Pickwick Papers

IN WHICH Mr. PICKWICK THINKS HE HADBETTER GO TO BATH; AND GOESACCORDINGLYut surely, my dear sir,’ said little Perker, as he stood inMr. Pickwick’s apartment on the morning after thetrial, ‘surely you don’t really mean―really andseriously now, and irritation apart―that you won’t pay these costsand damages?’

　　‘Not one halfpenny,’ said Mr. Pickwick firmly; ‘not onehalfpenny.’

　　‘Hooroar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven hevouldn’t renew the bill,’ observed Mr. Weller, who was clearingaway the breakfast-things.

　　‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘have the goodness to stepdownstairs.’

　　‘Cert’nly, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; and acting on Mr. Pickwick’sgentle hint, Sam retired.

　　‘No, Perker,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with great seriousness ofmanner, ‘my friends here have endeavoured to dissuade me fromthis determination, but without avail. I shall employ myself asusual, until the opposite party have the power of issuing a legalprocess of execution against me; and if they are vile enough toavail themselves of it, and to arrest my person, I shall yield myselfup with perfect cheerfulness and content of heart. When can theydo this?’

　　‘They can issue execution, my dear sir, for the amount of thedamages and taxed costs, next term,’ replied Perker, ‘just twomonths hence, my dear sir.’

　　‘Very good,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Until that time, my dear fellow,let me hear no more of the matter. And now,’ continued Mr.

　　Pickwick, looking round on his friends with a good-humouredsmile, and a sparkle in the eye which no spectacles could dim orconceal, ‘the only question is, Where shall we go next?’

　　Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were too much affected bytheir friend’s heroism to offer any reply. Mr. Winkle had not yetsufficiently recovered the recollection of his evidence at the trial,to make any observation on any subject, so Mr. Pickwick pausedin vain.

　　‘Well,’ said that gentleman, ‘if you leave me to suggest ourdestination, I say Bath. I think none of us have ever been there.’

　　Nobody had; and as the proposition was warmly seconded byPerker, who considered it extremely probable that if Mr. Pickwicksaw a little change and gaiety he would be inclined to think betterof his determination, and worse of a debtor’s prison, it was carriedunanimously; and Sam was at once despatched to the White HorseCellar, to take five places by the half-past seven o’clock coach, nextmorning.

　　There were just two places to be had inside, and just three to behad out; so Sam Weller booked for them all, and having exchangeda few compliments with the booking-office clerk on the subject of apewter half-crown which was tendered him as a portion of his‘change,’ walked back to the George and Vulture, where he waspretty busily employed until bed-time in reducing clothes andlinen into the smallest possible compass, and exerting hismechanical genius in constructing a variety of ingenious devicesfor keeping the lids on boxes which had neither locks nor hinges.

　　The next was a very unpropitious morning for a journey―muggy, damp, and drizzly. The horses in the stages that weregoing out, and had come through the city, were smoking so, thatthe outside passengers were invisible. The newspaper-sellerslooked moist, and smelled mouldy; the wet ran off the hats of theorange-vendors as they thrust their heads into the coach windows,and diluted the insides in a refreshing manner. The Jews with thefifty-bladed penknives shut them up in despair; the men with thepocket-books made pocket-books of them. Watch-guards andtoasting-forks were alike at a discount, and pencil-cases andsponges were a drug in the market.

　　Leaving Sam Weller to rescue the luggage from the seven oreight porters who flung themselves savagely upon it, the momentthe coach stopped, and finding that they were about twentyminutes too early, Mr. Pickwick and his friends went for shelterinto the travellers’ room―the last resource of human dejection.

　　The travellers’ room at the White Horse Cellar is of courseuncomfortable; it would be no travellers’ room if it were not. It isthe right-hand parlour, into which an aspiring kitchen fireplaceappears to have walked, accompanied by a rebellious poker, tongs,and shovel. It is divided into boxes, for the solitary confinement oftravellers, and is furnished with a clock, a looking-glass, and a livewaiter, which latter article is kept in a small kennel for washingglasses, in a corner of the apartment.

