ILLUSTRATIVE, LIKE THE PRECEDING ONE,OF THE OLD PROVERB, THAT ADVERSITYBRINGS A MAN ACQUAINTED WITH STRANGEBEDFELLOWS―LIKEWISE CONTAINING Mr.
PICKWICK’S EXTRAORDINARY ANDSTARTLING ANNOUNCEMENT TO Mr.
SAMUEL WELLERhen Mr. Pickwick opened his eyes next morning, thefirst object upon which they rested was Samuel Weller,seated upon a small black portmanteau, intentlyregarding, apparently1 in a condition of profound abstraction, thestately figure of the dashing Mr. Smangle; while Mr. Smanglehimself, who was already partially2 dressed, was seated on hisbedstead, occupied in the desperately3 hopeless attempt of staringMr. Weller out of countenance4. We say desperately hopeless,because Sam, with a comprehensive gaze which took in Mr.
Smangle’s cap, feet, head, face, legs, and whiskers, all at the sametime, continued to look steadily5 on, with every demonstration6 oflively satisfaction, but with no more regard to Mr. Smangle’spersonal sentiments on the subject than he would have displayedhad he been inspecting a wooden statue, or a straw-embowelledGuy Fawkes.
‘Well; will you know me again?’ said Mr. Smangle, with a frown.
‘I’d svear to you anyveres, sir,’ replied Sam cheerfully.
‘Don’t be impertinent to a gentleman, sir,’ said Mr. Smangle.
‘Not on no account,’ replied Sam. ‘If you’ll tell me wen hewakes, I’ll be upon the wery best extra-super behaviour!’ Thisobservation, having a remote tendency to imply that Mr. Smanglewas no gentleman, kindled7 his ire.
‘Mivins!’ said Mr. Smangle, with a passionate8 air.
‘What’s the office?’ replied that gentleman from his couch.
‘Who the devil is this fellow?’
‘‘Gad,’ said Mr. Mivins, looking lazily out from under the bed-clothes, ‘I ought to ask you that. Hasn’t he any business here?’
‘No,’ replied Mr. Smangle. ‘Then knock him downstairs, andtell him not to presume to get up till I come and kick him,’ rejoinedMr. Mivins; with this prompt advice that excellent gentlemanagain betook himself to slumber9.
The conversation exhibiting these unequivocal symptoms ofverging on the personal, Mr. Pickwick deemed it a fit point atwhich to interpose.
‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Sir,’ rejoined that gentleman.
‘Has anything new occurred since last night?’
‘Nothin’ partickler, sir,’ replied Sam, glancing at Mr. Smangle’swhiskers; ‘the late prewailance of a close and confined atmospherehas been rayther favourable10 to the growth of veeds, of an alarmin’
and sangvinary natur; but vith that ’ere exception things is quietenough.’
‘I shall get up,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘give me some clean things.’
Whatever hostile intentions Mr. Smangle might have entertained,his thoughts were speedily diverted by the unpacking11 of theportmanteau; the contents of which appeared to impress him atonce with a most favourable opinion, not only of Mr. Pickwick, butof Sam also, who, he took an early opportunity of declaring in atone12 of voice loud enough for that eccentric personage tooverhear, was a regular thoroughbred original, and consequentlythe very man after his own heart. As to Mr. Pickwick, the affectionhe conceived for him knew no limits.
‘Now is there anything I can do for you, my dear sir?’ saidSmangle.
‘Nothing that I am aware of, I am obliged to you,’ replied Mr.
Pickwick.
‘No linen13 that you want sent to the washerwoman’s? I know adelightful washerwoman outside, that comes for my things twice aweek; and, by Jove!―how devilish lucky!―this is the day she calls.
Shall I put any of those little things up with mine? Don’t sayanything about the trouble. Confound and curse it! if onegentleman under a cloud is not to put himself a little out of theway to assist another gentleman in the same condition, what’shuman nature?’
Thus spake Mr. Smangle, edging himself meanwhile as near aspossible to the portmanteau, and beaming forth14 looks of the mostfervent and disinterested15 friendship.
‘There’s nothing you want to give out for the man to brush, mydear creature, is there?’ resumed Smangle.
