘It’s very unfortunate,’ said the stranger, with a sigh.
‘Very,’ said Lowten, scribbling66 his name on the doorpost withhis pen, and rubbing it out again with the feather. ‘Will you leave amessage for him?’
‘When do you think he’ll be back?’ inquired the stranger.
‘Quite uncertain,’ replied Lowten, winking67 at Mr. Pickwick, asthe stranger cast his eyes towards the ground.
‘You don’t think it would be of any use my waiting for him?’
said the stranger, looking wistfully into the office.
‘Oh, no, I’m sure it wouldn’t,’ replied the clerk, moving a littlemore into the centre of the doorway68. ‘He’s certain not to be backthis week, and it’s a chance whether he will be next; for whenPerker once gets out of town, he’s never in a hurry to come backagain.’
‘Out of town!’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘dear me, how unfortunate!’
‘Don’t go away, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Lowten, ‘I’ve got a letter foryou.’ The stranger, seeming to hesitate, once more looked towardsthe ground, and the clerk winked69 slyly at Mr. Pickwick, as if tointimate that some exquisite70 piece of humour was going forward,though what it was Mr. Pickwick could not for the life of himdivine. ‘Step in, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Lowten. ‘Well, will you leave amessage, Mr. Watty, or will you call again?’
‘Ask him to be so kind as to leave out word what has been donein my business,’ said the man; ‘for God’s sake don’t neglect it, Mr.
Lowten.’
‘No, no; I won’t forget it,’ replied the clerk. ‘Walk in, Mr.
Pickwick. Good-morning, Mr. Watty; it’s a fine day for walking,isn’t it?’ Seeing that the stranger still lingered, he beckoned71 SamWeller to follow his master in, and shut the door in his face.
‘There never was such a pestering72 bankrupt as that since theworld began, I do believe!’ said Lowten, throwing down his penwith the air of an injured man. ‘His affairs haven’t been inChancery quite four years yet, and I’m d―d if he don’t comeworrying here twice a week. Step this way, Mr. Pickwick. PerkerIS in, and he’ll see you, I know. Devilish cold,’ he added pettishly,‘standing73 at that door, wasting one’s time with such seedyvagabonds!’ Having very vehemently74 stirred a particularly largefire with a particularly small poker75, the clerk led the way to hisprincipal’s private room, and announced Mr. Pickwick.
‘Ah, my dear sir,’ said little Mr. Perker, bustling76 up from hischair. ‘Well, my dear sir, and what’s the news about your matter,eh? Anything more about our friends in Freeman’s Court?
They’ve not been sleeping, I know that. Ah, they’re very smartfellows; very smart, indeed.’
As the little man concluded, he took an emphatic77 pinch of snuff,as a tribute to the smartness of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg.
‘They are great scoundrels,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Aye, aye,’ said the little man; ‘that’s a matter of opinion, youknow, and we won’t dispute about terms; because of course youcan’t be expected to view these subjects with a professional eye.
Well, we’ve done everything that’s necessary. I have retainedSerjeant Snubbin.’
‘Is he a good man?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘Good man!’ replied Perker; ‘bless your heart and soul, my dearsir, Serjeant Snubbin is at the very top of his profession. Getstreble the business of any man in court―engaged in every case.
You needn’t mention it abroad; but we say―we of the profession―that Serjeant Snubbin leads the court by the nose.’
The little man took another pinch of snuff as he made thiscommunication, and nodded mysteriously to Mr. Pickwick.
‘They have subpoenaed78 my three friends,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Ah! of course they would,’ replied Perker. ‘Importantwitnesses; saw you in a delicate situation.’
‘But she fainted of her own accord,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Shethrew herself into my arms.’
‘Very likely, my dear sir,’ replied Perker; ‘very likely and verynatural. Nothing more so, my dear sir, nothing. But who’s to proveit?’
‘They have subpoenaed my servant, too,’ said Mr. Pickwick,quitting the other point; for there Mr. Perker’s question hadsomewhat staggered him.
‘Sam?’ said Perker.
Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative.