　　One of these boxes was occupied, on this particular occasion, bya stern-eyed man of about five-and-forty, who had a bald andglossy forehead, with a good deal of black hair at the sides andback of his head, and large black whiskers. He was buttoned up tothe chin in a brown coat; and had a large sealskin travelling-cap,and a greatcoat and cloak, lying on the seat beside him. He lookedup from his breakfast as Mr. Pickwick entered, with a fierce andperemptory air, which was very dignified; and, having scrutinisedthat gentleman and his companions to his entire satisfaction,hummed a tune, in a manner which seemed to say that he rathersuspected somebody wanted to take advantage of him, but itwouldn’t do.

　　‘Waiter,’ said the gentleman with the whiskers.

　　‘Sir?’ replied a man with a dirty complexion, and a towel of thesame, emerging from the kennel before mentioned.

　　‘Some more toast.’

　　‘Yes, sir.’

　　‘Buttered toast, mind,’ said the gentleman fiercely.

　　‘Directly, sir,’ replied the waiter.

　　The gentleman with the whiskers hummed a tune in the samemanner as before, and pending the arrival of the toast, advancedto the front of the fire, and, taking his coat tails under his arms,looked at his boots and ruminated.

　　‘I wonder whereabouts in Bath this coach puts up,’ said Mr.

　　Pickwick, mildly addressing Mr. Winkle.

　　‘Hum―eh―what’s that?’ said the strange man.

　　‘I made an observation to my friend, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick,always ready to enter into conversation. ‘I wondered at whathouse the Bath coach put up. Perhaps you can inform me.’

　　‘Are you going to Bath?’ said the strange man.

　　‘I am, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘And those other gentlemen?’

　　‘They are going also,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘Not inside―I’ll be damned if you’re going inside,’ said thestrange man.

　　‘Not all of us,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘No, not all of you,’ said the strange man emphatically. ‘I’vetaken two places. If they try to squeeze six people into an infernalbox that only holds four, I’ll take a post-chaise and bring an action.

　　I’ve paid my fare. It won’t do; I told the clerk when I took myplaces that it wouldn’t do. I know these things have been done. Iknow they are done every day; but I never was done, and I neverwill be. Those who know me best, best know it; crush me!’ Herethe fierce gentleman rang the bell with great violence, and told thewaiter he’d better bring the toast in five seconds, or he’d know thereason why.

　　‘My good sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘you will allow me to observethat this is a very unnecessary display of excitement. I have onlytaken places inside for two.’

　　‘I am glad to hear it,’ said the fierce man. ‘I withdraw myexpressions. I tender an apology. There’s my card. Give me youracquaintance.’

　　‘With great pleasure, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘We are to befellow-travellers, and I hope we shall find each other’s societymutually agreeable.’

　　‘I hope we shall,’ said the fierce gentleman. ‘I know we shall. Ilike your looks; they please me. Gentlemen, your hands andnames. Know me.’

　　Of course, an interchange of friendly salutations followed thisgracious speech; and the fierce gentleman immediately proceededto inform the friends, in the same short, abrupt, jerking sentences,that his name was Dowler; that he was going to Bath on pleasure;that he was formerly in the army; that he had now set up inbusiness as a gentleman; that he lived upon the profits; and thatthe individual for whom the second place was taken, was apersonage no less illustrious than Mrs. Dowler, his lady wife.

　　‘She’s a fine woman,’ said Mr. Dowler. ‘I am proud of her. Ihave reason.’

　　‘I hope I shall have the pleasure of judging,’ said Mr. Pickwick,with a smile. ‘You shall,’ replied Dowler. ‘She shall know you. Sheshall esteem you. I courted her under singular circumstances. Iwon her through a rash vow. Thus. I saw her; I loved her; Iproposed; she refused me.―“You love another?”―“Spare myblushes.”―“I know him.”―“You do.”―“Very good; if he remainshere, I’ll skin him.”’

　　‘Lord bless me!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick involuntarily.

　　‘Did you skin the gentleman, sir?’ inquired Mr. Winkle, with avery pale face.

　　‘I wrote him a note, I said it was a painful thing. And so it was.’

　　‘Certainly,’ interposed Mr. Winkle.