‘Nothin’ whatever, my fine feller,’ rejoined Sam, taking thereply into his own mouth. ‘P’raps if vun of us wos to brush,without troubling the man, it ’ud be more agreeable for all parties,as the schoolmaster said when the young gentleman objected tobeing flogged by the butler.’
‘And there’s nothing I can send in my little box to the washer-woman’s, is there?’ said Smangle, turning from Sam to Mr.
Pickwick, with an air of some discomfiture16.
‘Nothin’ whatever, sir,’ retorted Sam; ‘I’m afeered the little boxmust be chock full o’ your own as it is.’
This speech was accompanied with such a very expressive17 lookat that particular portion of Mr. Smangle’s attire18, by theappearance of which the skill of laundresses in getting upgentlemen’s linen is generally tested, that he was fain to turn uponhis heel, and, for the present at any rate, to give up all design onMr. Pickwick’s purse and wardrobe. He accordingly retired19 indudgeon to the racket-ground, where he made a light and whole-some breakfast on a couple of the cigars which had beenpurchased on the previous night. Mr. Mivins, who was no smoker,and whose account for small articles of chandlery had alsoreached down to the bottom of the slate20, and been ‘carried over’ tothe other side, remained in bed, and , in his own words, ‘took it outin sleep.’
After breakfasting in a small closet attached to the coffee-room,which bore the imposing21 title of the Snuggery, the temporaryinmate of which, in consideration of a small additional charge, hadthe unspeakable advantage of overhearing all the conversation inthe coffee-room aforesaid; and, after despatching Mr. Weller onsome necessary errands, Mr. Pickwick repaired to the lodge22, toconsult Mr. Roker concerning his future accommodation.
‘Accommodation, eh?’ said that gentleman, consulting a largebook. ‘Plenty of that, Mr. Pickwick. Your chummage ticket will beon twenty-seven, in the third.’
‘Oh,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘My what, did you say?’
‘Your chummage ticket,’ replied Mr. Roker; ‘you’re up to that?’ ‘Not quite,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, with a smile.
‘Why,’ said Mr. Roker, ‘it’s as plain as Salisbury. You’ll have achummage ticket upon twenty-seven in the third, and them as is inthe room will be your chums.’
‘Are there many of them?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick dubiously23.
‘Three,’ replied Mr. Roker.
Mr. Pickwick coughed.
‘One of ’em’s a parson,’ said Mr. Roker, filling up a little piece ofpaper as he spoke24; ‘another’s a butcher.’
‘Eh?’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
‘A butcher,’ repeated Mr. Roker, giving the nib25 of his pen a tapon the desk to cure it of a disinclination to mark. ‘What athorough-paced goer he used to be sure-ly! You remember TomMartin, Neddy?’ said Roker, appealing to another man in thelodge, who was paring the mud off his shoes with a five-and-twenty-bladed pocket-knife.
‘I should think so,’ replied the party addressed, with a strongemphasis on the personal pronoun.
‘Bless my dear eyes!’ said Mr. Roker, shaking his head slowlyfrom side to side, and gazing abstractedly out of the gratedwindows before him, as if he were fondly recalling some peacefulscene of his early youth; ‘it seems but yesterday that he whoppedthe coal-heaver down Fox-under-the-Hill by the wharf26 there. Ithink I can see him now, a-coming up the Strand27 between the twostreet-keepers, a little sobered by the bruising28, with a patch o’
winegar and brown paper over his right eyelid29, and that ’ere lovelybulldog, as pinned the little boy arterwards, a-following at hisheels. What a rum thing time is, ain’t it, Neddy?’
The gentleman to whom these observations were addressed,who appeared of a taciturn and thoughtful cast, merely echoed theinquiry; Mr. Roker, shaking off the poetical31 and gloomy train ofthought into which he had been betrayed, descended32 to thecommon business of life, and resumed his pen.
‘Do you know what the third gentlemen is?’ inquired Mr.
Pickwick, not very much gratified by this description of his futureassociates.
‘What is that Simpson, Neddy?’ said Mr. Roker, turning to hiscompanion.
‘What Simpson?’ said Neddy.
‘Why, him in twenty-seven in the third, that this gentleman’sgoing to be chummed on.’
‘Oh, him!’ replied Neddy; ‘he’s nothing exactly. He was a horsechaunter: he’s a leg now.’
