HONOURABLY1 ACCOUNTS FOR Mr. WELLER’SABSENCE, BY DESCRIBING A SOIREE TOWHICH HE WAS INVITED AND WENT; ALSORELATES HOW HE WAS ENTRUSTED2 BY Mr.
PICKWICK WITH A PRIVATE MISSION OFDELICACY AND IMPORTANCEr. Weller,’ said Mrs. Craddock, upon the morning ofthis very eventful day, ‘here’s a letter for you.’
‘Wery odd that,’ said Sam; ‘I’m afeerd there mustbe somethin’ the matter, for I don’t recollect5 any gen’l’m’n in mycircle of acquaintance as is capable o’ writin’ one.’
‘Perhaps something uncommon6 has taken place,’ observed Mrs.
Craddock.
‘It must be somethin’ wery uncommon indeed, as could perducea letter out o’ any friend o’ mine,’ replied Sam, shaking his headdubiously; ‘nothin’ less than a nat’ral conwulsion, as the younggen’l’m’n observed ven he wos took with fits. It can’t be from thegov’ner,’ said Sam, looking at the direction. ‘He always prints, Iknow, ’cos he learnt writin’ from the large bills in the booking-offices. It’s a wery strange thing now, where this here letter canha’ come from.’
As Sam said this, he did what a great many people do whenthey are uncertain about the writer of a note―looked at the seal,and then at the front, and then at the back, and then at the sides,and then at the superscription; and, as a last resource, thoughtperhaps he might as well look at the inside, and try to find outfrom that.
‘It’s wrote on gilt-edged paper,’ said Sam, as he unfolded it,‘and sealed in bronze vax vith the top of a door key. Now for it.’
And, with a very grave face, Mr. Weller slowly read as follows―‘A select company of the Bath footmen presents theircompliments to Mr. Weller, and requests the pleasure of hiscompany this evening, to a friendly swarry, consisting of a boiledleg of mutton with the usual trimmings. The swarry to be on tableat half-past nine o’clock punctually.’
This was inclosed in another note, which ran thus―‘Mr. John Smauker, the gentleman who had the pleasure ofmeeting Mr. Weller at the house of their mutual7 acquaintance, Mr.
Bantam, a few days since, begs to inclose Mr. Weller the herewithinvitation. If Mr. Weller will call on Mr. John Smauker at nineo’clock, Mr. John Smauker will have the pleasure of introducingMr. Weller.
(Signed) ‘JOHN SMAUKER.’
The envelope was directed to blank Weller, Esq., at Mr.
Pickwick’s; and in a parenthesis8, in the left hand corner, were thewords ‘airy bell,’ as an instruction to the bearer.
‘Vell,’ said Sam, ‘this is comin’ it rayther powerful, this is. Inever heerd a biled leg o’ mutton called a swarry afore. I wonderwot they’d call a roast one.’
However, without waiting to debate the point, Sam at oncebetook himself into the presence of Mr. Pickwick, and requestedleave of absence for that evening, which was readily granted. Withthis permission and the street-door key, Sam Weller issued forth9 alittle before the appointed time, and strolled leisurely10 towardsQueen Square, which he no sooner gained than he had thesatisfaction of beholding11 Mr. John Smauker leaning his powderedhead against a lamp-post at a short distance off, smoking a cigarthrough an amber12 tube.
‘How do you do, Mr. Weller?’ said Mr. John Smauker, raisinghis hat gracefully13 with one hand, while he gently waved the otherin a condescending15 manner. ‘How do you do, sir?’
‘Why, reasonably conwalessent,’ replied Sam. ‘How do you findyourself, my dear feller?’
‘Only so so,’ said Mr. John Smauker.
‘Ah, you’ve been a-workin’ too hard,’ observed Sam. ‘I wasfearful you would; it won’t do, you know; you must not give way tothat ’ere uncompromisin’ spirit o’ yourn.’
‘It’s not so much that, Mr. Weller,’ replied Mr. John Smauker,‘as bad wine; I’m afraid I’ve been dissipating.’
‘Oh! that’s it, is it?’ said Sam; ‘that’s a wery bad complaint,that.’
‘And yet the temptation, you see, Mr. Weller,’ observed Mr.