　　‘I said I had pledged my word as a gentleman to skin him. Mycharacter was at stake. I had no alternative. As an officer in HisMajesty’s service, I was bound to skin him. I regretted thenecessity, but it must be done. He was open to conviction. He sawthat the rules of the service were imperative. He fled. I marriedher. Here’s the coach. That’s her head.’

　　As Mr. Dowler concluded, he pointed to a stage which had justdriven up, from the open window of which a rather pretty face in abright blue bonnet was looking among the crowd on thepavement, most probably for the rash man himself. Mr. Dowlerpaid his bill, and hurried out with his travelling cap, coat, andcloak; and Mr. Pickwick and his friends followed to secure theirplaces. Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass had seated themselves atthe back part of the coach; Mr. Winkle had got inside; and Mr.

　　Pickwick was preparing to follow him, when Sam Weller came upto his master, and whispering in his ear, begged to speak to him,with an air of the deepest mystery.

　　‘Well, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘what’s the matter now?’

　　‘Here’s rayther a rum go, sir,’ replied Sam.

　　‘What?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘This here, sir,’ rejoined Sam. ‘I’m wery much afeerd, sir, thatthe properiator o’ this here coach is a playin’ some imperence vithus.’

　　‘How is that, Sam?’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘aren’t the names downon the way-bill?’

　　‘The names is not only down on the vay-bill, sir,’ replied Sam,‘but they’ve painted vun on ’em up, on the door o’ the coach.’ AsSam spoke, he pointed to that part of the coach door on which theproprietor’s name usually appears; and there, sure enough, in giltletters of a goodly size, was the magic name of PICKWICK!

　　‘Dear me,’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite staggered by thecoincidence; ‘what a very extraordinary thing!’

　　‘Yes, but that ain’t all,’ said Sam, again directing his master’sattention to the coach door; ‘not content vith writin’ up “Pick-wick,” they puts “Moses” afore it, vich I call addin’ insult to injury,as the parrot said ven they not only took him from his native land,but made him talk the English langwidge arterwards.’

　　‘It’s odd enough, certainly, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘but if westand talking here, we shall lose our places.’

　　‘Wot, ain’t nothin’ to be done in consequence, sir?’ exclaimedSam, perfectly aghast at the coolness with which Mr. Pickwickprepared to ensconce himself inside.

　　‘Done!’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘What should be done?’

　　‘Ain’t nobody to be whopped for takin’ this here liberty, sir?’

　　said Mr. Weller, who had expected that at least he would havebeen commissioned to challenge the guard and the coachman to apugilistic encounter on the spot.

　　‘Certainly not,’ replied Mr. Pickwick eagerly; ‘not on anyaccount. Jump up to your seat directly.’

　　‘I am wery much afeered,’ muttered Sam to himself, as heturned away, ‘that somethin’ queer’s come over the governor, orhe’d never ha’ stood this so quiet. I hope that ’ere trial hasn’tbroke his spirit, but it looks bad, wery bad.’ Mr. Weller shook hishead gravely; and it is worthy of remark, as an illustration of themanner in which he took this circumstance to heart, that he didnot speak another word until the coach reached the Kensingtonturnpike. Which was so long a time for him to remain taciturn,that the fact may be considered wholly unprecedented.

　　Nothing worthy of special mention occurred during thejourney. Mr. Dowler related a variety of anecdotes, all illustrativeof his own personal prowess and desperation, and appealed toMrs. Dowler in corroboration thereof; when Mrs. Dowlerinvariably brought in, in the form of an appendix, someremarkable fact or circumstance which Mr. Dowler had forgotten,or had perhaps through modesty, omitted; for the addenda inevery instance went to show that Mr. Dowler was even a morewonderful fellow than he made himself out to be. Mr. Pickwickand Mr. Winkle listened with great admiration, and at intervalsconversed with Mrs. Dowler, who was a very agreeable andfascinating person. So, what between Mr. Dowler’s stories, andMrs. Dowler’s charms, and Mr. Pickwick’s good-humour, and Mr.

