The Pickwick Papers - Charles Dickens (best e reader for epub .TXT) đ
- Author: Charles Dickens
- Performer: 0812967275
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That learned man in a few hurried words explained the real state of the case.
âCome along, then,â said he of the green coat, lugging Mr. Pickwick after him by main force, and talking the whole way. Here, No. 924, take your fare, and take yourself offârespectable gentlemanâknow him wellânone of your nonsenseâthis way, sirâwhereâs your friends?âall a mistake, I seeânever mindâ accidents will happenâbest regulated familiesânever say dieâ down upon your luckâPull him UPâPut that in his pipeâlike the flavourâdamned rascals.â And with a lengthened string of similar broken sentences, delivered with extraordinary volubility, the stranger led the way to the travellerâs waiting-room, whither he was closely followed by Mr. Pickwick and his disciples.
âHere, waiter!â shouted the stranger, ringing the bell with tremendous violence, âglasses roundâbrandy-and-water, hot and strong, and sweet, and plenty,âeye damaged, Sir? Waiter! raw beefsteak for the gentlemanâs eyeânothing like raw beefsteak for a bruise, sir; cold lamp-post very good, but lamp-post inconvenientâdamned odd standing in the open street half an hour, with your eye against a lamp-postâeh,âvery goodâ ha! ha!â And the stranger, without stopping to take breath, swallowed at a draught full half a pint of the reeking brandy-and- water, and flung himself into a chair with as much ease as if nothing uncommon had occurred.
While his three companions were busily engaged in proffering their thanks to their new acquaintance, Mr. Pickwick had leisure to examine his costume and appearance.
He was about the middle height, but the thinness of his body, and the length of his legs, gave him the appearance of being much taller. The green coat had been a smart dress garment in the days of swallow-tails, but had evidently in those times adorned a much shorter man than the stranger, for the soiled and faded sleeves scarcely reached to his wrists. It was buttoned closely up to his chin, at the imminent hazard of splitting the back; and an old stock, without a vestige of shirt collar, ornamented his neck. His scanty black trousers displayed here and there those shiny patches which bespeak long service, and were strapped very tightly over a pair of patched and mended shoes, as if to conceal the dirty white stockings, which were nevertheless distinctly visible. His long, black hair escaped in negligent waves from beneath each side of his old pinched-up hat; and glimpses of his bare wrists might be observed between the tops of his gloves and the cuffs of his coat sleeves. His face was thin and haggard; but an indescribable air of jaunty impudence and perfect self-possession pervaded the whole man.
Such was the individual on whom Mr. Pickwick gazed through his spectacles (which he had fortunately recovered), and to whom he proceeded, when his friends had exhausted themselves, to return in chosen terms his warmest thanks for his recent assistance.
âNever mind,â said the stranger, cutting the address very short, âsaid enoughâno more; smart chap that cabmanâhandled his fives well; but if Iâd been your friend in the green jemmyâ damn meâpunch his head,ââcod I would,âpigâs whisperâ pieman too,âno gammon.â
This coherent speech was interrupted by the entrance of the Rochester coachman, to announce that âthe Commodoreâ was on the point of starting.
âCommodore!â said the stranger, starting up, âmy coachâ place booked,âone outsideâleave you to pay for the brandy-and-water,âwant change for a five,âbad silverâBrummagem buttonsâwonât doâno goâeh?â and he shook his head most knowingly.
Now it so happened that Mr. Pickwick and his three companions had resolved to make Rochester their first halting-place too; and having intimated to their new-found acquaintance that they were journeying to the same city, they agreed to occupy the seat at the back of the coach, where they could all sit together.
âUp with you,â said the stranger, assisting Mr. Pickwick on to the roof with so much precipitation as to impair the gravity of that gentlemanâs deportment very materially.
âAny luggage, Sir?â inquired the coachman. âWhoâI? Brown paper parcel here, thatâs allâother luggage gone by waterâpacking-cases, nailed upâbig as housesâ heavy, heavy, damned heavy,â replied the stranger, as he forced into his pocket as much as he could of the brown paper parcel, which presented most suspicious indications of containing one shirt and a handkerchief.