John Smauker.
‘Ah, to be sure,’ said Sam.
‘Plunged into the very vortex of society, you know, Mr. Weller,’
said Mr. John Smauker, with a sigh.
‘Dreadful, indeed!’ rejoined Sam.
‘But it’s always the way,’ said Mr. John Smauker; ‘if yourdestiny leads you into public life, and public station, you mustexpect to be subjected to temptations which other people is freefrom, Mr. Weller.’
‘Precisely what my uncle said, ven he vent4 into the public line,’
remarked Sam, ‘and wery right the old gen’l’m’n wos, for he drankhisself to death in somethin’ less than a quarter.’ Mr. JohnSmauker looked deeply indignant at any parallel being drawnbetween himself and the deceased gentleman in question; but, asSam’s face was in the most immovable state of calmness, hethought better of it, and looked affable again. ‘Perhaps we hadbetter be walking,’ said Mr. Smauker, consulting a coppertimepiece which dwelt at the bottom of a deep watch-pocket, andwas raised to the surface by means of a black string, with a copperkey at the other end.
‘P’raps we had,’ replied Sam, ‘or they’ll overdo18 the swarry, andthat’ll spile it.’
‘Have you drank the waters, Mr. Weller?’ inquired hiscompanion, as they walked towards High Street.
‘Once,’ replied Sam.
‘What did you think of ’em, sir?’
‘I thought they was particklery unpleasant,’ replied Sam.
‘Ah,’ said Mr. John Smauker, ‘you disliked the killibeate taste,perhaps?’
‘I don’t know much about that ’ere,’ said Sam. ‘I thought they’da wery strong flavour o’ warm flat irons.’
‘That is the killibeate, Mr. Weller,’ observed Mr. John Smaukercontemptuously.
‘Well, if it is, it’s a wery inexpressive word, that’s all,’ said Sam.
‘It may be, but I ain’t much in the chimical line myself, so I can’tsay.’ And here, to the great horror of Mr. John Smauker, SamWeller began to whistle.
‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Weller,’ said Mr. John Smauker,agonised at the exceeding ungenteel sound, ‘will you take myarm?’
‘Thank’ee, you’re wery good, but I won’t deprive you of it,’
replied Sam. ‘I’ve rayther a way o’ putting my hands in mypockets, if it’s all the same to you.’ As Sam said this, he suited theaction to the word, and whistled far louder than before.
‘This way,’ said his new friend, apparently19 much relieved asthey turned down a by-street; ‘we shall soon be there.’
‘Shall we?’ said Sam, quite unmoved by the announcement ofhis close vicinity to the select footmen of Bath.
‘Yes,’ said Mr. John Smauker. ‘Don’t be alarmed, Mr. Weller.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Sam.
‘You’ll see some very handsome uniforms, Mr. Weller,’
continued Mr. John Smauker; ‘and perhaps you’ll find some of thegentlemen rather high at first, you know, but they’ll soon comeround.’
‘That’s wery kind on ’em,’ replied Sam. ‘And you know,’
resumed Mr. John Smauker, with an air of sublime20 protection―‘you know, as you’re a stranger, perhaps, they’ll be rather hardupon you at first.’
‘They won’t be wery cruel, though, will they?’ inquired Sam.
‘No, no,’ replied Mr. John Smauker, pulling forth the fox’s head,and taking a gentlemanly pinch. ‘There are some funny dogsamong us, and they will have their joke, you know; but youmustn’t mind ’em, you mustn’t mind ’em.’
‘I’ll try and bear up agin such a reg’lar knock down o’ talent,’
replied Sam.
‘That’s right,’ said Mr. John Smauker, putting forth his fox’shead, and elevating his own; ‘I’ll stand by you.’
By this time they had reached a small greengrocer’s shop,which Mr. John Smauker entered, followed by Sam, who, themoment he got behind him, relapsed into a series of the verybroadest and most unmitigated grins, and manifested otherdemonstrations of being in a highly enviable state of inwardmerriment.
Crossing the greengrocer’s shop, and putting their hats on thestairs in the little passage behind it, they walked into a smallparlour; and here the full splendour of the scene burst upon Mr.
Weller’s view.