‘Ah, so I thought,’ rejoined Mr. Roker, closing the book, andplacing the small piece of paper in Mr. Pickwick’s hands. ‘That’sthe ticket, sir.’
Very much perplexed33 by this summary disposition34 of thisperson, Mr. Pickwick walked back into the prison, revolving35 in hismind what he had better do. Convinced, however, that before hetook any other steps it would be advisable to see, and holdpersonal converse36 with, the three gentlemen with whom it wasproposed to quarter him, he made the best of his way to the thirdflight.
After groping about in the gallery for some time, attempting inthe dim light to decipher the numbers on the different doors, he atlength appealed to a pot-boy, who happened to be pursuing hismorning occupation of gleaning37 for pewter.
‘Which is twenty-seven, my good fellow?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Five doors farther on,’ replied the pot-boy. ‘There’s thelikeness of a man being hung, and smoking the while, chalkedoutside the door.’
Guided by this direction, Mr. Pickwick proceeded slowly alongthe gallery until he encountered the ‘portrait of a gentleman,’
above described, upon whose countenance he tapped, with theknuckle of his forefinger―gently at first, and then audibly. Afterrepeating this process several times without effect, he ventured toopen the door and peep in.
There was only one man in the room, and he was leaning out ofwindow as far as he could without overbalancing himself,endeavouring, with great perseverance38, to spit upon the crown ofthe hat of a personal friend on the parade below. As neitherspeaking, coughing, sneezing, knocking, nor any other ordinarymode of attracting attention, made this person aware of thepresence of a visitor, Mr. Pickwick, after some delay, stepped up tothe window, and pulled him gently by the coat tail. The individualbrought in his head and shoulders with great swiftness, andsurveying Mr. Pickwick from head to foot, demanded in a surlytone what the―something beginning with a capital H―he wanted.
‘I believe,’ said Mr. Pickwick, consulting his ticket―‘I believethis is twenty-seven in the third?’
‘Well?’ replied the gentleman.
‘I have come here in consequence of receiving this bit of paper,’
rejoined Mr. Pickwick.
‘Hand it over,’ said the gentleman.
Mr. Pickwick complied.
‘I think Roker might have chummed you somewhere else,’ saidMr. Simpson (for it was the leg), after a very discontented sort of apause.
Mr. Pickwick thought so also; but, under all the circumstances,he considered it a matter of sound policy to be silent. Mr. Simpsonmused for a few moments after this, and then, thrusting his headout of the window, gave a shrill39 whistle, and pronounced someword aloud, several times. What the word was, Mr. Pickwick couldnot distinguish; but he rather inferred that it must be somenickname which distinguished40 Mr. Martin, from the fact of a greatnumber of gentlemen on the ground below, immediatelyproceeding to cry ‘Butcher!’ in imitation of the tone in which thatuseful class of society are wont41, diurnally42, to make their presenceknown at area railings.
Subsequent occurrences confirmed the accuracy of Mr.
Pickwick’s impression; for, in a few seconds, a gentleman,prematurely broad for his years, clothed in a professional bluejean frock and top-boots with circular toes, entered the roomnearly out of breath, closely followed by another gentleman in veryshabby black, and a sealskin cap. The latter gentleman, whofastened his coat all the way up to his chin by means of a pin and abutton alternately, had a very coarse red face, and looked like adrunken chaplain; which, indeed, he was.
These two gentlemen having by turns perused43 Mr. Pickwick’sbillet, the one expressed his opinion that it was ‘a rig,’ and theother his conviction that it was ‘a go.’ Having recorded theirfeelings in these very intelligible44 terms, they looked at Mr.
Pickwick and each other in awkward silence.
‘It’s an aggravating45 thing, just as we got the beds so snug,’ saidthe chaplain, looking at three dirty mattresses46, each rolled up in ablanket; which occupied one corner of the room during the day,and formed a kind of slab47, on which were placed an old crackedbasin, ewer48, and soap-dish, of common yellow earthenware49, with ablue flower―‘very aggravating.’
Mr. Martin expressed the same opinion in rather strongerterms; Mr. Simpson, after having let a variety of expletiveadjectives loose upon society without any substantive50 toaccompany them, tucked up his sleeves, and began to wash thegreens for dinner.