âHeads, headsâtake care of your heads!â cried the loquacious stranger, as they came out under the low archway, which in those days formed the entrance to the coach-yard. âTerrible placeâ dangerous workâother dayâfive childrenâmotherâtall lady, eating sandwichesâforgot the archâcrashâknockâchildren look roundâmotherâs head offâsandwich in her handâno mouth to put it inâhead of a family offâshocking, shocking! Looking at Whitehall, sir?âfine placeâlittle windowâsomebody elseâs head off there, eh, sir?âhe didnât keep a sharp look-out enough eitherâeh, Sir, eh?â
âI am ruminating,â said Mr. Pickwick, âon the strange mutability of human affairs.â
âAh! I seeâin at the palace door one day, out at the window the next. Philosopher, Sir?â âAn observer of human nature, Sir,â said Mr. Pickwick.
âAh, so am I. Most people are when theyâve little to do and less to get. Poet, Sir?â
âMy friend Mr. Snodgrass has a strong poetic turn,â said Mr. Pickwick.
âSo have I,â said the stranger. âEpic poemâten thousand lines ârevolution of Julyâcomposed it on the spotâMars by day, Apollo by nightâbang the field-piece, twang the lyre.â
âYou were present at that glorious scene, sir?â said Mr. Snodgrass.
âPresent! think I was;* fired a musketâfired with an ideaâ rushed into wine shopâwrote it downâback againâwhiz, bang âanother ideaâwine shop againâpen and inkâback againâ cut and slashânoble time, Sir. Sportsman, sir ?âabruptly turning to Mr. Winkle. [* A remarkable instance of the prophetic force of Mr. Jingleâs imagination; this dialogue occurring in the year 1827, and the Revolution in 1830.
âA little, Sir,â replied that gentleman.
âFine pursuit, sirâfine pursuit.âDogs, Sir?â
âNot just now,â said Mr. Winkle.
âAh! you should keep dogsâfine animalsâsagacious creatures âdog of my own onceâpointerâsurprising instinctâout shooting one dayâentering inclosureâwhistledâdog stoppedâ whistled againâPontoâno go; stock stillâcalled himâPonto, Pontoâwouldnât moveâdog transfixedâstaring at a boardâ looked up, saw an inscriptionââGamekeeper has orders to shoot all dogs found in this inclosureââwouldnât pass itâwonderful dogâvaluable dog thatâvery.â
âSingular circumstance that,â said Mr. Pickwick. âWill you allow me to make a note of it?â
âCertainly, Sir, certainlyâhundred more anecdotes of the same animal.âFine girl, Sirâ (to Mr. Tracy Tupman, who had been bestowing sundry anti-Pickwickian glances on a young lady by the roadside).
âVery!â said Mr. Tupman.
âEnglish girls not so fine as Spanishânoble creaturesâjet hair âblack eyesâlovely formsâsweet creaturesâbeautiful.â
âYou have been in Spain, sir?â said Mr. Tracy Tupman.
âLived thereâages.â âMany conquests, sir?â inquired Mr. Tupman.
âConquests! Thousands. Don Bolaro Fizzgigâgrandeeâonly daughterâDonna Christinaâsplendid creatureâloved me to distractionâjealous fatherâhigh-souled daughterâhandsome EnglishmanâDonna Christina in despairâprussic acidâ stomach pump in my portmanteauâoperation performedâold Bolaro in ecstasiesâconsent to our unionâjoin hands and floods of tearsâromantic storyâvery.â
âIs the lady in England now, sir?â inquired Mr. Tupman, on whom the description of her charms had produced a powerful impression.
âDead, sirâdead,â said the stranger, applying to his right eye the brief remnant of a very old cambric handkerchief. âNever recovered the stomach pumpâundermined constitutionâfell a victim.â
âAnd her father?â inquired the poetic Snodgrass.
âRemorse and misery,â replied the stranger. âSudden disappearanceâtalk of the whole cityâsearch made everywhere without successâpublic fountain in the great square suddenly ceased playingâweeks elapsedâstill a stoppageâworkmen employed to clean itâwater drawn offâfather-in-law discovered sticking head first in the main pipe, with a full confession in his right bootâtook him out, and the fountain played away again, as well as ever.â
âWill you allow me to note that little romance down, Sir?â said Mr. Snodgrass, deeply affected.