A couple of tables were put together in the middle of theparlour, covered with three or four cloths of different ages anddates of washing, arranged to look as much like one as thecircumstances of the case would allow. Upon these were laidknives and forks for six or eight people. Some of the knife handleswere green, others red, and a few yellow; and as all the forks wereblack, the combination of colours was exceedingly striking. Platesfor a corresponding number of guests were warming behind thefender; and the guests themselves were warming before it: thechief and most important of whom appeared to be a stoutishgentleman in a bright crimson21 coat with long tails, vividly22 redbreeches, and a cocked hat, who was standing23 with his back to thefire, and had apparently just entered, for besides retaining hiscocked hat on his head, he carried in his hand a high stick, such asgentlemen of his profession usually elevate in a sloping positionover the roofs of carriages.
‘Smauker, my lad, your fin,’ said the gentleman with the cockedhat.
Mr. Smauker dovetailed the top joint24 of his right-hand littlefinger into that of the gentleman with the cocked hat, and said hewas charmed to see him looking so well.
‘Well, they tell me I am looking pretty blooming,’ said the manwith the cocked hat, ‘and it’s a wonder, too. I’ve been following ourold woman about, two hours a day, for the last fortnight; and if aconstant contemplation of the manner in which she hooks-and-eyes that infernal lavender-coloured old gown of hers behind, isn’tenough to throw anybody into a low state of despondency for life,stop my quarter’s salary.’
At this, the assembled selections laughed very heartily25; and onegentleman in a yellow waistcoat, with a coach-trimming border,whispered a neighbour in green-foil smalls, that Tuckle was inspirits to-night.
‘By the bye,’ said Mr. Tuckle, ‘Smauker, my boy, you―’ Theremainder of the sentence was forwarded into Mr. JohnSmauker’s ear, by whisper.
‘Oh, dear me, I quite forgot,’ said Mr. John Smauker.
‘Gentlemen, my friend Mr. Weller.’
‘Sorry to keep the fire off you, Weller,’ said Mr. Tuckle, with afamiliar nod. ‘Hope you’re not cold, Weller.’
‘Not by no means, Blazes,’ replied Sam. ‘It ’ud be a wery chillysubject as felt cold wen you stood opposite. You’d save coals if theyput you behind the fender in the waitin’-room at a public office,you would.’
As this retort appeared to convey rather a personal allusion26 toMr. Tuckle’s crimson livery, that gentleman looked majestic27 for afew seconds, but gradually edging away from the fire, broke into aforced smile, and said it wasn’t bad.
‘Wery much obliged for your good opinion, sir,’ replied Sam.
‘We shall get on by degrees, I des-say. We’ll try a better one by andbye.’
At this point the conversation was interrupted by the arrival ofa gentleman in orange-coloured plush, accompanied by anotherselection in purple cloth, with a great extent of stocking. The new-comers having been welcomed by the old ones, Mr. Tuckle put thequestion that supper be ordered in, which was carriedunanimously.
The greengrocer and his wife then arranged upon the table aboiled leg of mutton, hot, with caper28 sauce, turnips29, and potatoes.
Mr. Tuckle took the chair, and was supported at the other end ofthe board by the gentleman in orange plush. The greengrocer puton a pair of wash-leather gloves to hand the plates with, andstationed himself behind Mr. Tuckle’s chair.
‘Harris,’ said Mr. Tuckle, in a commanding tone.
‘Sir,’ said the greengrocer.
‘Have you got your gloves on?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then take the kiver off.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The greengrocer did as he was told, with a show of greathumility, and obsequiously30 handed Mr. Tuckle the carving-knife;in doing which, he accidentally gaped31.
‘What do you mean by that, sir?’ said Mr. Tuckle, with greatasperity.
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ replied the crestfallen32 greengrocer, ‘Ididn’t mean to do it, sir; I was up very late last night, sir.’
‘I tell you what my opinion of you is, Harris,’ said Mr. Tuckle,with a most impressive air, ‘you’re a wulgar beast.’
‘I hope, gentlemen,’ said Harris, ‘that you won’t be severe withme, gentlemen. I am very much obliged to you indeed, gentlemen,for your patronage33, and also for your recommendations,gentlemen, whenever additional assistance in waiting is required.