While this was going on, Mr. Pickwick had been eyeing theroom, which was filthily51 dirty, and smelt52 intolerably close. Therewas no vestige53 of either carpet, curtain, or blind. There was noteven a closet in it. Unquestionably there were but few things toput away, if there had been one; but, however few in number, orsmall in individual amount, still, remnants of loaves and pieces ofcheese, and damp towels, and scrags of meat, and articles ofwearing apparel, and mutilated crockery, and bellows54 withoutnozzles, and toasting-forks without prongs, do present somewhatof an uncomfortable appearance when they are scattered55 aboutthe floor of a small apartment, which is the common sitting andsleeping room of three idle men.
‘I suppose this can be managed somehow,’ said the butcher,after a pretty long silence. ‘What will you take to go out?’
‘I beg your pardon,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘What did you say? Ihardly understand you.’
‘What will you take to be paid out?’ said the butcher. ‘Theregular chummage is two-and-six. Will you take three bob?’
‘And a bender,’ suggested the clerical gentleman.
‘Well, I don’t mind that; it’s only twopence a piece more,’ saidMr. Martin. ‘What do you say, now? We’ll pay you out for three-and-sixpence a week. Come!’
‘And stand a gallon of beer down,’ chimed in Mr. Simpson.
‘There!’
‘And drink it on the spot,’ said the chaplain. ‘Now!’
‘I really am so wholly ignorant of the rules of this place,’
returned Mr. Pickwick, ‘that I do not yet comprehend you. Can Ilive anywhere else? I thought I could not.’
At this inquiry30 Mr. Martin looked, with a countenance ofexcessive surprise, at his two friends, and then each gentlemanpointed with his right thumb over his left shoulder. This actionimperfectly described in words by the very feeble term of ‘over theleft,’ when performed by any number of ladies or gentlemen whoare accustomed to act in unison58, has a very graceful59 and airyeffect; its expression is one of light and playful sarcasm60.
‘Can you!’ repeated Mr. Martin, with a smile of pity.
‘Well, if I knew as little of life as that, I’d eat my hat and swallowthe buckle61 whole,’ said the clerical gentleman.
‘So would I,’ added the sporting one solemnly.
After this introductory preface, the three chums informed Mr.
Pickwick, in a breath, that money was, in the Fleet, just whatmoney was out of it; that it would instantly procure62 him almostanything he desired; and that, supposing he had it, and had noobjection to spend it, if he only signified his wish to have a room tohimself, he might take possession of one, furnished and fitted toboot, in half an hour’s time.
With this the parties separated, very much to their commonsatisfaction; Mr. Pickwick once more retracing63 his steps to thelodge, and the three companions adjourning64 to the coffee-room,there to spend the five shillings which the clerical gentleman had,with admirable prudence65 and foresight66, borrowed of him for thepurpose.
‘I knowed it!’ said Mr. Roker, with a chuckle67, when Mr.
Pickwick stated the object with which he had returned. ‘Didn’t Isay so, Neddy?’
The philosophical68 owner of the universal penknife growled69 anaffirmative.
‘I knowed you’d want a room for yourself, bless you!’ said Mr.
Roker. ‘Let me see. You’ll want some furniture. You’ll hire that ofme, I suppose? That’s the reg’lar thing.’
‘With great pleasure,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
‘There’s a capital room up in the coffee-room flight, thatbelongs to a Chancery prisoner,’ said Mr. Roker. ‘It’ll stand you ina pound a week. I suppose you don’t mind that?’
‘Not at all,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Just step there with me,’ said Roker, taking up his hat withgreat alacrity70; ‘the matter’s settled in five minutes. Lord! whydidn’t you say at first that you was willing to come downhandsome?’
The matter was soon arranged, as the turnkey had foretold71. TheChancery prisoner had been there long enough to have lost hisfriends, fortune, home, and happiness, and to have acquired theright of having a room to himself. As he laboured, however, underthe inconvenience of often wanting a morsel72 of bread, he eagerlylistened to Mr. Pickwick’s proposal to rent the apartment, andreadily covenanted73 and agreed to yield him up the sole andundisturbed possession thereof, in consideration of the weeklypayment of twenty shillings; from which fund he furthermorecontracted to pay out any person or persons that might bechummed upon it.