　　Winkle’s good listening, the insides contrived to be verycompanionable all the way. The outsides did as outsides alwaysdo. They were very cheerful and talkative at the beginning ofevery stage, and very dismal and sleepy in the middle, and verybright and wakeful again towards the end. There was one younggentleman in an India-rubber cloak, who smoked cigars all day;and there was another young gentleman in a parody upon agreatcoat, who lighted a good many, and feeling obviouslyunsettled after the second whiff, threw them away when hethought nobody was looking at him. There was a third young manon the box who wished to be learned in cattle; and an old onebehind, who was familiar with farming. There was a constantsuccession of Christian names in smock-frocks and white coats,who were invited to have a ‘lift’ by the guard, and who knew everyhorse and hostler on the road and off it; and there was a dinnerwhich would have been cheap at half-a-crown a mouth, if anymoderate number of mouths could have eaten it in the time. Andat seven o’clock P.m. Mr. Pickwick and his friends, and Mr.

　　Dowler and his wife, respectively retired to their private sitting-rooms at the White Hart Hotel, opposite the Great Pump Room,Bath, where the waiters, from their costume, might be mistakenfor Westminster boys, only they destroy the illusion by behavingthemselves much better. Breakfast had scarcely been clearedaway on the succeeding morning, when a waiter brought in Mr.

　　Dowler’s card, with a request to be allowed permission tointroduce a friend. Mr. Dowler at once followed up the delivery ofthe card, by bringing himself and the friend also.

　　The friend was a charming young man of not much more thanfifty, dressed in a very bright blue coat with resplendent buttons,black trousers, and the thinnest possible pair of highly-polishedboots. A gold eye-glass was suspended from his neck by a short,broad, black ribbon; a gold snuff-box was lightly clasped in his lefthand; gold rings innumerable glittered on his fingers; and a largediamond pin set in gold glistened in his shirt frill. He had a goldwatch, and a gold curb chain with large gold seals; and he carrieda pliant ebony cane with a gold top. His linen was of the verywhitest, finest, and stiffest; his wig of the glossiest, blackest, andcurliest. His snuff was princes’ mixture; his scent bouquet du roi.

　　His features were contracted into a perpetual smile; and his teethwere in such perfect order that it was difficult at a small distanceto tell the real from the false.

　　‘Mr. Pickwick,’ said Mr. Dowler; ‘my friend, Angelo CyrusBantam, Esquire, M.C.; Bantam; Mr. Pickwick. Know each other.’

　　‘Welcome to Ba-ath, sir. This is indeed an acquisition. Mostwelcome to Ba-ath, sir. It is long―very long, Mr. Pickwick, sinceyou drank the waters. It appears an age, Mr. Pickwick. Re-markable!’

　　Such were the expressions with which Angelo Cyrus Bantam,Esquire, M.C., took Mr. Pickwick’s hand; retaining it in his,meantime, and shrugging up his shoulders with a constantsuccession of bows, as if he really could not make up his mind tothe trial of letting it go again.

　　‘It is a very long time since I drank the waters, certainly,’

　　replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘for, to the best of my knowledge, I wasnever here before.’

　　‘Never in Ba-ath, Mr. Pickwick!’ exclaimed the Grand Master,letting the hand fall in astonishment. ‘Never in Ba-ath! He! he! Mr.

　　Pickwick, you are a wag. Not bad, not bad. Good, good. He! he! he!

　　Re-markable!’

　　‘To my shame, I must say that I am perfectly serious,’ rejoinedMr. Pickwick. ‘I really never was here before.’

　　‘Oh, I see,’ exclaimed the Grand Master, looking extremelypleased; ‘yes, yes―good, good―better and better. You are thegentleman of whom we have heard. Yes; we know you, Mr.

　　Pickwick; we know you.’

　　‘The reports of the trial in those confounded papers,’ thoughtMr. Pickwick. ‘They have heard all about me.’

　　‘You are the gentleman residing on Clapham Green,’ resumedBantam, ‘who lost the use of his limbs from imprudently takingcold after port wine; who could not be moved in consequence ofacute suffering, and who had the water from the king’s bathbottled at one hundred and three degrees, and sent by wagon tohis bedroom in town, where he bathed, sneezed, and the same dayrecovered. Very remarkable!’

　　Mr. Pickwick acknowledged the compliment which thesupposition implied, but had the self-denial to repudiate it,notwithstanding; and taking advantage of a moment’s silence onthe part of the M.C., begged to introduce his friends, Mr. Tupman,Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. An introduction whichoverwhelmed the M.C. with delight and honour.

