Chapter LIII

COMPRISING THE FINAL EXIT OF Mr. JINGLE

AND JOB TROTTER, WITH A GREAT MORNING

OF BUSINESS IN GRAY'S INN SQUARE―

CONCLUDING WITH A DOUBLE KNOCK AT Mr.

PERKER'S DOOR

hen Arabella, after some gentle preparation and

many assurances that there was not the least

occasion for being low-spirited, was at length made

acquainted by Mr. Pickwick with the unsatisfactory result of his

visit to Birmingham, she burst into tears, and sobbing aloud,

lamented in moving terms that she should have been the unhappy

cause of any estrangement between a father and his son.

'My dear girl,' said Mr. Pickwick kindly, 'it is no fault of yours. It

was impossible to foresee that the old gentleman would be so

strongly prepossessed against his son's marriage, you know. I am

sure,' added Mr. Pickwick, glancing at her pretty face, 'he can

have very little idea of the pleasure he denies himself.'

'Oh, my dear Mr. Pickwick,' said Arabella, 'what shall we do, if

he continues to be angry with us?'

'Why, wait patiently, my dear, until he thinks better of it,'

replied Mr. Pickwick cheerfully.

'But, dear Mr. Pickwick, what is to become of Nathaniel if his

father withdraws his assistance?' urged Arabella.

'In that case, my love,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, 'I will venture to

prophesy that he will find some other friend who will not be

backward in helping him to start in the world.'

The significance of this reply was not so well disguised by Mr.

Pickwick but that Arabella understood it. So, throwing her arms

round his neck, and kissing him affectionately, she sobbed louder

than before.

'Come, come,' said Mr. Pickwick taking her hand, 'we will wait

here a few days longer, and see whether he writes or takes any

other notice of your husband's communication. If not, I have

thought of half a dozen plans, any one of which would make you

happy at once. There, my dear, there!'

With these words, Mr. Pickwick gently pressed Arabella's hand,

and bade her dry her eyes, and not distress her husband. Upon

which, Arabella, who was one of the best little creatures alive, put

her handkerchief in her reticule, and by the time Mr. Winkle

joined them, exhibited in full lustre the same beaming smiles and

sparkling eyes that had originally captivated him.

'This is a distressing predicament for these young people,'

thought Mr. Pickwick, as he dressed himself next morning. 'I'll

walk up to Perker's, and consult him about the matter.'

As Mr. Pickwick was further prompted to betake himself to

Gray's Inn Square by an anxious desire to come to a pecuniary

settlement with the kind-hearted little attorney without further

delay, he made a hurried breakfast, and executed his intention so

speedily, that ten o'clock had not struck when he reached Gray's

Inn.

It still wanted ten minutes to the hour when he had ascended

the staircase on which Perker's chambers were. The clerks had

not arrived yet, and he beguiled the time by looking out of the

staircase window. The healthy light of a fine October morning

made even the dingy old houses brighten up a little; some of the

dusty windows actually looking almost cheerful as the sun's rays

gleamed upon them. Clerk after clerk hastened into the square by

one or other of the entrances, and looking up at the Hall clock,

accelerated or decreased his rate of walking according to the time

at which his office hours nominally commenced; the half-past nine

o'clock people suddenly becoming very brisk, and the ten o'clock

gentlemen falling into a pace of most aristocratic slowness. The

clock struck ten, and clerks poured in faster than ever, each one in

a greater perspiration than his predecessor. The noise of

unlocking and opening doors echoed and re-echoed on every side;

heads appeared as if by magic in every window; the porters took

up their stations for the day; the slipshod laundresses hurried off;

the postman ran from house to house; and the whole legal hive

was in a bustle.

'You're early, Mr. Pickwick,' said a voice behind him.

'Ah, Mr. Lowten,' replied that gentleman, looking round, and

recognising his old acquaintance.

'Precious warm walking, isn't it?' said Lowten, drawing a

Bramah key from his pocket, with a small plug therein, to keep the

dust out.

'You appear to feel it so,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, smiling at the

clerk, who was literally red-hot.

'I've come along, rather, I can tell you,' replied Lowten. 'It went

the half hour as I came through the Polygon. I'm here before him,

though, so I don't mind.'

Comforting himself with this reflection, Mr. Lowten extracted

the plug from the door-key; having opened the door, replugged

and repocketed his Bramah, and picked up the letters which the

postman had dropped through the box, he ushered Mr. Pickwick

into the office. Here, in the twinkling of an eye, he divested himself

of his coat, put on a threadbare garment, which he took out of a

desk, hung up his hat, pulled forth a few sheets of cartridge and

blotting-paper in alternate layers, and, sticking a pen behind his

ear, rubbed his hands with an air of great satisfaction.

