The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, v. 2 (of 2) Read online

  CHAPTER XXIII

  _In which Mr. Pickwick encounters an old Acquaintance. To which fortunate Circumstance the Reader is mainly indebted for Matter of thrilling Interest herein set down, concerning two great Public Men of Might and Power_

  The morning which broke upon Mr. Pickwick's sight, at eight o'clock,was not at all calculated to elevate his spirits, or to lessen thedepression which the unlooked-for result of his embassy inspired. Thesky was dark and gloomy, the air was damp and raw, the streets werewet and sloppy. The smoke hung sluggishly above the chimney-tops as ifit lacked the courage to rise, and the rain came slowly and doggedlydown, as if it had not even the spirit to pour. A game-cock in thestable-yard, deprived of every spark of his accustomed animation,balanced himself dismally on one leg in a corner; a donkey, moping withdrooping head under the narrow roof of an outhouse, appeared from hismeditative and miserable countenance to be contemplating suicide. Inthe street, umbrellas were the only things to be seen, and the clickingof pattens and splashing of rain-drops, were the only sounds to beheard.

  The breakfast was interrupted by very little conversation; even Mr.Bob Sawyer felt the influence of the weather, and the previous day'sexcitement. In his own expressive language he was "floored." So was Mr.Ben Allen. So was Mr. Pickwick.

  In protracted expectation of the weather clearing up, the last eveningpaper from London was read and re-read with an intensity of interestonly known in cases of extreme destitution; every inch of the carpetwas walked over, with similar perseverance; the windows were looked outof, often enough to justify the imposition of an additional duty uponthem; all kinds of topics of conversation were started and failed; andat length Mr. Pickwick, when noon had arrived, without a change for thebetter, rang the bell resolutely and ordered out the chaise.

  Although the roads were miry, and the drizzling rain came down harderthan it had done yet, and although the mud and wet splashed in at theopen windows of the carriage to such an extent that the discomfort wasalmost as great to the pair of insides as to the pair of outsides,still there was something in the motion, and the sense of being upand doing, which was so infinitely superior to being pent in a dullroom, looking at the dull rain dripping into a dull street, that theyall agreed, on starting, that the change was a great improvement, andwondered how they could possibly have delayed making it, as long asthey had done.

  When they stopped to change at Coventry, the steam ascended from thehorses in such clouds as wholly to obscure the hostler, whose voice washowever heard to declare from the mist, that he expected the first GoldMedal from the Humane Society on their next distribution of rewards,for taking the postboy's hat off; the water descending from the brimof which the invisible gentleman declared must inevitably have drownedhim (the postboy), but for his great presence of mind in tearing itpromptly from his head, and drying the gasping man's countenance with awisp of straw.

  "This is pleasant," said Bob Sawyer, turning up his coat collar, andpulling the shawl over his mouth to concentrate the fumes of a glass ofbrandy just swallowed.

  "Wery," replied Sam, composedly.

  "You don't seem to mind it?" observed Bob.

  "Vy, I don't exactly see no good my mindin' on it 'ud do, sir," repliedSam.

  "That's an unanswerable reason, anyhow," said Bob.

  "Yes, sir," rejoined Mr. Weller. "Wotever is, is right, as the youngnobleman sveetly remarked ven they put him down in the pension list'cos his mother's uncle's vife's grandfather vunce lit the king's pipevith a portable tinder-box."

  "Not a bad notion that, Sam," said Mr. Bob Sawyer, approvingly.

  "Just wot the young nobleman said ev'ry quarter-day arterward for therest of his life," replied Mr. Weller.

  "Wos you ever called in," inquired Sam, glancing at the driver, aftera short silence, and lowering his voice to a mysterious whisper, "wosyou ever called in, ven you wos 'prentice to a sawbones, to wisit apostboy?"

  "I don't remember that I ever was," replied Bob Sawyer.

  "You never see a postboy in that 'ere hospital as you _walked_ (as theysays o' the ghosts), did you?" demanded Sam.

  "No," replied Bob Sawyer. "I don't think I ever did."

  "Never know'd a churchyard vere there wos a postboy's tombstone, or seea dead postboy, did you?" inquired Sam, pursuing his catechism.

  "No," rejoined Bob, "I never did."

  "No!" rejoined Sam, triumphantly. "Nor never vill; and there's anotherthing that no man never see, and that's a dead donkey. No man never seea dead donkey, 'cept the gen'l'm'n in the black silk smalls as know'da young 'ooman as kep' a goat; and that wos a French donkey, so werylikely he warn't vun o' the reg'lar breed."