　　‘Bantam,’ said Mr. Dowler, ‘Mr. Pickwick and his friends arestrangers. They must put their names down. Where’s the book?’

　　‘The register of the distinguished visitors in Ba-ath will be atthe Pump Room this morning at two o’clock,’ replied the M.C.

　　‘Will you guide our friends to that splendid building, and enableme to procure their autographs?’

　　‘I will,’ rejoined Dowler. ‘This is a long call. It’s time to go. Ishall be here again in an hour. Come.’

　　‘This is a ball-night,’ said the M.C., again taking Mr. Pickwick’shand, as he rose to go. ‘The ball-nights in Ba-ath are momentssnatched from paradise; rendered bewitching by music, beauty,elegance, fashion, etiquette, and―and―above all, by the absenceof tradespeople, who are quite inconsistent with paradise, and whohave an amalgamation of themselves at the Guildhall everyfortnight, which is, to say the least, remarkable. Good-bye, good-bye!’ and protesting all the way downstairs that he was mostsatisfied, and most delighted, and most overpowered, and mostflattered, Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire, M.C., stepped into a veryelegant chariot that waited at the door, and rattled off.

　　At the appointed hour, Mr. Pickwick and his friends, escortedby Dowler, repaired to the Assembly Rooms, and wrote theirnames down in the book―an instance of condescension at whichAngelo Bantam was even more overpowered than before. Ticketsof admission to that evening’s assembly were to have beenprepared for the whole party, but as they were not ready, Mr.

　　Pickwick undertook, despite all the protestations to the contrary ofAngelo Bantam, to send Sam for them at four o’clock in theafternoon, to the M.C.’s house in Queen Square. Having taken ashort walk through the city, and arrived at the unanimousconclusion that Park Street was very much like the perpendicularstreets a man sees in a dream, which he cannot get up for the lifeof him, they returned to the White Hart, and despatched Sam onthe errand to which his master had pledged him.

　　Sam Weller put on his hat in a very easy and graceful manner,and, thrusting his hands in his waistcoat pockets, walked withgreat deliberation to Queen Square, whistling as he went along,several of the most popular airs of the day, as arranged withentirely new movements for that noble instrument the organ,either mouth or barrel. Arriving at the number in Queen Square towhich he had been directed, he left off whistling and gave acheerful knock, which was instantaneously answered by apowdered-headed footman in gorgeous livery, and of symmetricalstature.

　　‘Is this here Mr. Bantam’s, old feller?’ inquired Sam Weller,nothing abashed by the blaze of splendour which burst upon hissight in the person of the powdered-headed footman with thegorgeous livery.

　　‘Why, young man?’ was the haughty inquiry of the powdered-headed footman.

　　‘’Cos if it is, jist you step in to him with that ’ere card, and sayMr. Veller’s a-waitin’, will you?’ said Sam. And saying it, he verycoolly walked into the hall, and sat down.

　　The powdered-headed footman slammed the door very hard,and scowled very grandly; but both the slam and the scowl werelost upon Sam, who was regarding a mahogany umbrella-standwith every outward token of critical approval.

　　Apparently his master’s reception of the card had impressedthe powdered-headed footman in Sam’s favour, for when he cameback from delivering it, he smiled in a friendly manner, and saidthat the answer would be ready directly.

　　‘Wery good,’ said Sam. ‘Tell the old gen’l’m’n not to put himselfin a perspiration. No hurry, six-foot. I’ve had my dinner.’

　　‘You dine early, sir,’ said the powdered-headed footman.

　　‘I find I gets on better at supper when I does,’ replied Sam.

　　‘Have you been long in Bath, sir?’ inquired the powdered-headed footman. ‘I have not had the pleasure of hearing of youbefore.’

　　‘I haven’t created any wery surprisin’ sensation here, as yet,’

　　rejoined Sam, ‘for me and the other fash’nables only come lastnight.’

　　‘Nice place, sir,’ said the powdered-headed footman.

　　‘Seems so,’ observed Sam.

　　‘Pleasant society, sir,’ remarked the powdered-headed footman.

　　‘Very agreeable servants, sir.’

