'And a very snug little business you have, no doubt?' saidMr. Winkle knowingly.

'Very,' replied Bob Sawyer. 'So snug, that at the end of a fewyears you might put all the profits in a wine-glass, and cover 'emover with a gooseberry leaf.''You cannot surely mean that?' said Mr. Winkle. 'The stock itself--''Dummies, my dear boy,' said Bob Sawyer; 'half the drawershave nothing in 'em, and the other half don't open.'

'Nonsense!' said Mr. Winkle.

'Fact--honour!' returned Bob Sawyer, stepping out into theshop, and demonstrating the veracity of the assertion by divershard pulls at the little gilt knobs on the counterfeit drawers.'Hardly anything real in the shop but the leeches, and THEY aresecond-hand.'

'I shouldn't have thought it!' exclaimed Mr. Winkle, much surprised.

'I hope not,' replied Bob Sawyer, 'else where's the use ofappearances, eh? But what will you take? Do as we do? That'sright. Ben, my fine fellow, put your hand into the cupboard, andbring out the patent digester.'

Mr. Benjamin Allen smiled his readiness, and produced fromthe closet at his elbow a black bottle half full of brandy.

'You don't take water, of course?' said Bob Sawyer.

'Thank you,' replied Mr. Winkle. 'It's rather early. I shouldlike to qualify it, if you have no objection.'

'None in the least, if you can reconcile it to your conscience,'replied Bob Sawyer, tossing off, as he spoke, a glass of the liquorwith great relish. 'Ben, the pipkin!'

Mr. Benjamin Allen drew forth, from the same hiding-place, asmall brass pipkin, which Bob Sawyer observed he prided himselfupon, particularly because it looked so business-like. The waterin the professional pipkin having been made to boil, in course oftime, by various little shovelfuls of coal, which Mr. Bob Sawyertook out of a practicable window-seat, labelled 'Soda Water,'Mr. Winkle adulterated his brandy; and the conversation wasbecoming general, when it was interrupted by the entrance intothe shop of a boy, in a sober gray livery and a gold-laced hat,with a small covered basket under his arm, whom Mr. BobSawyer immediately hailed with, 'Tom, you vagabond, come here.'

The boy presented himself accordingly.

'You've been stopping to "over" all the posts in Bristol, youidle young scamp!' said Mr. Bob Sawyer.

'No, sir, I haven't,' replied the boy.

'You had better not!' said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with a threateningaspect. 'Who do you suppose will ever employ a professionalman, when they see his boy playing at marbles in the gutter, orflying the garter in the horse-road? Have you no feeling for yourprofession, you groveller? Did you leave all the medicine?''Yes, Sir.'

'The powders for the child, at the large house with the newfamily, and the pills to be taken four times a day at the ill-tempered old gentleman's with the gouty leg?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Then shut the door, and mind the shop.'

'Come,' said Mr. Winkle, as the boy retired, 'things are notquite so bad as you would have me believe, either. There is SOMEmedicine to be sent out.'

Mr. Bob Sawyer peeped into the shop to see that no strangerwas within hearing, and leaning forward to Mr. Winkle, said, in alow tone--

'He leaves it all at the wrong houses.'

Mr. Winkle looked perplexed, and Bob Sawyer and his friend laughed.

'Don't you see?' said Bob. 'He goes up to a house, rings thearea bell, pokes a packet of medicine without a direction into theservant's hand, and walks off. Servant takes it into the dining-parlour; master opens it, and reads the label: "Draught to betaken at bedtime--pills as before--lotion as usual--the powder.From Sawyer's, late Nockemorf's. Physicians' prescriptionscarefully prepared," and all the rest of it. Shows it to his wife--she reads the label; it goes down to the servants--THEY read thelabel. Next day, boy calls: "Very sorry--his mistake--immensebusiness--great many parcels to deliver--Mr. Sawyer'scompliments--late Nockemorf." The name gets known, and that'sthe thing, my boy, in the medical way. Bless your heart, oldfellow, it's better than all the advertising in the world. We havegot one four-ounce bottle that's been to half the houses in Bristol,and hasn't done yet.'

'Dear me, I see,' observed Mr. Winkle; 'what an excellent plan!'

