'Hold hard,' whispered Sam, who was, of course, the first ofthe party. 'Show a light for just vun second, Sir.'

Mr. Pickwick did as he was desired, and Sam, seeing a man'shead peeping out very cautiously within half a yard of his own,gave it a gentle tap with his clenched fist, which knocked it, witha hollow sound, against the gate. Having performed this feat withgreat suddenness and dexterity, Mr. Weller caught Mr. Pickwickup on his back, and followed Mr. Winkle down the lane at a pacewhich, considering the burden he carried, was perfectly astonishing.

'Have you got your vind back agin, Sir,' inquired Sam, whenthey had reached the end.

'Quite. Quite, now,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'Then come along, Sir,' said Sam, setting his master on his feetagain. 'Come betveen us, sir. Not half a mile to run. Think you'revinnin' a cup, sir. Now for it.'

Thus encouraged, Mr. Pickwick made the very best use of hislegs. It may be confidently stated that a pair of black gaitersnever got over the ground in better style than did those of Mr.Pickwick on this memorable occasion.

The coach was waiting, the horses were fresh, the roads weregood, and the driver was willing. The whole party arrived insafety at the Bush before Mr. Pickwick had recovered his breath.

'in with you at once, sir,' said Sam, as he helped his master out.'Don't stop a second in the street, arter that 'ere exercise. Begyour pardon, sir,'continued Sam, touching his hat as Mr. Winkledescended, 'hope there warn't a priory 'tachment, sir?'

Mr. Winkle grasped his humble friend by the hand, andwhispered in his ear, 'It's all right, Sam; quite right.' Upon whichMr. Weller struck three distinct blows upon his nose in token ofintelligence, smiled, winked, and proceeded to put the steps up,with a countenance expressive of lively satisfaction.

As to the scientific gentleman, he demonstrated, in a masterlytreatise, that these wonderful lights were the effect of electricity;and clearly proved the same by detailing how a flash of firedanced before his eyes when he put his head out of the gate, andhow he received a shock which stunned him for a quarter of anhour afterwards; which demonstration delighted all the scientificassociations beyond measure, and caused him to be considered alight of science ever afterwards.

CHAPTER XLINTRODUCES Mr. PICKWICK TO A NEW AND NOT UNINTERESTINGSCENE IN THE GREAT DRAMA OF LIFE

The remainder of the period which Mr. Pickwick had assignedas the duration of the stay at Bath passed over without theoccurrence of anything material. Trinity term commenced. On theexpiration of its first week, Mr. Pickwick and his friends returnedto London; and the former gentleman, attended of course by Sam,straightway repaired to his old quarters at the George and Vulture.

On the third morning after their arrival, just as all the clocks inthe city were striking nine individually, and somewhere aboutnine hundred and ninety-nine collectively, Sam was taking the airin George Yard, when a queer sort of fresh-painted vehicle droveup, out of which there jumped with great agility, throwing thereins to a stout man who sat beside him, a queer sort of gentleman,who seemed made for the vehicle, and the vehicle for him.

The vehicle was not exactly a gig, neither was it a stanhope. Itwas not what is currently denominated a dog-cart, neither was ita taxed cart, nor a chaise-cart, nor a guillotined cabriolet; andyet it had something of the character of each and every of thesemachines. It was painted a bright yellow, with the shafts andwheels picked out in black; and the driver sat in the orthodoxsporting style, on cushions piled about two feet above the rail.The horse was a bay, a well-looking animal enough; but withsomething of a flash and dog-fighting air about him, nevertheless,which accorded both with the vehicle and his master.

The master himself was a man of about forty, with black hair,and carefully combed whiskers. He was dressed in a particularlygorgeous manner, with plenty of articles of jewellery about him--all about three sizes larger than those which are usually worn bygentlemen--and a rough greatcoat to crown the whole. Into onepocket of this greatcoat, he thrust his left hand the moment hedismounted, while from the other he drew forth, with his right, avery bright and glaring silk handkerchief, with which he whiskeda speck or two of dust from his boots, and then, crumpling it inhis hand, swaggered up the court.