As they struck the bargain, Mr. Pickwick surveyed him with apainful interest. He was a tall, gaunt, cadaverous man, in an oldgreatcoat and slippers74, with sunken cheeks, and a restless, eagereye. His lips were bloodless, and his bones sharp and thin. Godhelp him! the iron teeth of confinement76 and privation had beenslowly filing him down for twenty years.
‘And where will you live meanwhile, sir?’ said Mr. Pickwick, ashe laid the amount of the first week’s rent, in advance, on thetottering table.
The man gathered up the money with a trembling hand, andreplied that he didn’t know yet; he must go and see where hecould move his bed to.
‘I am afraid, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, laying his hand gently andcompassionately on his arm―‘I am afraid you will have to live insome noisy, crowded place. Now, pray, consider this room yourown when you want quiet, or when any of your friends come to seeyou.’
‘Friends!’ interposed the man, in a voice which rattled78 in histhroat. ‘If I lay dead at the bottom of the deepest mine in theworld; tight screwed down and soldered79 in my coffin80; rotting in thedark and filthy81 ditch that drags its slime along, beneath thefoundations of this prison; I could not be more forgotten orunheeded than I am here. I am a dead man; dead to society,without the pity they bestow82 on those whose souls have passed tojudgment. Friends to see me! My God! I have sunk, from the primeof life into old age, in this place, and there is not one to raise hishand above my bed when I lie dead upon it, and say, “It is ablessing he is gone!”’
The excitement, which had cast an unwonted light over theman’s face, while he spoke, subsided83 as he concluded; andpressing his withered84 hands together in a hasty and disorderedmanner, he shuffled85 from the room.
‘Rides rather rusty86,’ said Mr. Roker, with a smile. ‘Ah! they’relike the elephants. They feel it now and then, and it makes ’emwild!’
Having made this deeply-sympathising remark, Mr. Rokerentered upon his arrangements with such expedition, that in ashort time the room was furnished with a carpet, six chairs, atable, a sofa bedstead, a tea-kettle, and various small articles, onhire, at the very reasonable rate of seven-and-twenty shillings andsixpence per week.
‘Now, is there anything more we can do for you?’ inquired Mr.
Roker, looking round with great satisfaction, and gaily87 chinkingthe first week’s hire in his closed fist.
‘Why, yes,’ said Mr. Pickwick, who had been musing88 deeply forsome time. ‘Are there any people here who run on errands, and soforth?’
‘Outside, do you mean?’ inquired Mr. Roker.
‘Yes. I mean who are able to go outside. Not prisoners.’
‘Yes, there is,’ said Roker. ‘There’s an unfortunate devil, whohas got a friend on the poor side, that’s glad to do anything of thatsort. He’s been running odd jobs, and that, for the last two months.
Shall I send him?’
‘If you please,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick. ‘Stay; no. The poor side,you say? I should like to see it. I’ll go to him myself.’
The poor side of a debtor89’s prison is, as its name imports, thatin which the most miserable90 and abject91 class of debtors92 areconfined. A prisoner having declared upon the poor side, paysneither rent nor chummage. His fees, upon entering and leavingthe jail, are reduced in amount, and he becomes entitled to a shareof some small quantities of food: to provide which, a few charitablepersons have, from time to time, left trifling93 legacies94 in their wills.
Most of our readers will remember, that, until within a very fewyears past, there was a kind of iron cage in the wall of the FleetPrison, within which was posted some man of hungry looks, who,from time to time, rattled a money-box, and exclaimed in amournful voice, ‘Pray, remember the poor debtors; prayremember the poor debtors.’ The receipts of this box, when therewere any, were divided among the poor prisoners; and the men onthe poor side relieved each other in this degrading office.
Although this custom has been abolished, and the cage is nowboarded up, the miserable and destitute95 condition of theseunhappy persons remains96 the same. We no longer suffer them toappeal at the prison gates to the charity and compassion77 of thepassersby; but we still leave unblotted the leaves of our statutebook, for the reverence97 and admiration98 of succeeding ages, thejust and wholesome99 law which declares that the sturdy felon100 shallbe fed and clothed, and that the penniless debtor shall be left todie of starvation and nakedness. This is no fiction. Not a weekpasses over our head, but, in every one of our prisons for debt,some of these men must inevitably101 expire in the slow agonies ofwant, if they were not relieved by their fellow-prisoners.