'There, you see, Mr. Pickwick,' he said, 'now I'm complete. I've

got my office coat on, and my pad out, and let him come as soon as

he likes. You haven't got a pinch of snuff about you, have you?'

'No, I have not,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'I'm sorry for it,' said Lowten. 'Never mind. I'll run out

presently, and get a bottle of soda. Don't I look rather queer about

the eyes, Mr. Pickwick?'

The individual appealed to, surveyed Mr. Lowten's eyes from a

distance, and expressed his opinion that no unusual queerness

was perceptible in those features.

'I'm glad of it,' said Lowten. 'We were keeping it up pretty

tolerably at the Stump last night, and I'm rather out of sorts this

morning. Perker's been about that business of yours, by the bye.'

'What business?' inquired Mr. Pickwick. 'Mrs. Bardell's costs?'

'No, I don't mean that,' replied Mr. Lowten. 'About getting that

customer that we paid the ten shillings in the pound to the bill-

discounter for, on your account―to get him out of the Fleet, you

know―about getting him to Demerara.'

'Oh, Mr. Jingle,' said Mr. Pickwick hastily. 'Yes. Well?'

'Well, it's all arranged,' said Lowten, mending his pen. 'The

agent at Liverpool said he had been obliged to you many times

when you were in business, and he would be glad to take him on

your recommendation.'

'That's well,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'I am delighted to hear it.'

'But I say,' resumed Lowten, scraping the back of the pen

preparatory to making a fresh split, 'what a soft chap that other is!'

'Which other?'

'Why, that servant, or friend, or whatever he is; you know,

Trotter.'

'Ah!' said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile. 'I always thought him the

reverse.'

'Well, and so did I, from what little I saw of him,' replied

Lowten, 'it only shows how one may be deceived. What do you

think of his going to Demerara, too?'

'What! And giving up what was offered him here!' exclaimed

Mr. Pickwick.

'Treating Perker's offer of eighteen bob a week, and a rise if he

behaved himself, like dirt,' replied Lowten. 'He said he must go

along with the other one, and so they persuaded Perker to write

again, and they've got him something on the same estate; not near

so good, Perker says, as a convict would get in New South Wales, if

he appeared at his trial in a new suit of clothes.'

'Foolish fellow,' said Mr. Pickwick, with glistening eyes.

'Foolish fellow.'

'Oh, it's worse than foolish; it's downright sneaking, you know,'

replied Lowten, nibbing the pen with a contemptuous face. 'He

says that he's the only friend he ever had, and he's attached to

him, and all that. Friendship's a very good thing in its way―we

are all very friendly and comfortable at the Stump, for instance,

over our grog, where every man pays for himself; but damn

hurting yourself for anybody else, you know! No man should have

more than two attachments―the first, to number one, and the

second to the ladies; that's what I say―ha! ha!' Mr. Lowten

concluded with a loud laugh, half in jocularity, and half in

derision, which was prematurely cut short by the sound of

Perker's footsteps on the stairs, at the first approach of which, he

vaulted on his stool with an agility most remarkable, and wrote

intensely.

The greeting between Mr. Pickwick and his professional

adviser was warm and cordial; the client was scarcely ensconced

in the attorney's arm-chair, however, when a knock was heard at

the door, and a voice inquired whether Mr. Perker was within.

'Hark!' said Perker, 'that's one of our vagabond friends―Jingle

himself, my dear sir. Will you see him?'

'What do you think?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, hesitating.

'Yes, I think you had better. Here, you sir, what's your name,

walk in, will you?'

In compliance with this unceremonious invitation, Jingle and

Job walked into the room, but, seeing Mr. Pickwick, stopped short

in some confusion. 'Well,' said Perker, 'don't you know that

gentleman?'

'Good reason to,' replied Mr. Jingle, stepping forward. 'Mr.

Pickwick―deepest obligations―life preserver―made a man of

me―you shall never repent it, sir.'

'I am happy to hear you say so,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'You look

much better.'

'Thanks to you, sir―great change―Majesty's Fleet―

unwholesome place―very,' said Jingle, shaking his head. He was

decently and cleanly dressed, and so was Job, who stood bolt

upright behind him, staring at Mr. Pickwick with a visage of iron.

'When do they go to Liverpool?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, half

aside to Perker.

'This evening, sir, at seven o'clock,' said Job, taking one step

forward. 'By the heavy coach from the city, sir.'

'Are your places taken?'

'They are, sir,' replied Job.

'You have fully made up your mind to go?'

'I have sir,' answered Job.

'With regard to such an outfit as was indispensable for Jingle,'

said Perker, addressing Mr. Pickwick aloud. 'I have taken upon

myself to make an arrangement for the deduction of a small sum

from his quarterly salary, which, being made only for one year,

and regularly remitted, will provide for that expense. I entirely

disapprove of your doing anything for him, my dear sir, which is

not dependent on his own exertions and good conduct.'