'Oh, Ben and I have hit upon a dozen such,' replied BobSawyer, with great glee. 'The lamplighter has eighteenpence aweek to pull the night-bell for ten minutes every time he comesround; and my boy always rushes into the church just before thepsalms, when the people have got nothing to do but look about'em, and calls me out, with horror and dismay depicted on hiscountenance. "Bless my soul," everybody says, "somebody takensuddenly ill! Sawyer, late Nockemorf, sent for. What a businessthat young man has!"'

At the termination of this disclosure of some of the mysteriesof medicine, Mr. Bob Sawyer and his friend, Ben Allen, threwthemselves back in their respective chairs, and laughed boisterously.When they had enjoyed the joke to their heart's content, thediscourse changed to topics in which Mr. Winkle was moreimmediately interested.

We think we have hinted elsewhere, that Mr. Benjamin Allenhad a way of becoming sentimental after brandy. The case is nota peculiar one, as we ourself can testify, having, on a fewoccasions, had to deal with patients who have been afflicted in asimilar manner. At this precise period of his existence, Mr. BenjaminAllen had perhaps a greater predisposition to maudlinismthan he had ever known before; the cause of which malady wasbriefly this. He had been staying nearly three weeks with Mr. BobSawyer; Mr. Bob Sawyer was not remarkable for temperance,nor was Mr. Benjamin Allen for the ownership of a very stronghead; the consequence was that, during the whole space of timejust mentioned, Mr. Benjamin Allen had been wavering betweenintoxication partial, and intoxication complete.

'My dear friend,' said Mr. Ben Allen, taking advantage ofMr. Bob Sawyer's temporary absence behind the counter,whither he had retired to dispense some of the second-handleeches, previously referred to; 'my dear friend, I am very miserable.'

Mr. Winkle professed his heartfelt regret to hear it, andbegged to know whether he could do anything to alleviate thesorrows of the suffering student.

'Nothing, my dear boy, nothing,' said Ben. 'You recollectArabella, Winkle? My sister Arabella--a little girl, Winkle, withblack eyes--when we were down at Wardle's? I don't knowwhether you happened to notice her--a nice little girl, Winkle.Perhaps my features may recall her countenance to your recollection?'

Mr. Winkle required nothing to recall the charming Arabellato his mind; and it was rather fortunate he did not, for thefeatures of her brother Benjamin would unquestionably haveproved but an indifferent refresher to his memory. He answered,with as much calmness as he could assume, that he perfectlyremembered the young lady referred to, and sincerely trusted shewas in good health.

'Our friend Bob is a delightful fellow, Winkle,' was the onlyreply of Mr. Ben Allen.

'Very,' said Mr. Winkle, not much relishing this closeconnection of the two names.

'I designed 'em for each other; they were made for each other,sent into the world for each other, born for each other, Winkle,'said Mr. Ben Allen, setting down his glass with emphasis.'There's a special destiny in the matter, my dear sir; there's onlyfive years' difference between 'em, and both their birthdays arein August.'

Mr. Winkle was too anxious to hear what was to follow toexpress much wonderment at this extraordinary coincidence,marvellous as it was; so Mr. Ben Allen, after a tear or two, wenton to say that, notwithstanding all his esteem and respect andveneration for his friend, Arabella had unaccountably andundutifully evinced the most determined antipathy to his person.

'And I think,' said Mr. Ben Allen, in conclusion. 'I thinkthere's a prior attachment.'

'Have you any idea who the object of it might be?' asked Mr.Winkle, with great trepidation.

Mr. Ben Allen seized the poker, flourished it in a warlikemanner above his head, inflicted a savage blow on an imaginaryskull, and wound up by saying, in a very expressive manner, thathe only wished he could guess; that was all.

'I'd show him what I thought of him,' said Mr. Ben Allen.And round went the poker again, more fiercely than before.

All this was, of course, very soothing to the feelings of Mr.Winkle, who remained silent for a few minutes; but at lengthmustered up resolution to inquire whether Miss Allen was in Kent.

'No, no,' said Mr. Ben Allen, laying aside the poker, andlooking very cunning; 'I didn't think Wardle's exactly the placefor a headstrong girl; so, as I am her natural protector andguardian, our parents being dead, I have brought her down intothis part of the country to spend a few months at an old aunt's, ina nice, dull, close place. I think that will cure her, my boy. If itdoesn't, I'll take her abroad for a little while, and see whatthat'll do.'

'Oh, the aunt's is in Bristol, is it?' faltered Mr. Winkle.

'No, no, not in Bristol,' replied Mr. Ben Allen, jerking histhumb over his right shoulder; 'over that way--down there.But, hush, here's Bob. Not a word, my dear friend, not a word.'