Turning these things in his mind, as he mounted the narrowstaircase at the foot of which Roker had left him, Mr. Pickwickgradually worked himself to the boiling-over point; and so excitedwas he with his reflections on this subject, that he had burst intothe room to which he had been directed, before he had anydistinct recollection, either of the place in which he was, or of theobject of his visit.
The general aspect of the room recalled him to himself at once;but he had no sooner cast his eye on the figure of a man who wasbrooding over the dusty fire, than, letting his hat fall on the floor,he stood perfectly57 fixed102 and immovable with astonishment103.
Yes; in tattered104 garments, and without a coat; his commoncalico shirt, yellow and in rags; his hair hanging over his face; hisfeatures changed with suffering, and pinched with famine―theresat Mr. Alfred Jingle105; his head resting on his hands, his eyes fixedupon the fire, and his whole appearance denoting misery106 anddejection!
Near him, leaning listlessly against the wall, stood a strong-builtcountryman, flicking107 with a worn-out hunting-whip the top-bootthat adorned108 his right foot; his left being thrust into an old slipper75.
Horses, dogs, and drink had brought him there, pell-mell. Therewas a rusty spur on the solitary109 boot, which he occasionally jerkedinto the empty air, at the same time giving the boot a smart blow,and muttering some of the sounds by which a sportsmanencourages his horse. He was riding, in imagination, somedesperate steeplechase at that moment. Poor wretch110! He neverrode a match on the swiftest animal in his costly111 stud, with half thespeed at which he had torn along the course that ended in theFleet.
On the opposite side of the room an old man was seated on asmall wooden box, with his eyes riveted112 on the floor, and his facesettled into an expression of the deepest and most hopelessdespair. A young girl―his little grand-daughter―was hangingabout him, endeavouring, with a thousand childish devices, toengage his attention; but the old man neither saw nor heard her.
The voice that had been music to him, and the eyes that had beenlight, fell coldly on his senses. His limbs were shaking withdisease, and the palsy had fastened on his mind.
There were two or three other men in the room, congregated113 ina little knot, and noiselessly talking among themselves. There wasa lean and haggard woman, too―a prisoner’s wife―who waswatering, with great solicitude114, the wretched stump115 of a dried-up,withered plant, which, it was plain to see, could never send forth agreen leaf again―too true an emblem116, perhaps, of the office shehad come there to discharge.
Such were the objects which presented themselves to Mr.
Pickwick’s view, as he looked round him in amazement117. The noiseof some one stumbling hastily into the room, roused him. Turninghis eyes towards the door, they encountered the new-comer; andin him, through his rags and dirt, he recognised the familiarfeatures of Mr. Job Trotter.
‘Mr. Pickwick!’ exclaimed Job aloud.
‘Eh?’ said Jingle, starting from his seat. ‘Mr―! So it is―queerplace―strange things―serves me right―very.’ Mr. Jingle thrusthis hands into the place where his trousers pockets used to be,and, dropping his chin upon his breast, sank back into his chair.
Mr. Pickwick was affected118; the two men looked so verymiserable. The sharp, involuntary glance Jingle had cast at a smallpiece of raw loin of mutton, which Job had brought in with him,said more of their reduced state than two hours’ explanation couldhave done. Mr. Pickwick looked mildly at Jingle, and said―‘I should like to speak to you in private. Will you step out for aninstant?’
‘Certainly,’ said Jingle, rising hastily. ‘Can’t step far―no dangerof overwalking yourself here―spike park―grounds pretty―romantic, but not extensive―open for public inspection―familyalways in town―housekeeper desperately careful―very.’
‘You have forgotten your coat,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as theywalked out to the staircase, and closed the door after them.
‘Eh?’ said Jingle. ‘Spout―dear relation―uncle Tom―couldn’thelp it―must eat, you know. Wants of nature―and all that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Gone, my dear sir―last coat―can’t help it. Lived on a pair ofboots―whole fortnight. Silk umbrella―ivory handle―week―fact―honour―ask Job―knows it.’
‘Lived for three weeks upon a pair of boots, and a silk umbrellawith an ivory handle!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who had onlyheard of such things in shipwrecks119 or read of them in Constable’sMiscellany.