　　‘I should think they wos,’ replied Sam. ‘Affable, unaffected, say-nothin’-to-nobody sorts o’ fellers.’

　　‘Oh, very much so, indeed, sir,’ said the powdered-headedfootman, taking Sam’s remarks as a high compliment. ‘Very muchso indeed. Do you do anything in this way, sir?’ inquired the tallfootman, producing a small snuff-box with a fox’s head on the topof it.

　　‘Not without sneezing,’ replied Sam.

　　‘Why, it is difficult, sir, I confess,’ said the tall footman. ‘It maybe done by degrees, sir. Coffee is the best practice. I carried coffee,sir, for a long time. It looks very like rappee, sir.’

　　Here, a sharp peal at the bell reduced the powdered-headedfootman to the ignominious necessity of putting the fox’s head inhis pocket, and hastening with a humble countenance to Mr.

　　Bantam’s ‘study.’ By the bye, who ever knew a man who neverread or wrote either, who hadn’t got some small back parlourwhich he would call a study!

　　‘There is the answer, sir,’ said the powdered-headed footman.

　　‘I’m afraid you’ll find it inconveniently large.’

　　‘Don’t mention it,’ said Sam, taking a letter with a smallenclosure. ‘It’s just possible as exhausted natur’ may manage tosurwive it.’

　　‘I hope we shall meet again, sir,’ said the powdered-headedfootman, rubbing his hands, and following Sam out to the door-step.

　　‘You are wery obligin’, sir,’ replied Sam. ‘Now, don’t allowyourself to be fatigued beyond your powers; there’s a amiablebein’. Consider what you owe to society, and don’t let yourself beinjured by too much work. For the sake o’ your feller-creeturs,keep yourself as quiet as you can; only think what a loss you wouldbe!’ With these pathetic words, Sam Weller departed.

　　‘A very singular young man that,’ said the powdered-headedfootman, looking after Mr. Weller, with a countenance whichclearly showed he could make nothing of him.

　　Sam said nothing at all. He winked, shook his head, smiled,winked again; and, with an expression of countenance whichseemed to denote that he was greatly amused with something orother, walked merrily away.

　　At precisely twenty minutes before eight o’clock that night,Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esq., the Master of the Ceremonies,emerged from his chariot at the door of the Assembly Rooms inthe same wig, the same teeth, the same eye-glass, the same watchand seals, the same rings, the same shirt-pin, and the same cane.

　　The only observable alterations in his appearance were, that hewore a brighter blue coat, with a white silk lining, black tights,black silk stockings, and pumps, and a white waistcoat, and was, ifpossible, just a thought more scented.

　　Thus attired, the Master of the Ceremonies, in strict dischargeof the important duties of his all-important office, planted himselfin the room to receive the company.

　　Bath being full, the company, and the sixpences for tea, pouredin, in shoals. In the ballroom, the long card-room, the octagonalcard-room, the staircases, and the passages, the hum of manyvoices, and the sound of many feet, were perfectly bewildering.

　　Dresses rustled, feathers waved, lights shone, and jewels sparkled.

　　There was the music―not of the quadrille band, for it had not yetcommenced; but the music of soft, tiny footsteps, with now andthen a clear, merry laugh―low and gentle, but very pleasant tohear in a female voice, whether in Bath or elsewhere. Brillianteyes, lighted up with pleasurable expectation, gleamed from everyside; and, look where you would, some exquisite form glidedgracefully through the throng, and was no sooner lost, than it wasreplaced by another as dainty and bewitching.

　　In the tea-room, and hovering round the card-tables, were avast number of queer old ladies, and decrepit old gentlemen,discussing all the small talk and scandal of the day, with a relishand gusto which sufficiently bespoke the intensity of the pleasurethey derived from the occupation. Mingled with these groups,were three or four match-making mammas, appearing to bewholly absorbed by the conversation in which they were takingpart, but failing not from time to time to cast an anxious sidelongglance upon their daughters, who, remembering the maternalinjunction to make the best use of their youth, had alreadycommenced incipient flirtations in the mislaying scarves, puttingon gloves, setting down cups, and so forth; slight mattersapparently, but which may be turned to surprisingly good accountby expert practitioners.