  "Well, what has that got to do with the postboys?" asked Bob Sawyer.

  "This here," replied Sam. "Without goin' so far as to as-sert, as somewery sensible people do, that postboys and donkeys is both immortal,wot I say is this; that venever they feels theirselves gettin' stiffand past their work, they just rides off together, vun postboy to apair in the usual way; wot becomes on 'em nobody knows, but it's weryprobable as they starts avay to take their pleasure in some otherworld, for there ain't a man alive as ever see, either a donkey or apostboy, a takin' his pleasure in this!"

  Expatiating upon this learned and remarkable theory, and citing manycurious statistical and other facts in its support, Sam Weller beguiledthe time until they reached Dunchurch, where a dry postboy and freshhorses were procured; the next stage was Daventry, and the nextTowcester; and at the end of each stage it rained harder than it haddone at the beginning.

  "I say," remonstrated Bob Sawyer, looking in at the coach window, asthey rolled up before the door of the Saracen's Head, Towcester, "thiswon't do, you know."

  "Bless me!" said Mr. Pickwick, just awakening from a nap, "I'm afraidyou're wet."

  "Oh you are, are you?" returned Bob. "Yes, I am, a little that way.Uncomfortably damp, perhaps."

  Bob did look dampish, inasmuch as the rain was streaming from his neck,elbows, cuffs, skirts, and knees; and his whole apparel shone so withthe wet, that it might have been mistaken for a full suit of preparedoilskin.

  "I _am_ rather wet," said Bob, giving himself a shake, and casting alittle hydraulic shower around, like a Newfoundland dog just emergedfrom the water.

  "I think it's quite impossible to go on to-night," interposed Ben.

  "Out of the question, sir," remarked Sam Weller, coming to assist inthe conference; "it's cruelty to animals, sir, to ask 'em to do it.There's beds here, sir," said Sam, addressing his master, "everythingclean and comfortable. Wery good little dinner, sir, they can get readyin half-an-hour--pair of fowls, sir, and a weal cutlet; French beans,'taturs, tart, and tidiness. You'd better stop vere you are sir, if Imight recommend. Take advice, sir, as the doctor said."

  The host of the Saracen's Head opportunely appeared at this moment,to confirm Mr. Weller's statement relative to the accommodations ofthe establishment, and to back his entreaties with a variety of dismalconjectures regarding the state of the roads, the doubt of fresh horsesbeing to be had at the next stage, the dead certainty of its rainingall night, the equally mortal certainty of its clearing up in themorning, and other topics of inducement familiar to innkeepers.

  "Well," said Mr. Pickwick; "but I must send a letter to London by someconveyance, so that it may be delivered the very first thing in themorning, or I must go forward at all hazards."

  The landlord smiled his delight. Nothing could be easier than for thegentleman to inclose a letter in a sheet of brown paper, and sendit on, either by the mail or the night coach from Birmingham. Ifthe gentleman were particularly anxious to have it left as soon aspossible, he might write outside, "To be delivered immediately," whichwas sure to be attended to; or "Pay the bearer half-a-crown extra forinstant delivery," which was surer still.

  "Very well," said Mr. Pickwick, "then we will stop here."

  "Lights in the Sun, John; make up the fire; the gentlemen are wet!"cried the landlord. "This way, gentlemen; don't trouble you
rselvesabout the postboy now, sir. I'll send him to you when you ring for him,sir. Now, John, the candles."

  The candles were brought, the fire was stirred up, and a fresh log ofwood thrown on. In ten minutes' time, a waiter was laying the cloth fordinner, the curtains were drawn, the fire was blazing brightly, andeverything looked (as everything always does, in all decent Englishinns) as if the travellers had been expected, and their comfortsprepared, for days beforehand.

  Mr. Pickwick sat down at a side table, and hastily indited a note toMr. Winkle, merely informing him that he was detained by stress ofweather, but would certainly be in London next day; until when hedeferred any account of his proceedings. This note was hastily madeinto a parcel, and dispatched to the bar per Mr. Samuel Weller.

  Sam left it with the landlady, and was returning to pull his master'sboots off, after drying himself by the kitchen fire, when, glancingcasually through a half-opened door, he was arrested by the sight ofa gentleman with a sandy head who had a large bundle of newspaperslying on the table before him, and was perusing the leading article ofone with a settled sneer which curled up his nose and all his otherfeatures into a majestic expression of haughty contempt.