It had not escaped Sam's attention that, when this persondismounted, a shabby-looking man in a brown greatcoat shornof divers buttons, who had been previously slinking about, on theopposite side of the way, crossed over, and remained stationaryclose by. Having something more than a suspicion of the objectof the gentleman's visit, Sam preceded him to the George andVulture, and, turning sharp round, planted himself in the Centreof the doorway.

'Now, my fine fellow!' said the man in the rough coat, in animperious tone, attempting at the same time to push his way past.

'Now, Sir, wot's the matter?' replied Sam, returning the pushwith compound interest.

'Come, none of this, my man; this won't do with me,' said theowner of the rough coat, raising his voice, and turning white.'Here, Smouch!'

'Well, wot's amiss here?' growled the man in the brown coat, whohad been gradually sneaking up the court during this short dialogue.

'Only some insolence of this young man's,' said the principal,giving Sam another push.

'Come, none o' this gammon,' growled Smouch, giving himanother, and a harder one.

This last push had the effect which it was intended by theexperienced Mr. Smouch to produce; for while Sam, anxious toreturn the compliment, was grinding that gentleman's bodyagainst the door-post, the principal crept past, and made his wayto the bar, whither Sam, after bandying a few epithetical remarkswith Mr. Smouch, followed at once.

'Good-morning, my dear,' said the principal, addressing theyoung lady at the bar, with Botany Bay ease, and New SouthWales gentility; 'which is Mr. Pickwick's room, my dear?'

'Show him up,' said the barmaid to a waiter, without deigninganother look at the exquisite, in reply to his inquiry.

The waiter led the way upstairs as he was desired, and the manin the rough coat followed, with Sam behind him, who, in hisprogress up the staircase, indulged in sundry gestures indicativeof supreme contempt and defiance, to the unspeakable gratificationof the servants and other lookers-on. Mr. Smouch, who wastroubled with a hoarse cough, remained below, and expectoratedin the passage.

Mr. Pickwick was fast asleep in bed, when his early visitor,followed by Sam, entered the room. The noise they made, in sodoing, awoke him.

'Shaving-water, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, from within the curtains.

'Shave you directly, Mr. Pickwick,' said the visitor, drawingone of them back from the bed's head. 'I've got an executionagainst you, at the suit of Bardell.--Here's the warrant.--Common Pleas.--Here's my card. I suppose you'll come over tomy house.' Giving Mr. Pickwick a friendly tap on the shoulder,the sheriff's officer (for such he was) threw his card on thecounterpane, and pulled a gold toothpick from his waistcoat pocket.

'Namby's the name,' said the sheriff's deputy, as Mr. Pickwicktook his spectacles from under the pillow, and put them on, toread the card. 'Namby, Bell Alley, Coleman Street.'

At this point, Sam Weller, who had had his eyes fixed hithertoon Mr. Namby's shining beaver, interfered.

'Are you a Quaker?' said Sam.

'I'll let you know I am, before I've done with you,' replied theindignant officer. 'I'll teach you manners, my fine fellow, one ofthese fine mornings.'

'Thank'ee,' said Sam. 'I'll do the same to you. Take your hatoff.' With this, Mr. Weller, in the most dexterous manner,knocked Mr. Namby's hat to the other side of the room, withsuch violence, that he had very nearly caused him to swallow thegold toothpick into the bargain.

'Observe this, Mr. Pickwick,' said the disconcerted officer,gasping for breath. 'I've been assaulted in the execution of mydooty by your servant in your chamber. I'm in bodily fear. I callyou to witness this.'

'Don't witness nothin', Sir,' interposed Sam. 'Shut your eyesup tight, Sir. I'd pitch him out o' winder, only he couldn't fall farenough, 'cause o' the leads outside.'

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, in an angry voice, as his attendantmade various demonstrations of hostilities, 'if you say anotherword, or offer the slightest interference with this person, Idischarge you that instant.'

'But, Sir!' said Sam.

'Hold your tongue,' interposed Mr. Pickwick. 'Take that hatup again.'