Short as this conversation was, it roused in Mr. Winkle thehighest degree of excitement and anxiety. The suspected priorattachment rankled in his heart. Could he be the object of it?Could it be for him that the fair Arabella had looked scornfullyon the sprightly Bob Sawyer, or had he a successful rival? Hedetermined to see her, cost what it might; but here an insurmountableobjection presented itself, for whether the explanatory'over that way,' and 'down there,' of Mr. Ben Allen, meant threemiles off, or thirty, or three hundred, he could in no wise guess.

But he had no opportunity of pondering over his love just then,for Bob Sawyer's return was the immediate precursor of thearrival of a meat-pie from the baker's, of which that gentlemaninsisted on his staying to partake. The cloth was laid by anoccasional charwoman, who officiated in the capacity of Mr. BobSawyer's housekeeper; and a third knife and fork having beenborrowed from the mother of the boy in the gray livery (forMr. Sawyer's domestic arrangements were as yet conducted ona limited scale), they sat down to dinner; the beer being servedup, as Mr. Sawyer remarked, 'in its native pewter.'

After dinner, Mr. Bob Sawyer ordered in the largest mortar inthe shop, and proceeded to brew a reeking jorum of rum-punchtherein, stirring up and amalgamating the materials with a pestlein a very creditable and apothecary-like manner. Mr. Sawyer,being a bachelor, had only one tumbler in the house, which wasassigned to Mr. Winkle as a compliment to the visitor, Mr. BenAllen being accommodated with a funnel with a cork in thenarrow end, and Bob Sawyer contented himself with one of thosewide-lipped crystal vessels inscribed with a variety of cabalisticcharacters, in which chemists are wont to measure out theirliquid drugs in compounding prescriptions. These preliminariesadjusted, the punch was tasted, and pronounced excellent; and ithaving been arranged that Bob Sawyer and Ben Allen should beconsidered at liberty to fill twice to Mr. Winkle's once, theystarted fair, with great satisfaction and good-fellowship.

There was no singing, because Mr. Bob Sawyer said it wouldn'tlook professional; but to make amends for this deprivation therewas so much talking and laughing that it might have been heard,and very likely was, at the end of the street. Which conversationmaterially lightened the hours and improved the mind of Mr.Bob Sawyer's boy, who, instead of devoting the evening to hisordinary occupation of writing his name on the counter, andrubbing it out again, peeped through the glass door, and thuslistened and looked on at the same time.

The mirth of Mr. Bob Sawyer was rapidly ripening into thefurious, Mr. Ben Allen was fast relapsing into the sentimental,and the punch had well-nigh disappeared altogether, when theboy hastily running in, announced that a young woman had justcome over, to say that Sawyer late Nockemorf was wanteddirectly, a couple of streets off. This broke up the party. Mr. BobSawyer, understanding the message, after some twenty repetitions,tied a wet cloth round his head to sober himself, and, havingpartially succeeded, put on his green spectacles and issued forth.Resisting all entreaties to stay till he came back, and finding itquite impossible to engage Mr. Ben Allen in any intelligibleconversation on the subject nearest his heart, or indeed onany other, Mr. Winkle took his departure, and returned to theBush.

The anxiety of his mind, and the numerous meditations whichArabella had awakened, prevented his share of the mortar ofpunch producing that effect upon him which it would have hadunder other circumstances. So, after taking a glass of soda-waterand brandy at the bar, he turned into the coffee-room, dispiritedrather than elevated by the occurrences of the evening.Sitting in front of the fire, with his back towards him, was atallish gentleman in a greatcoat: the only other occupant of theroom. It was rather a cool evening for the season of the year, andthe gentleman drew his chair aside to afford the new-comer asight of the fire. What were Mr. Winkle's feelings when, in doingso, he disclosed to view the face and figure of the vindictive andsanguinary Dowler!

Mr. Winkle's first impulse was to give a violent pull at thenearest bell-handle, but that unfortunately happened to beimmediately behind Mr. Dowler's head. He had made one steptowards it, before he checked himself. As he did so, Mr. Dowlervery hastily drew back.

'Mr. Winkle, Sir. Be calm. Don't strike me. I won't bear it. Ablow! Never!' said Mr. Dowler, looking meeker than Mr. Winklehad expected in a gentleman of his ferocity.

Title: The Pickwick Papers
Author: Charles Dickens
Viewed 229621 times

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