‘Of course, my dear sir; of course. I knew they would. I couldhave told you that, a month ago. You know, my dear sir, if you willtake the management of your affairs into your own hands afterentrusting them to your solicitor79, you must also take theconsequences.’ Here Mr. Perker drew himself up with consciousdignity, and brushed some stray grains of snuff from his shirt frill.
‘And what do they want him to prove?’ asked Mr. Pickwick,after two or three minutes’ silence.
‘That you sent him up to the plaintiff ‘s to make some offer of acompromise, I suppose,’ replied Perker. ‘It don’t matter much,though; I don’t think many counsel could get a great deal out ofhim.’
‘I don’t think they could,’ said Mr. Pickwick, smiling, despite hisvexation, at the idea of Sam’s appearance as a witness. ‘Whatcourse do we pursue?’
‘We have only one to adopt, my dear sir,’ replied Perker; ‘cross-examine the witnesses; trust to Snubbin’s eloquence80; throw dustin the eyes of the judge; throw ourselves on the jury.’
‘And suppose the verdict is against me?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
Mr. Perker smiled, took a very long pinch of snuff, stirred thefire, shrugged81 his shoulders, and remained expressively82 silent.
‘You mean that in that case I must pay the damages?’ said Mr.
Pickwick, who had watched this telegraphic answer withconsiderable sternness.
Perker gave the fire another very unnecessary poke35, and said, ‘Iam afraid so.’
‘Then I beg to announce to you my unalterable determinationto pay no damages whatever,’ said Mr. Pickwick, mostemphatically. ‘None, Perker. Not a pound, not a penny of mymoney, shall find its way into the pockets of Dodson and Fogg.
That is my deliberate and irrevocable determination.’ Mr.
Pickwick gave a heavy blow on the table before him, inconfirmation of the irrevocability of his intention.
‘Very well, my dear sir, very well,’ said Perker. ‘You know best,of course.’
‘Of course,’ replied Mr. Pickwick hastily. ‘Where does SerjeantSnubbin live?’
‘In Lincoln’s Inn Old Square,’ replied Perker.
‘I should like to see him,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘See Serjeant Snubbin, my dear sir!’ rejoined Perker, in utteramazement. ‘Pooh, pooh, my dear sir, impossible. See SerjeantSnubbin! Bless you, my dear sir, such a thing was never heard of,without a consultation83 fee being previously84 paid, and aconsultation fixed85. It couldn’t be done, my dear sir; it couldn’t bedone.’
Mr. Pickwick, however, had made up his mind not only that itcould be done, but that it should be done; and the consequencewas, that within ten minutes after he had received the assurancethat the thing was impossible, he was conducted by his solicitorinto the outer office of the great Serjeant Snubbin himself.
It was an uncarpeted room of tolerable dimensions, with a largewriting-table drawn86 up near the fire, the baize top of which hadlong since lost all claim to its original hue87 of green, and hadgradually grown gray with dust and age, except where all traces ofits natural colour were obliterated88 by ink-stains. Upon the tablewere numerous little bundles of papers tied with red tape; andbehind it, sat an elderly clerk, whose sleek89 appearance and heavygold watch-chain presented imposing90 indications of the extensiveand lucrative91 practice of Mr. Serjeant Snubbin.
‘Is the Serjeant in his room, Mr. Mallard?’ inquired Perker,offering his box with all imaginable courtesy.
‘Yes, he is,’ was the reply, ‘but he’s very busy. Look here; not anopinion given yet, on any one of these cases; and an expedition feepaid with all of ’em.’ The clerk smiled as he said this, and inhaledthe pinch of snuff with a zest92 which seemed to be compounded of afondness for snuff and a relish93 for fees.
‘Something like practice that,’ said Perker.
‘Yes,’ said the barrister’s clerk, producing his own box, andoffering it with the greatest cordiality; ‘and the best of it is, that asnobody alive except myself can read the Serjeant’s writing, theyare obliged to wait for the opinions, when he has given them, till Ihave copied ’em, ha-ha-ha!’
‘Which makes good for we know who, besides the Serjeant, anddraws a little more out of the clients, eh?’ said Perker; ‘ha, ha, ha!’
At this the Serjeant’s clerk laughed again―not a noisy boisterouslaugh, but a silent, internal chuckle94, which Mr. Pickwick dislikedto hear. When a man bleeds inwardly, it is a dangerous thing forhimself; but when he laughs inwardly, it bodes95 no good to otherpeople.