　　Lounging near the doors, and in remote corners, were variousknots of silly young men, displaying various varieties of puppyismand stupidity; amusing all sensible people near them with theirfolly and conceit; and happily thinking themselves the objects ofgeneral admiration―a wise and merciful dispensation which nogood man will quarrel with.

　　And lastly, seated on some of the back benches, where they hadalready taken up their positions for the evening, were diversunmarried ladies past their grand climacteric, who, not dancingbecause there were no partners for them, and not playing cardslest they should be set down as irretrievably single, were in thefavourable situation of being able to abuse everybody withoutreflecting on themselves. In short, they could abuse everybody,because everybody was there. It was a scene of gaiety, glitter, andshow; of richly-dressed people, handsome mirrors, chalked floors,girandoles and wax-candles; and in all parts of the scene, glidingfrom spot to spot in silent softness, bowing obsequiously to thisparty, nodding familiarly to that, and smiling complacently on all,was the sprucely-attired person of Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire,the Master of the Ceremonies.

　　‘Stop in the tea-room. Take your sixpenn’orth. Then lay on hotwater, and call it tea. Drink it,’ said Mr. Dowler, in a loud voice,directing Mr. Pickwick, who advanced at the head of the littleparty, with Mrs. Dowler on his arm. Into the tea-room Mr.

　　Pickwick turned; and catching sight of him, Mr. Bantamcorkscrewed his way through the crowd and welcomed him withecstasy.

　　‘My dear sir, I am highly honoured. Ba-ath is favoured. Mrs.

　　Dowler, you embellish the rooms. I congratulate you on yourfeathers. Re-markable!’

　　‘Anybody here?’ inquired Dowler suspiciously.

　　‘Anybody! The élite of Ba-ath. Mr. Pickwick, do you see the oldlady in the gauze turban?’

　　‘The fat old lady?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick innocently.

　　‘Hush, my dear sir―nobody’s fat or old in Ba-ath. That’s theDowager Lady Snuphanuph.’

　　‘Is it, indeed?’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘No less a person, I assure you,’ said the Master of theCeremonies. ‘Hush. Draw a little nearer, Mr. Pickwick. You seethe splendidly-dressed young man coming this way?’

　　‘The one with the long hair, and the particularly smallforehead?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘The same. The richest young man in Ba-ath at this moment.

　　Young Lord Mutanhed.’

　　‘You don’t say so?’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘Yes. You’ll hear his voice in a moment, Mr. Pickwick. He’llspeak to me. The other gentleman with him, in the red under-waistcoat and dark moustache, is the Honourable Mr. Crushton,his bosom friend. How do you do, my Lord?’

　　‘Veway hot, Bantam,’ said his Lordship.

　　‘It IS very warm, my Lord,’ replied the M.C.

　　‘Confounded,’ assented the Honourable Mr. Crushton.

　　‘Have you seen his Lordship’s mail-cart, Bantam?’ inquired theHonourable Mr. Crushton, after a short pause, during whichyoung Lord Mutanhed had been endeavouring to stare Mr.

　　Pickwick out of countenance, and Mr. Crushton had beenreflecting what subject his Lordship could talk about best.

　　‘Dear me, no,’ replied the M.C. ‘A mail-cart! What an excellentidea. Re-markable!’

　　‘Gwacious heavens!’ said his Lordship, ‘I thought evewebodyhad seen the new mail-cart; it’s the neatest, pwettiest, gwacefullestthing that ever wan upon wheels. Painted wed, with a cweampiebald.’

　　‘With a real box for the letters, and all complete,’ said theHonourable Mr. Crushton.

　　‘And a little seat in fwont, with an iwon wail, for the dwiver,’

　　added his Lordship. ‘I dwove it over to Bwistol the other morning,in a cwimson coat, with two servants widing a quarter of a milebehind; and confound me if the people didn’t wush out of theircottages, and awest my pwogwess, to know if I wasn’t the post.

　　Glorwious―glorwious!’

　　At this anecdote his Lordship laughed very heartily, as did thelisteners, of course. Then, drawing his arm through that of theobsequious Mr. Crushton, Lord Mutanhed walked away.

　　‘Delightful young man, his Lordship,’ said the Master of theCeremonies.

　　‘So I should think,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick drily.