‘True,’ said Jingle, nodding his head. ‘Pawnbroker’s shop―duplicates here―small sums―mere nothing―all rascals120.’
‘Oh,’ said Mr. Pickwick, much relieved by this explanation; ‘Iunderstand you. You have pawned121 your wardrobe.’
‘Everything―Job’s too―all shirts gone―never mind―saveswashing. Nothing soon―lie in bed―starve―die―inquest―littlebone-house―poor prisoner―common necessaries―hush it up―gentlemen of the jury―warden’s tradesmen―keep it snug―natural death―coroner’s order―workhouse funeral―serve himright―all over―drop the curtain.’
Jingle delivered this singular summary of his prospects122 in life,with his accustomed volubility, and with various twitches123 of thecountenance to counterfeit124 smiles. Mr. Pickwick easily perceivedthat his recklessness was a ssumed, and looking him full, but notunkindly, in the face, saw that his eyes were moist with tears.
‘Good fellow,’ said Jingle, pressing his hand, and turning hishead away. ‘Ungrateful dog―boyish to cry―can’t help it―badfever―weak―ill―hungry. Deserved it all―but suffered much―very.’ Wholly unable to keep up appearances any longer, andperhaps rendered worse by the effort he had made, the dejectedstroller sat down on the stairs, and, covering his face with hishands, sobbed125 like a child.
‘Come, come,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with considerable emotion,‘we will see what can be done, when I know all about the matter.
Here, Job; where is that fellow?’
‘Here, sir,’ replied Job, presenting himself on the staircase. Wehave described him, by the bye, as having deeply-sunken eyes, inthe best of times. In his present state of want and distress126, helooked as if those features had gone out of town altogether.
‘Here, sir,’ cried Job.
‘Come here, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, trying to look stern, withfour large tears running down his waistcoat. ‘Take that, sir.’
Take what? In the ordinary acceptation of such language, itshould have been a blow. As the world runs, it ought to have beena sound, hearty127 cuff128; for Mr. Pickwick had been duped, deceived,and wronged by the destitute outcast who was now wholly in hispower. Must we tell the truth? It was something from Mr.
Pickwick’s waistcoat pocket, which chinked as it was given intoJob’s hand, and the giving of which, somehow or other imparted asparkle to the eye, and a swelling129 to the heart, of our excellent oldfriend, as he hurried away.
Sam had returned when Mr. Pickwick reached his own room,and was inspecting the arrangements that had been made for hiscomfort, with a kind of grim satisfaction which was very pleasantto look upon. Having a decided130 objection to his master’s beingthere at all, Mr. Weller appeared to consider it a high moral dutynot to appear too much pleased with anything that was done, said,suggested, or proposed.
‘Well, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Well, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
‘Pretty comfortable now, eh, Sam?’
‘Pretty vell, sir,’ responded Sam, looking round him in adisparaging manner.
‘Have you seen Mr. Tupman and our other friends?’
‘Yes, I have seen ’em, sir, and they’re a-comin’ to-morrow, andwos wery much surprised to hear they warn’t to come to-day,’
replied Sam.
‘You have brought the things I wanted?’
Mr. Weller in reply pointed56 to various packages which he hadarranged, as neatly131 as he could, in a corner of the room.
‘Very well, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, after a little hesitation;‘listen to what I am going to say, Sam.’
‘Cert’nly, sir,’ rejoined Mr. Weller; ‘fire away, sir.’
‘I have felt from the first, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with muchsolemnity, ‘that this is not the place to bring a young man to.’
‘Nor an old ’un neither, sir,’ observed Mr. Weller.
‘You’re quite right, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘but old men maycome here through their own heedlessness and unsuspicion, andyoung men may be brought here by the selfishness of those theyserve. It is better for those young men, in every point of view, thatthey should not remain here. Do you understand me, Sam?’
‘Vy no, sir, I do not,’ replied Mr. Weller doggedly132.
‘Try, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Vell, sir,’ rejoined Sam, after a short pause, ‘I think I see yourdrift; and if I do see your drift, it’s my ’pinion that you’re a-comin’
it a great deal too strong, as the mail-coachman said to thesnowstorm, ven it overtook him.’