I hope, gentlemen, I give satisfaction.’
‘No, you don’t, sir,’ said Mr. Tuckle. ‘Very far from it, sir.’
‘We consider you an inattentive reskel,’ said the gentleman inthe orange plush.
‘And a low thief,’ added the gentleman in the green-foil smalls.
‘And an unreclaimable blaygaird,’ added the gentleman inpurple.
The poor greengrocer bowed very humbly34 while these littleepithets were bestowed35 upon him, in the true spirit of the verysmallest tyranny; and when everybody had said something toshow his superiority, Mr. Tuckle proceeded to carve the leg ofmutton, and to help the company.
This important business of the evening had hardly commenced,when the door was thrown briskly open, and another gentleman ina light-blue suit, and leaden buttons, made his appearance.
‘Against the rules,’ said Mr. Tuckle. ‘Too late, too late.’
‘No, no; positively36 I couldn’t help it,’ said the gentleman in blue.
‘I appeal to the company. An affair of gallantry now, anappointment at the theayter.’
‘Oh, that indeed,’ said the gentleman in the orange plush.
‘Yes; raly now, honour bright,’ said the man in blue. ‘I made apromese to fetch our youngest daughter at half-past ten, and she issuch an uncauminly fine gal37, that I raly hadn’t the ’art to disappinther. No offence to the present company, sir, but a petticut, sir―apetticut, sir, is irrevokeable.’
‘I begin to suspect there’s something in that quarter,’ saidTuckle, as the new-comer took his seat next Sam, ‘I’ve remarked,once or twice, that she leans very heavy on your shoulder whenshe gets in and out of the carriage.’
‘Oh, raly, raly, Tuckle, you shouldn’t,’ said the man in blue. ‘It’snot fair. I may have said to one or two friends that she wos a verydivine creechure, and had refused one or two offers without anyhobvus cause, but―no, no, no, indeed, Tuckle―before strangers,too―it’s not right―you shouldn’t. Delicacy3, my dear friend,delicacy!’ And the man in blue, pulling up his neckerchief, andadjusting his coat cuffs38, nodded and frowned as if there were morebehind, which he could say if he liked, but was bound in honour tosuppress.
The man in blue being a light-haired, stiff-necked, free and easysort of footman, with a swaggering air and pert face, had attractedMr. Weller’s special attention at first, but when he began to comeout in this way, Sam felt more than ever disposed to cultivate hisacquaintance; so he launched himself into the conversation atonce, with characteristic independence.
‘Your health, sir,’ said Sam. ‘I like your conversation much. Ithink it’s wery pretty.’
At this the man in blue smiled, as if it were a compliment hewas well used to; but looked approvingly on Sam at the same time,and said he hoped he should be better acquainted with him, forwithout any flattery at all he seemed to have the makings of a verynice fellow about him, and to be just the man after his own heart.
‘You’re wery good, sir,’ said Sam. ‘What a lucky feller you are!’
‘How do you mean?’ inquired the gentleman in blue.
The Pickwick Papers‘That ’ere young lady,’ replied Sam.’ She knows wot’s wot, shedoes. Ah! I see.’ Mr. Weller closed one eye, and shook his headfrom side to side, in a manner which was highly gratifying to thepersonal vanity of the gentleman in blue.
‘I’m afraid your a cunning fellow, Mr. Weller,’ said thatindividual.
‘No, no,’ said Sam. ‘I leave all that ’ere to you. It’s a great dealmore in your way than mine, as the gen’l’m’n on the right side o’
the garden vall said to the man on the wrong un, ven the mad bullvos a-comin’ up the lane.’
‘Well, well, Mr. Weller,’ said the gentleman in blue, ‘I think shehas remarked my air and manner, Mr. Weller.’
‘I should think she couldn’t wery well be off o’ that,’ said Sam.
‘Have you any little thing of that kind in hand, sir?’ inquired thefavoured gentleman in blue, drawing a toothpick from hiswaistcoat pocket.
‘Not exactly,’ said Sam. ‘There’s no daughters at my place, elseo’ course I should ha’ made up to vun on ’em. As it is, I don’t thinkI can do with anythin’ under a female markis. I might keep upwith a young ‘ooman o’ large property as hadn’t a title, if she madewery fierce love to me. Not else.’