âCertainly, Sir, certainlyâfifty more if you like to hear âemâ strange life mineârather curious historyânot extraordinary, but singular.â
In this strain, with an occasional glass of ale, by way of parenthesis, when the coach changed horses, did the stranger proceed, until they reached Rochester bridge, by which time the note-books, both of Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Snodgrass, were completely filled with selections from his adventures.
âMagnificent ruin!â said Mr. Augustus Snodgrass, with all the poetic fervour that distinguished him, when they came in sight of the fine old castle.
âWhat a sight for an antiquarian!â were the very words which fell from Mr. Pickwickâs mouth, as he applied his telescope to his eye.
âAh! fine place,â said the stranger, âglorious pileâfrowning wallsâtottering archesâdark nooksâcrumbling staircasesâold cathedral tooâearthy smellâpilgrimsâ feet wore away the old stepsâlittle Saxon doorsâconfessionals like money-takersâ boxes at theatresâqueer customers those monksâpopes, and lord treasurers, and all sorts of old fellows, with great red faces, and broken noses, turning up every dayâbuff jerkins tooâ match-locksâsarcophagusâfine placeâold legends tooâstrange stories: capital;â and the stranger continued to soliloquise until they reached the Bull Inn, in the High Street, where the coach stopped.
âDo you remain here, Sir?â inquired Mr. Nathaniel Winkle.
âHereânot Iâbut youâd betterâgood houseânice bedsâ Wrightâs next house, dearâvery dearâhalf-a-crown in the bill if you look at the waiterâcharge you more if you dine at a friendâs than they would if you dined in the coffee-roomârum fellowsâvery.â
Mr. Winkle turned to Mr. Pickwick, and murmured a few words; a whisper passed from Mr. Pickwick to Mr. Snodgrass, from Mr. Snodgrass to Mr. Tupman, and nods of assent were exchanged. Mr. Pickwick addressed the stranger.
âYou rendered us a very important service this morning, sir,â said he, âwill you allow us to offer a slight mark of our gratitude by begging the favour of your company at dinner?â
âGreat pleasureânot presume to dictate, but broiled fowl and mushroomsâcapital thing! What time?â
âLet me see,â replied Mr. Pickwick, referring to his watch, âit is now nearly three. Shall we say five?â
âSuit me excellently,â said the stranger, âfive preciselyâtill thenâcare of yourselves;â and lifting the pinched-up hat a few inches from his head, and carelessly replacing it very much on one side, the stranger, with half the brown paper parcel sticking out of his pocket, walked briskly up the yard, and turned into the High Street.
âEvidently a traveller in many countries, and a close observer of men and things,â said Mr. Pickwick.
âI should like to see his poem,â said Mr. Snodgrass.
âI should like to have seen that dog,â said Mr. Winkle.
Mr. Tupman said nothing; but he thought of Donna Christina, the stomach pump, and the fountain; and his eyes filled with tears.
A private sitting-room having been engaged, bedrooms inspected, and dinner ordered, the party walked out to view the city and adjoining neighbourhood.
We do not find, from a careful perusal of Mr. Pickwickâs notes of the four towns, Stroud, Rochester, Chatham, and Brompton, that his impressions of their appearance differ in any material point from those of other travellers who have gone over the same ground. His general description is easily abridged.
âThe principal productions of these towns,â says Mr. Pickwick, âappear to be soldiers, sailors, Jews, chalk, shrimps, officers, and dockyard men. The commodities chiefly exposed for sale in the public streets are marine stores, hard-bake, apples, flat-fish, and oysters. The streets present a lively and animated appearance, occasioned chiefly by the conviviality of the military. It is truly delightful to a philanthropic mind to see these gallant men staggering along under the influence of an overflow both of animal and ardent spirits; more especially when we remember that the following them about, and jesting with them, affords a cheap and innocent amusement for the boy population. Nothing,â adds Mr. Pickwick, âcan exceed their good-humour. It was but the day before my arrival that one of them had been most grossly insulted in the house of a publican. The barmaid had positively refused to draw him any more liquor; in return for which he had (merely in playfulness) drawn his bayonet, and wounded the girl in the shoulder. And yet this fine fellow was the very first to go down to the house next morning and express his readiness to overlook the matter, and forget what had occurred!
âThe consumption of
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