‘I see you comprehend me, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Independently of my wish that you should not be idling about aplace like this, for years to come, I feel that for a debtor in theFleet to be attended by his manservant is a monstrous133 absurdity134.
Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘for a time you must leave me.’
‘Oh, for a time, eh, sir?’ rejoined Mr. Weller. rathersarcastically. ‘Yes, for the time that I remain here,’ said Mr.
Pickwick. ‘Your wages I shall continue to pay. Any one of my threefriends will be happy to take you, were it only out of respect to me.
And if I ever do leave this place, Sam,’ added Mr. Pickwick, withassumed cheerfulness―‘if I do, I pledge you my word that youshall return to me instantly.’
‘Now I’ll tell you wot it is, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, in a grave andsolemn voice. ‘This here sort o’ thing won’t do at all, so don’t let’shear no more about it.’
‘I am serious, and resolved, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘You air, air you, sir?’ inquired Mr. Well er firmly. ‘Wery good,sir; then so am I.’
Thus speaking, Mr. Weller fixed his hat on his head with greatprecision, and abruptly135 left the room.
‘Sam!’ cried Mr. Pickwick, calling after him, ‘Sam! Here!’
But the long gallery ceased to re-echo the sound of footsteps.
Sam Weller was gone.
收听单词发音 |
1
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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3
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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4
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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10
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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unpacking
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| n.取出货物，拆包[箱]v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的现在分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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14
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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19
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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20
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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21
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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22
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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23
dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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24
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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25
nib
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| n.钢笔尖；尖头 | |
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26
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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27
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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28
bruising
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| adj.殊死的；十分激烈的v.擦伤(bruise的现在分词形式) | |
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29
eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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30
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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31
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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32
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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33
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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34
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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35
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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36
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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37
gleaning
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| n.拾落穗，拾遗，落穗v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的现在分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
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38
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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39
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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40
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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41
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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42
diurnally
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| adv.白天活动地 | |
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43
perused
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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45
aggravating
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| adj.恼人的，讨厌的 | |
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46
mattresses
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| 褥垫，床垫( mattress的名词复数 ) | |
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47
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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48
ewer
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| n.大口水罐 | |
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49
earthenware
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| n.土器，陶器 | |
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50
substantive
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| adj.表示实在的；本质的、实质性的；独立的；n.实词，实名词；独立存在的实体 | |
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51
filthily
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| adv.污秽地，丑恶地，不洁地 | |
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52
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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53
vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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54
bellows
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| n.风箱；发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的名词复数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的第三人称单数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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55
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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56
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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57
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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58
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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59
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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60
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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61
buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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62
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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63
retracing
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| v.折回( retrace的现在分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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64
adjourning
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的现在分词 ) | |
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65
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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66
foresight
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| n.先见之明，深谋远虑 | |
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67
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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68
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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69
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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70
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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71
foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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73
covenanted
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| v.立约，立誓( covenant的过去分词 ) | |
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74
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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75
slipper
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| n.拖鞋 | |
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76
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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77
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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78
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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79
soldered
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| v.（使）焊接，焊合( solder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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81
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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82
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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83
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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84
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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85
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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86
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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87
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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88
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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89
debtor
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| n.借方，债务人 | |
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90
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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91
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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92
debtors
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| n.债务人，借方( debtor的名词复数 ) | |
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93
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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94
legacies
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| n.遗产( legacy的名词复数 )；遗留之物；遗留问题；后遗症 | |
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95
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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96
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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97
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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98
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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99
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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100
felon
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| n.重罪犯；adj.残忍的 | |
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101
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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102
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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103
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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104
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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105
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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106
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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107
flicking
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的现在分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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108
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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109
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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110
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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111
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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112
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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113
congregated
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| （使）集合，聚集( congregate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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115
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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116
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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117
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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118
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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119
shipwrecks
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| 海难，船只失事( shipwreck的名词复数 )； 沉船 | |
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120
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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121
pawned
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| v.典当，抵押( pawn的过去式和过去分词 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
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122
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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123
twitches
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| n.（使）抽动， （使）颤动， （使）抽搐( twitch的名词复数 ) | |
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124
counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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125
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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126
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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127
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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128
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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129
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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130
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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131
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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132
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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133
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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134
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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135
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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