But this Sam flatly and positively refused to do; and, after hehad been severely reprimanded by his master, the officer, beingin a hurry, condescended to pick it up himself, venting a greatvariety of threats against Sam meanwhile, which that gentlemanreceived with perfect composure, merely observing that if Mr.Namby would have the goodness to put his hat on again, hewould knock it into the latter end of next week. Mr. Namby,perhaps thinking that such a process might be productive ofinconvenience to himself, declined to offer the temptation, and,soon after, called up Smouch. Having informed him that thecapture was made, and that he was to wait for the prisoner untilhe should have finished dressing, Namby then swaggered out, anddrove away. Smouch, requesting Mr. Pickwick in a surly manner'to be as alive as he could, for it was a busy time,' drew up a chairby the door and sat there, until he had finished dressing. Sam wasthen despatched for a hackney-coach, and in it the triumvirateproceeded to Coleman Street. It was fortunate the distance wasshort; for Mr. Smouch, besides possessing no very enchantingconversational powers, was rendered a decidedly unpleasantcompanion in a limited space, by the physical weakness to whichwe have elsewhere adverted.

The coach having turned into a very narrow and dark street,stopped before a house with iron bars to all the windows; thedoor-posts of which were graced by the name and title of'Namby, Officer to the Sheriffs of London'; the inner gate havingbeen opened by a gentleman who might have passed for aneglected twin-brother of Mr. Smouch, and who was endowedwith a large key for the purpose, Mr. Pickwick was shown intothe 'coffee-room.'

This coffee-room was a front parlour, the principal features ofwhich were fresh sand and stale tobacco smoke. Mr. Pickwickbowed to the three persons who were seated in it when heentered; and having despatched Sam for Perker, withdrew intoan obscure corner, and looked thence with some curiosity uponhis new companions.

One of these was a mere boy of nineteen or twenty, who,though it was yet barely ten o'clock, was drinking gin-and-water,and smoking a cigar--amusements to which, judging from hisinflamed countenance, he had devoted himself pretty constantlyfor the last year or two of his life. Opposite him, engaged instirring the fire with the toe of his right boot, was a coarse,vulgar young man of about thirty, with a sallow face and harshvoice; evidently possessed of that knowledge of the world, andcaptivating freedom of manner, which is to be acquired inpublic-house parlours, and at low billiard tables. The thirdtenant of the apartment was a middle-aged man in a very old suitof black, who looked pale and haggard, and paced up and downthe room incessantly; stopping, now and then, to look withgreat anxiety out of the window as if he expected somebody, andthen resuming his walk.

'You'd better have the loan of my razor this morning, Mr.Ayresleigh,' said the man who was stirring the fire, tipping thewink to his friend the boy.

'Thank you, no, I shan't want it; I expect I shall be out, in thecourse of an hour or so,' replied the other in a hurried manner.Then, walking again up to the window, and once more returningdisappointed, he sighed deeply, and left the room; upon whichthe other two burst into a loud laugh.

'Well, I never saw such a game as that,' said the gentlemanwho had offered the razor, whose name appeared to be Price.'Never!' Mr. Price confirmed the assertion with an oath, andthen laughed again, when of course the boy (who thought hiscompanion one of the most dashing fellows alive) laughed also.

'You'd hardly think, would you now,' said Price, turningtowards Mr. Pickwick, 'that that chap's been here a weekyesterday, and never once shaved himself yet, because he feels socertain he's going out in half an hour's time, thinks he may aswell put it off till he gets home?'

'Poor man!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Are his chances of getting outof his difficulties really so great?'

'Chances be d--d,' replied Price; 'he hasn't half the ghost ofone. I wouldn't give THAT for his chance of walking about thestreets this time ten years.' With this, Mr. Price snapped hisfingers contemptuously, and rang the bell.

'Give me a sheet of paper, Crookey,' said Mr. Price to theattendant, who in dress and general appearance looked somethingbetween a bankrupt glazier, and a drover in a state ofinsolvency; 'and a glass of brandy-and-water, Crookey, d'yehear? I'm going to write to my father, and I must have astimulant, or I shan't be able to pitch it strong enough into theold boy.' At this facetious speech, the young boy, it is almostneedless to say, was fairly convulsed.

'That's right,' said Mr. Price. 'Never say die. All fun, ain't it?'

'Prime!' said the young gentleman.

'You've got some spirit about you, you have,' said Price.'You've seen something of life.'

'I rather think I have!' replied the boy. He had looked at itthrough the dirty panes of glass in a bar door.

Title: The Pickwick Papers
Author: Charles Dickens
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