‘You haven’t made me out that little list of the fees that I’m inyour debt, have you?’ said Perker.
‘No, I have not,’ replied the clerk.
‘I wish you would,’ said Perker. ‘Let me have them, and I’ll sendyou a cheque. But I suppose you’re too busy pocketing the readymoney, to think of the debtors96, eh? ha, ha, ha!’ This sally seemedto tickle97 the clerk amazingly, and he once more enjoyed a littlequiet laugh to himself.
‘But, Mr. Mallard, my dear friend,’ said Perker, suddenlyrecovering his gravity, and drawing the great man’s great maninto a Corner, by the lappel of his coat; ‘you must persuade theSerjeant to see me, and my client here.’
‘Come, come,’ said the clerk, ‘that’s not bad either. See theSerjeant! come, that’s too absurd.’ Notwithstanding the absurdityof the proposal, however, the clerk allowed himself to be gentlydrawn beyond the hearing of Mr. Pickwick; and after a shortconversation conducted in whispers, walked softly down a littledark passage, and disappeared into the legal luminary’s sanctum,whence he shortly returned on tiptoe, and informed Mr. Perkerand Mr. Pickwick that the Serjeant had been prevailed upon, inviolation of all established rules and customs, to admit them atonce.
Mr. Serjeant Snubbins was a lantern-faced, sallow-complexioned man, of about five-and-forty, or―as the novels say―he might be fifty. He had that dull-looking, boiled eye which isoften to be seen in the heads of people who have appliedthemselves during many years to a weary and laborious99 course ofstudy; and which would have been sufficient, without theadditional eyeglass which dangled100 from a broad black ribandround his neck, to warn a stranger that he was very near-sighted.
His hair was thin and weak, which was partly attributable to hishaving never devoted101 much time to its arrangement, and partly tohis having worn for five-and-twenty years the forensic102 wig103 whichhung on a block beside him. The marks of hair-powder on his coat-collar, and the ill-washed and worse tied white neckerchief roundhis throat, showed that he had not found leisure since he left the court to make any alteration104 in his dress; while the slovenly105 styleof the remainder of his costume warranted the inference that hispersonal appearance would not have been very much improved ifhe had. Books of practice, heaps of papers, and opened letters,were scattered106 over the table, without any attempt at order orarrangement; the furniture of the room was old and rickety; thedoors of the book-case were rotting in their hinges; the dust flewout from the carpet in little clouds at every step; the blinds wereyellow with age and dirt; the state of everything in the roomshowed, with a clearness not to be mistaken, that Mr. SerjeantSnubbin was far too much occupied with his professional pursuitsto take any great heed107 or regard of his personal comforts.
The Serjeant was writing when his clients entered; he bowedabstractedly when Mr. Pickwick was introduced by his solicitor;and then, motioning them to a seat, put his pen carefully in theinkstand, nursed his left leg, and waited to be spoken to.
‘Mr. Pickwick is the defendant in Bardell and Pickwick,Serjeant Snubbin,’ said Perker.
‘I am retained in that, am I?’ said the Serjeant.
‘You are, sir,’ replied Perker.
The Serjeant nodded his head, and waited for something else.
‘Mr. Pickwick was anxious to call upon you, Serjeant Snubbin,’
said Perker, ‘to state to you, before you entered upon the case, thathe denies there being any ground or pretence108 whatever for theaction against him; and that unless he came into court with cleanhands, and without the most conscientious109 conviction that he wasright in resisting the plaintiff’s demand, he would not be there atall. I believe I state your views correctly; do I not, my dear sir?’
said the little man, turning to Mr. Pickwick. ‘Quite so,’ replied that gentleman.
Mr. Serjeant Snubbin unfolded his glasses, raised them to hiseyes; and, after looking at Mr. Pickwick for a few seconds withgreat curiosity, turned to Mr. Perker, and said, smiling slightly ashe spoke―‘Has Mr. Pickwick a strong case?’
The attorney shrugged his shoulders.
‘Do you propose calling witnesses?’
‘No.’