　　The dancing having commenced, the necessary introductionshaving been made, and all preliminaries arranged, Angelo Bantamrejoined Mr. Pickwick, and led him into the card-room.

　　Just at the very moment of their entrance, the Dowager LadySnuphanuph and two other ladies of an ancient and whist-likeappearance, were hovering over an unoccupied card-table; andthey no sooner set eyes upon Mr. Pickwick under the convoy ofAngelo Bantam, than they exchanged glances with each other,seeing that he was precisely the very person they wanted, to makeup the rubber.

　　‘My dear Bantam,’ said the Dowager Lady Snuphanuphcoaxingly, ‘find us some nice creature to make up this table;there’s a good soul.’ Mr. Pickwick happened to be looking anotherway at the moment, so her Ladyship nodded her head towardshim, and frowned expressively.

　　‘My friend Mr. Pickwick, my Lady, will be most happy, I amsure, remarkably so,’ said the M.C., taking the hint. ‘Mr. Pickwick,Lady Snuphanuph―Mrs. Colonel Wugsby―Miss Bolo.’

　　Mr. Pickwick bowed to each of the ladies, and, finding escapeimpossible, cut. Mr. Pickwick and Miss Bolo against LadySnuphanuph and Mrs. Colonel Wugsby. As the trump card wasturned up, at the commencement of the second deal, two youngladies hurried into the room, and took their stations on either sideof Mrs. Colonel Wugsby’s chair, where they waited patiently untilthe hand was over.

　　‘Now, Jane,’ said Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, turning to one of thegirls, ‘what is it?’

　　‘I came to ask, ma, whether I might dance with the youngestMr. Crawley,’ whispered the prettier and younger of the two.

　　‘Good God, Jane, how can you think of such things?’ replied themamma indignantly. ‘Haven’t you repeatedly heard that his fatherhas eight hundred a year, which dies with him? I am ashamed ofyou. Not on any account.’

　　‘Ma,’ whispered the other, who was much older than her sister,and very insipid and artificial, ‘Lord Mutanhed has beenintroduced to me. I said I thought I wasn’t engaged, ma.’

　　‘You’re a sweet pet, my love,’ replied Mrs. Colonel Wugsby,tapping her daughter’s cheek with her fan, ‘and are always to betrusted. He’s immensely rich, my dear. Bless you!’ With thesewords Mrs. Colonel Wugsby kissed her eldest daughter mostaffectionately, and frowning in a warning manner upon the other,sorted her cards.

　　Poor Mr. Pickwick! he had never played with three thorough-paced female card-players before. They were so desperately sharp,that they quite frightened him. If he played a wrong card, MissBolo looked a small armoury of daggers; if he stopped to considerwhich was the right one, Lady Snuphanuph would throw herselfback in her chair, and smile with a mingled glance of impatienceand pity to Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, at which Mrs. Colonel Wugsbywould shrug up her shoulders, and cough, as much as to say shewondered whether he ever would begin. Then, at the end of everyhand, Miss Bolo would inquire with a dismal countenance andreproachful sigh, why Mr. Pickwick had not returned thatdiamond, or led the club, or roughed the spade, or finessed theheart, or led through the honour, or brought out the ace, or playedup to the king, or some such thing; and in reply to all these gravecharges, Mr. Pickwick would be wholly unable to plead anyjustification whatever, having by this time forgotten all about thegame. People came and looked on, too, which made Mr. Pickwicknervous. Besides all this, there was a great deal of distractingconversation near the table, between Angelo Bantam and the twoMisses Matinter, who, being single and singular, paid great courtto the Master of the Ceremonies, in the hope of getting a straypartner now and then. All these things, combined with the noisesand interruptions of constant comings in and goings out, made Mr.

　　Pickwick play rather badly; the cards were against him, also; andwhen they left off at ten minutes past eleven, Miss Bolo rose fromthe table considerably agitated, and went straight home, in a floodof tears and a sedan-chair. toms outlet store online

　　Being joined by his friends, who one and all protested that theyhad scarcely ever spent a more pleasant evening, Mr. Pickwickaccompanied them to the White Hart, and having soothed hisfeelings with something hot, went to bed, and to sleep, almostsimultaneously.