‘Of course not, Mr. Weller,’ said the gentleman in blue, ‘onecan’t be troubled, you know; and WE know, Mr. Weller―we, whoare men of the world―that a good uniform must work its way withthe women, sooner or later. In fact, that’s the only thing, betweenyou and me, that makes the service worth entering into.’
‘Just so,’ said Sam. ‘That’s it, o’ course.’
When this confidential39 dialogue had gone thus far, glasses wereplaced round, and every gentleman ordered what he liked best,before the public-house shut up. The gentleman in blue, and theman in orange, who were the chief exquisites40 of the party, ordered‘cold shrub41 and water,’ but with the others, gin-and-water, sweet,appeared to be the favourite beverage42. Sam called the greengrocera ‘desp’rate willin,’ and ordered a large bowl of punch―twocircumstances which seemed to raise him very much in theopinion of the selections.
‘Gentlemen,’ said the man in blue, with an air of the mostconsummate dandyism, ‘I’ll give you the ladies; come.’
‘Hear, hear!’ said Sam. ‘The young mississes.’
Here there was a loud cry of ‘Order,’ and Mr. John Smauker, asthe gentleman who had introduced Mr. Weller into that company,begged to inform him that the word he had just made use of, wasunparliamentary.
‘Which word was that ’ere, sir?’ inquired Sam. ‘Mississes, sir,’
replied Mr. John Smauker, with an alarming frown. ‘We don’trecognise such distinctions here.’
‘Oh, wery good,’ said Sam; ‘then I’ll amend43 the obserwation andcall ’em the dear creeturs, if Blazes vill allow me.’
Some doubt appeared to exist in the mind of the gentleman inthe green-foil smalls, whether the chairman could be legallyappealed to, as ‘Blazes,’ but as the company seemed moredisposed to stand upon their own rights than his, the question wasnot raised. The man with the cocked hat breathed short, andlooked long at Sam, but apparently thought it as well to saynothing, in case he should get the worst of it. After a short silence,a gentleman in an embroidered44 coat reaching down to his heels,and a waistcoat of the same which kept one half of his legs warm,stirred his gin-and-water with great energy, and putting himselfupon his feet, all at once by a violent effort, said he was desirous ofoffering a few remarks to the company, whereupon the person inthe cocked hat had no doubt that the company would be veryhappy to hear any remarks that the man in the long coat mightwish to offer.
‘I feel a great delicacy, gentlemen, in coming for’ard,’ said theman in the long coat, ‘having the misforchune to be a coachman,and being only admitted as a honorary member of these agreeableswarrys, but I do feel myself bound, gentlemen―drove into acorner, if I may use the expression―to make known an afflictingcircumstance which has come to my knowledge; which hashappened I may say within the soap of my everydaycontemplation. Gentlemen, our friend Mr. Whiffers (everybodylooked at the individual in orange), our friend Mr. Whiffers hasresigned.’
Universal astonishment45 fell upon the hearers. Each gentlemanlooked in his neighbour’s face, and then transferred his glance tothe upstanding coachman.
‘You may well be sapparised, gentlemen,’ said the coachman. ‘Iwill not wenchure to state the reasons of this irrepairabel loss tothe service, but I will beg Mr. Whiffers to state them himself, forthe improvement and imitation of his admiring friends.’
The suggestion being loudly approved of, Mr. Whiffersexplained. He said he certainly could have wished to havecontinued to hold the appointment he had just resigned. Theuniform was extremely rich and expensive, the females of thefamily was most agreeable, and the duties of the situation was not,he was bound to say, too heavy; the principal service that wasrequired of him, being, that he should look out of the hall windowas much as possible, in company with another gentleman, who hadalso resigned. He could have wished to have spared that companythe painful and disgusting detail on which he was about to enter,but as the explanation had been demanded of him, he had noalternative but to state, boldly and distinctly, that he had beenrequired to eat cold meat.
It is impossible to conceive the disgust which this avowalawakened in the bosoms46 of the hearers. Loud cries of ‘Shame,’
mingled with groans47 and hisses48, prevailed for a quarter of an hour.