The smile on the Serjeant’s countenance became more defined;he rocked his leg with increased violence; and, throwing himselfback in his easy-chair, coughed dubiously110.
These tokens of the Serjeant’s presentiments111 on the subject,slight as they were, were not lost on Mr. Pickwick. He settled thespectacles, through which he had attentively112 regarded suchdemonstrations of the barrister’s feelings as he had permittedhimself to exhibit, more firmly on his nose; and said with greatenergy, and in utter disregard of all Mr. Perker’s admonitorywinkings and frownings―‘My wishing to wait upon you, for such a purpose as this, sir,appears, I have no doubt, to a gentleman who sees so much ofthese matters as you must necessarily do, a very extraordinarycircumstance.’
The Serjeant tried to look gravely at the fire, but the smile cameback again.
‘Gentlemen of your profession, sir,’ continued Mr. Pickwick,‘see the worst side of human nature. All its disputes, all its ill-willand bad blood, rise up before you. You know from your experienceof juries (I mean no disparagement113 to you, or them) how muchdepends upon effect; and you are apt to attribute to others, a desire to use, for purposes of deception114 and self-interest, the veryinstruments which you, in pure honesty and honour of purpose,and with a laudable desire to do your utmost for your client, knowthe temper and worth of so well, from constantly employing themyourselves. I really believe that to this circumstance may beattributed the vulgar but very general notion of your being, as abody, suspicious, distrustful, and over-cautious. Conscious as I am,sir, of the disadvantage of making such a declaration to you, undersuch circumstances, I have come here, because I wish youdistinctly to understand, as my friend Mr. Perker has said, that Iam innocent of the falsehood laid to my charge; and although I amvery well aware of the inestimable value of your assistance, sir, Imust beg to add, that unless you sincerely believe this, I wouldrather be deprived of the aid of your talents than have theadvantage of them.’
Long before the close of this address, which we are bound tosay was of a very prosy character for Mr. Pickwick, the Serjeanthad relapsed into a state of abstraction. After some minutes,however, during which he had reassumed his pen, he appeared tobe again aware of the presence of his clients; raising his head fromthe paper, he said, rather snappishly―‘Who is with me in this case?’
‘Mr. Phunky, Serjeant Snubbin,’ replied the attorney.
‘Phunky―Phunky,’ said the Serjeant, ‘I never heard the namebefore. He must be a very young man.’
‘Yes, he is a very young man,’ replied the attorney. ‘He was onlycalled the other day. Let me see―he has not been at the Bar eightyears yet.’
‘Ah, I thought not,’ said the Serjeant, in that sort of pitying tone in which ordinary folks would speak of a very helpless little child.
‘Mr. Mallard, send round to Mr.―Mr.―’
‘Phunky’s―Holborn Court, Gray’s Inn,’ interposed Perker.
(Holborn Court, by the bye, is South Square now.) ‘Mr. Phunky,and say I should be glad if he’d step here, a moment.’
Mr. Mallard departed to execute his commission; and SerjeantSnubbin relapsed into abstraction until Mr. Phunky himself wasintroduced.
Although an infant barrister, he was a full-grown man. He had avery nervous manner, and a painful hesitation115 in his speech; it didnot appear to be a natural defect, but seemed rather the result oftimidity, arising from the consciousness of being ‘kept down’ bywant of means, or interest, or connection, or impudence116, as thecase might be. He was overawed by the Serjeant, and profoundlycourteous to the attorney.
‘I have not had the pleasure of seeing you before, Mr. Phunky,’
said Serjeant Snubbin, with haughty117 condescension118.
Mr. Phunky bowed. He had had the pleasure of seeing theSerjeant, and of envying him too, with all a poor man’s envy, foreight years and a quarter.
‘You are with me in this case, I understand?’ said the Serjeant.
If Mr. Phunky had been a rich man, he would have instantlysent for his clerk to remind him; if he had been a wise one, hewould have applied98 his forefinger to his forehead, andendeavoured to recollect27, whether, in the multiplicity of hisengagements, he had undertaken this one or not; but as he wasneither rich nor wise (in this sense, at all events) he turned red,and bowed.