'Certainly,' interposed Jingle, with great firmness. 'Clear

head―man of the world―quite right―perfectly.'

'By compounding with his creditor, releasing his clothes from

the pawnbroker's, relieving him in prison, and paying for his

passage,' continued Perker, without noticing Jingle's observation,

'you have already lost upwards of fifty pounds.'

'Not lost,' said Jingle hastily, 'Pay it all―stick to business―cash

up―every farthing. Yellow fever, perhaps―can't help that―if

not―' Here Mr. Jingle paused, and striking the crown of his hat

with great violence, passed his hand over his eyes, and sat down.

'He means to say,' said Job, advancing a few paces, 'that if he is

not carried off by the fever, he will pay the money back again. If he

lives, he will, Mr. Pickwick. I will see it done. I know he will, sir,'

said Job, with energy. 'I could undertake to swear it.'

'Well, well,' said Mr. Pickwick, who had been bestowing a score

or two of frowns upon Perker, to stop his summary of benefits

conferred, which the little attorney obstinately disregarded, 'you

must be careful not to play any more desperate cricket matches,

Mr. Jingle, or to renew your acquaintance with Sir Thomas Blazo,

and I have little doubt of your preserving your health.'

Mr. Jingle smiled at this sally, but looked rather foolish

notwithstanding; so Mr. Pickwick changed the subject by saying―

'You don't happen to know, do you, what has become of

another friend of yours―a more humble one, whom I saw at

Rochester?'

'Dismal Jemmy?' inquired Jingle.

'Yes.'

Jingle shook his head.

'Clever rascal―queer fellow, hoaxing genius―Job's brother.'

'Job's brother!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. 'Well, now I look at

him closely, there is a likeness.'

'We were always considered like each other, sir,' said Job, with

a cunning look just lurking in the corners of his eyes, 'only I was

really of a serious nature, and he never was. He emigrated to

America, sir, in consequence of being too much sought after here,

to be comfortable; and has never been heard of since.'

'That accounts for my not having received the "page from the

romance of real life," which he promised me one morning when he

appeared to be contemplating suicide on Rochester Bridge, I

suppose,' said Mr. Pickwick, smiling. 'I need not inquire whether

his dismal behaviour was natural or assumed.'

'He could assume anything, sir,' said Job. 'You may consider

yourself very fortunate in having escaped him so easily. On

intimate terms he would have been even a more dangerous

acquaintance than―' Job looked at Jingle, hesitated, and finally

added, 'than―than-myself even.'

'A hopeful family yours, Mr. Trotter,' said Perker, sealing a

letter which he had just finished writing.

'Yes, sir,' replied Job. 'Very much so.'

'Well,' said the little man, laughing, 'I hope you are going to

disgrace it. Deliver this letter to the agent when you reach

Liverpool, and let me advise you, gentlemen, not to be too

knowing in the West Indies. If you throw away this chance, you

will both richly deserve to be hanged, as I sincerely trust you will

be. And now you had better leave Mr. Pickwick and me alone, for

we have other matters to talk over, and time is precious.' As

Perker said this, he looked towards the door, with an evident

desire to render the leave-taking as brief as possible.

It was brief enough on Mr. Jingle's part. He thanked the little

attorney in a few hurried words for the kindness and promptitude

with which he had rendered his assistance, and, turning to his

benefactor, stood for a few seconds as if irresolute what to say or

how to act. Job Trotter relieved his perplexity; for, with a humble

and grateful bow to Mr. Pickwick, he took his friend gently by the

arm, and led him away.

'A worthy couple!' said Perker, as the door closed behind them.

'I hope they may become so,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'What do

you think? Is there any chance of their permanent reformation?'

Perker shrugged his shoulders doubtfully, but observing Mr.

Pickwick's anxious and disappointed look, rejoined―

'Of course there is a chance. I hope it may prove a good one.

They are unquestionablypenitent now; but then, you know, they

have the recollection" title="n.回忆；追想；记忆力">recollection of very recent suffering fresh upon them.

What they may become, when that fades away, is a problem that

neither you nor I can solve. However, my dear sir,' added Perker,

laying his hand on Mr. Pickwick's shoulder, 'your object is equally

honourable, whatever the result is. Whether that species of

benevolence which is so very cautious and long-sighted that it is

seldom exercised at all, lest its owner should be imposed upon,

and so wounded in his self-love, be real charity or a worldly

counterfeit, I leave to wiser heads than mine to determine. But if

those two fellows were to commit a burglary to-morrow, my

opinion of this action would be equally high.'