Mr. Whiffers then added that he feared a portion of this outragemight be traced to his own forbearing and accommodatingdisposition. He had a distinct recollection of having onceconsented to eat salt butter, and he had, moreover, on an occasionof sudden sickness in the house, so far forgotten himself as tocarry a coal-scuttle up to the second floor. He trusted he had notlowered himself in the good opinion of his friends by this frankconfession of his faults; and he hoped the promptness with whichhe had resented the last unmanly outrage49 on his feelings, to whichhe had referred, would reinstate him in their good opinion, if hehad.
Mr. Whiffers’s address was responded to, with a shout ofadmiration, and the health of the interesting martyr50 was drunk ina most enthusiastic manner; for this, the martyr returned thanks,and proposed their visitor, Mr. Weller―a gentleman whom he hadnot the pleasure of an intimate acquaintance with, but who wasthe friend of Mr. John Smauker, which was a sufficient letter ofrecommendation to any society of gentlemen whatever, orwherever. On this account, he should have been disposed to havegiven Mr. Weller’s health with all the honours, if his friends hadbeen drinking wine; but as they were taking spirits by way of achange, and as it might be inconvenient51 to empty a tumbler atevery toast, he should propose that the honours be understood.
At the conclusion of this speech, everybody took a sip16 in honourof Sam; and Sam having ladled out, and drunk, two full glasses ofpunch in honour of himself, returned thanks in a neat speech.
‘Wery much obliged to you, old fellers,’ said Sam, ladling awayat the punch in the most unembarrassed manner possible, ‘for thishere compliment; which, comin’ from sich a quarter, is weryovervelmin’. I’ve heered a good deal on you as a body, but I willsay, that I never thought you was sich uncommon nice men as Ifind you air. I only hope you’ll take care o’ yourselves, and notcompromise nothin’ o’ your dignity, which is a wery charmin’
thing to see, when one’s out a-walkin’, and has always made mewery happy to look at, ever since I was a boy about half as high asthe brass-headed stick o’ my wery respectable friend, Blazes,there. As to the wictim of oppression in the suit o’ brimstone, all Ican say of him, is, that I hope he’ll get jist as good a berth52 as hedeserves; in vitch case it’s wery little cold swarry as ever he’ll betroubled with agin.’
Here Sam sat down with a pleasant smile, and his speechhaving been vociferously53 applauded, the company broke up.
‘Wy, you don’t mean to say you’re a-goin’ old feller?’ said SamWeller to his friend, Mr. John Smauker.
‘I must, indeed,’ said Mr. Smauker; ‘I promised Bantam.’
‘Oh, wery well,’ said Sam; ‘that’s another thing. P’raps he’dresign if you disappinted him. You ain’t a-goin’, Blazes?’
‘Yes, I am,’ said the man with the cocked hat. ‘Wot, and leave three-quarters of a bowl of punch behind you!’
said Sam; ‘nonsense, set down agin.’
Mr. Tuckle was not proof against this invitation. He laid asidethe cocked hat and stick which he had just taken up, and said hewould have one glass, for good fellowship’s sake.
As the gentleman in blue went home the same way as Mr.
Tuckle, he was prevailed upon to stop too. When the punch wasabout half gone, Sam ordered in some oysters54 from the green-grocer’s shop; and the effect of both was so extremely exhilarating,that Mr. Tuckle, dressed out with the cocked hat and stick, dancedthe frog hornpipe among the shells on the table, while thegentleman in blue played an accompaniment upon an ingeniousmusical instrument formed of a hair-comb upon a curl-paper. Atlast, when the punch was all gone, and the night nearly so, theysallied forth to see each other home. Mr. Tuckle no sooner got intothe open air, than he was seized with a sudden desire to lie on thecurbstone; Sam thought it would be a pity to contradict him, andso let him have his own way. As the cocked hat would have beenspoiled if left there, Sam very considerately flattened55 it down onthe head of the gentleman in blue, and putting the big stick in hishand, propped56 him up against his own street-door, rang the bell,and walked quietly home.
At a much earlier hour next morning than his usual time ofrising, Mr. Pickwick walked downstairs completely dressed, andrang the bell.
‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, when Mr. Weller appeared in reply tothe summons, ‘shut the door.’