‘Have you read the papers, Mr. Phunky?’ inquired the Serjeant. Here again, Mr. Phunky should have professed119 to haveforgotten all about the merits of the case; but as he had read suchpapers as had been laid before him in the course of the action, andhad thought of nothing else, waking or sleeping, throughout thetwo months during which he had been retained as Mr. SerjeantSnubbin’s junior, he turned a deeper red and bowed again.
‘This is Mr. Pickwick,’ said the Serjeant, waving his pen in thedirection in which that gentleman was standing.
Mr. Phunky bowed to Mr. Pickwick, with a reverence120 which afirst client must ever awaken48; and again inclined his head towardshis leader.
‘Perhaps you will take Mr. Pickwick away,’ said the Serjeant,‘and―and―and―hear anything Mr. Pickwick may wish tocommunicate. We shall have a consultation, of course.’ With thathint that he had been interrupted quite long enough, Mr. SerjeantSnubbin, who had been gradually growing more and moreabstracted, applied his glass to his eyes for an instant, bowedslightly round, and was once more deeply immersed in the casebefore him, which arose out of an interminable lawsuit121, originatingin the act of an individual, deceased a century or so ago, who hadstopped up a pathway leading from some place which nobody evercame from, to some other place which nobody ever went to.
Mr. Phunky would not hear of passing through any door untilMr. Pickwick and his solicitor had passed through before him, so itwas some time before they got into the Square; and when they didreach it, they walked up and down, and held a long conference,the result of which was, that it was a very difficult matter to sayhow the verdict would go; that nobody could presume to calculateon the issue of an action; that it was very lucky they had prevented the other party from getting Serjeant Snubbin; and other topics ofdoubt and consolation122, common in such a position of affairs.
Mr. Weller was then roused by his master from a sweet sleep ofan hour’s duration; and, bidding adieu to Lowten, they returned tothe city.
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1
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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premium
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| n.加付款；赠品；adj.高级的；售价高的 | |
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aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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recapitulate
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| v.节述要旨，择要说明 | |
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sequestered
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| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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writs
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| n.书面命令，令状( writ的名词复数 ) | |
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judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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emolument
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| n.报酬，薪水 | |
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practitioners
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| n.习艺者，实习者( practitioner的名词复数 )；从业者（尤指医师） | |
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perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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functionary
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| n.官员；公职人员 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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subpoena
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| n.（法律）传票；v.传讯 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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dexterous
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| adj.灵敏的；灵巧的 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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defendant
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| n.被告；adj.处于被告地位的 | |
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poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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subpoenas
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| n.（传唤出庭的）传票( subpoena的名词复数 )v.（用传票）传唤（某人）( subpoena的第三人称单数 ) | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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anathema
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| n.诅咒；被诅咒的人(物)，十分讨厌的人(物) | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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44
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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48
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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49
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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50
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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51
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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52
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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53
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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54
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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55
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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56
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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57
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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58
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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60
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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61
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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62
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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63
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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64
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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66
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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67
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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68
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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69
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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70
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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71
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pestering
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| 使烦恼，纠缠( pester的现在分词 ) | |
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73
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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75
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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76
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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subpoenaed
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| v.（用传票）传唤（某人）( subpoena的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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80
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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81
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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82
expressively
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| ad.表示(某事物)地；表达地 | |
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83
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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84
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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lucrative
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| adj.赚钱的，可获利的 | |
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92
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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93
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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95
bodes
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| v.预示，预告，预言( bode的第三人称单数 )；等待，停留( bide的过去分词 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待 | |
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debtors
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| n.债务人，借方( debtor的名词复数 ) | |
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97
tickle
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| v.搔痒，胳肢；使高兴；发痒；n.搔痒，发痒 | |
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98
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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102
forensic
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| adj.法庭的，雄辩的 | |
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103
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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105
slovenly
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| adj.懒散的，不整齐的，邋遢的 | |
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106
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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107
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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108
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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109
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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110
dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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111
presentiments
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| n.（对不祥事物的）预感( presentiment的名词复数 ) | |
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112
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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113
disparagement
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| n.轻视，轻蔑 | |
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114
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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115
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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116
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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117
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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118
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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119
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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120
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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121
lawsuit
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| n.诉讼，控诉 | |
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122
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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