Mr. Weller did so.
‘There was an unfortunate occurrence here, last night, Sam,’
said Mr. Pickwick, ‘which gave Mr. Winkle some cause toapprehend violence from Mr. Dowler.’
‘So I’ve heerd from the old lady downstairs, sir,’ replied Sam.
‘And I’m sorry to say, Sam,’ continued Mr. Pickwick, with amost perplexed57 countenance58, ‘that in dread17 of this violence, Mr.
Winkle has gone away.’
‘Gone avay!’ said Sam.
‘Left the house early this morning, without the slightestprevious communication with me,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘And isgone, I know not where.’
‘He should ha’ stopped and fought it out, sir,’ replied Samcontemptuously. ‘It wouldn’t take much to settle that ’ere Dowler,sir.’
‘Well, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I may have my doubts of hisgreat bravery and determination also. But however that may be,Mr. Winkle is gone. He must be found, Sam. Found and broughtback to me.’
‘And s’pose he won’t come back, sir?’ said Sam.
‘He must be made, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Who’s to do it, sir?’ inquired Sam, with a smile.
‘You,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
‘Wery good, sir.’
With these words Mr. Weller left the room, and immediatelyafterwards was heard to shut the street door. In two hours’ time hereturned with so much coolness as if he had been despatched onthe most ordinary message possible, and brought the informationthat an individual, in every respect answering Mr. Winkle’sdescription, had gone over to Bristol that morning, by the branchcoach from the Royal Hotel.
‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, grasping his hand, ‘you’re a capitalfellow; an invaluable59 fellow. You must follow him, Sam.’
‘Cert’nly, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
‘The instant you discover him, write to me immediately, Sam,’
said Mr. Pickwick. ‘If he attempts to run away from you, knockhim down, or lock him up. You have my full authority, Sam.’
‘I’ll be wery careful, sir,’ rejoined Sam.
‘You’ll tell him,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that I am highly excited,highly displeased60, and naturally indignant, at the veryextraordinary course he has thought proper to pursue.’
‘I will, sir,’ replied Sam.
‘You’ll tell him,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that if he does not comeback to this very house, with you, he will come back with me, for Iwill come and fetch him.’
‘I’ll mention that ’ere, sir,’ rejoined Sam.
‘You think you can find him, Sam?’ said Mr. Pickwick, lookingearnestly in his face.
‘Oh, I’ll find him if he’s anyvere,’ rejoined Sam, with greatconfidence.
‘Very well,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Then the sooner you go thebetter.’
With these instructions, Mr. Pickwick placed a sum of money inthe hands of his faithful servitor, and ordered him to start forBristol immediately, in pursuit of the fugitive61.
Sam put a few necessaries in a carpet-bag, and was ready forstarting. He stopped when he had got to the end of the passage,and walking quietly back, thrust his head in at the parlour door.
‘Sir,’ whispered Sam.
‘Well, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘I fully14 understands my instructions, do I, sir?’ inquired Sam.
‘I hope so,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘It’s reg’larly understood about the knockin’ down, is it, sir?’
inquired Sam.
‘Perfectly,’ replied Pickwick. ‘Thoroughly. Do what you thinknecessary. You have my orders.’
Sam gave a nod of intelligence, and withdrawing his head fromthe door, set forth on his pilgrimage with a light heart.
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honourably
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| adv.可尊敬地，光荣地，体面地 | |
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entrusted
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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parenthesis
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| n.圆括号，插入语，插曲，间歇，停歇 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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overdo
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| vt.把...做得过头，演得过火 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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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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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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caper
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| v.雀跃，欢蹦；n.雀跃，跳跃；续随子，刺山柑花蕾；嬉戏 | |
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turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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obsequiously
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gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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crestfallen
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| adj. 挫败的，失望的，沮丧的 | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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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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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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exquisites
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| n.精致的( exquisite的名词复数 )；敏感的；剧烈的；强烈的 | |
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shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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beverage
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| n.(水，酒等之外的)饮料 | |
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amend
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| vt.修改，修订，改进；n.[pl.]赔罪，赔偿 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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hisses
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| 嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
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outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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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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berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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vociferously
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| adv.喊叫地，吵闹地 | |
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oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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