  "Hallo!" said Sam, "I ought to know that 'ere head and them features;the eye-glass, too, and the broad-brimmed tile! Eatansvill to vit, orI'm a Roman."

  Sam was taken with a troublesome cough, at once, for the purpose ofattracting the gentleman's attention; the gentleman starting at thesound, raised his head and his eye-glass, and disclosed to view theprofound and thoughtful features of Mr. Pott, of the _EatanswillGazette_.

  "Beggin' your pardon, sir," said Sam, advancing with a bow, "mymaster's here, Mr. Pott."

  "Hush, hush!" cried Pott, drawing Sam into the room, and closing thedoor, with a countenance of mysterious dread and apprehension.

  "Wot's the matter, sir?" inquired Sam, looking vacantly about him.

  "Not a whisper of my name," replied Pott; "this is a buff neighbourhood.If the excited and irritable populace knew I was here, I should be tornto pieces."

  "No! Vould you, sir?" inquired Sam.

  "I should be the victim of their fury," replied Pott. "Now, young man,what of your master?"

  "He's a stopping here to-night on his vay to town, vith a couple offriends," replied Sam.

  "Is Mr. Winkle one of them?" inquired Pott, with a slight frown.

  "No, sir. Mr. Vinkle stops at home now," rejoined Sam. "He's married."

  "Married!" exclaimed Pott, with frightful vehemence. He stopped, smileddarkly, and added, in a low, vindictive tone: "It serves him right!"

  Having given vent to this cruel ebullition of deadly malice andcold-blooded triumph over a fallen enemy, Mr. Pott inquired whether Mr.Pickwick's friends were "blue"? Receiving a most satisfactory answerin the affirmative from Sam, who knew as much about the matter as Potthimself, he consented to accompany him to Mr. Pickwick's room, where ahearty welcome awaited him. An agreement to club dinners together wasat once made and ratified.

  "And how are matters going on in Eatanswill?" inquired Mr. Pickwick,when Pott had taken a seat near the fire, and the whole party had gottheir wet boots off, and dry slippers on. "Is the _Independent_ stillin being?"

  "The _Independent_, sir," replied Pott, "is still dragging on awretched and lingering career. Abhorred and despised by even the fewwho are cognizant of its miserable and disgraceful existence; stifledby the very filth it so profusely scatters; rendered deaf and blindby the exhalations of its own slime; the obscene journal, happilyunconscious of its degraded state, is rapidly sinking beneath thattreacherous mud which, while it seems to give it a firm standing withthe low and debased classes of society, is, nevertheless, rising aboveits detested head, and will speedily engulf it for ever."

  Having delivered this manifesto (which formed portion of his lastweek's leader) with a vehement articulation, the editor paused to takebreath and looked majestically at Bob Sawyer.

  "You are a young man, sir," said Pott.

  Mr. Bob Sawyer nodded.

  "So are you, sir," said Pott, addressing Mr. Ben Allen.

  Ben admitted the soft impeachment.

  "And are both deeply imbued with those blue principles, which, as longas I live, I have pledged myself to the people of these kingdoms tosupport and to maintain?" suggested Pott.

  "Why, I don't exactly know about that," replied Bob Sawyer. "I am----"

  "Not buff, Mr. Pickwick," interrupted Pott, drawing back his chair,"your friend is not buff, sir?"

  "No, no," rejoined Bob, "I'm a kind of plaid at present; a compound ofall sorts of colours."

  "A waverer," said Pott, solemnly, "a waverer. I should like to show youa series of eight articles, sir, that have appeared in the _EatanswillGazette_. I think I may venture to say that you would not be long inestablishing your opinions on a firm and solid blue basis, sir."

  "I dare say I should turn very blue, long before I got to the end ofthem," responded Bob.

  Mr. Pott looked dubiously at Bob Sawyer for some seconds, and, turningto Mr. Pickwick, said:

  "You have seen the literary articles which have appeared at intervalsin the _Eatanswill Gazette_ in the course of the last three months, andwhich have excited such general--I may say such universal--attentionand admiration?"

  "Why," replied Mr. Pickwick, slightly embarrassed by the question, "thefact is, I have been so much engaged in other ways, that I really havenot had an opportunity of perusing them."

  "You should do so, sir," said Pott, with a severe countenance.

  "I will," said Mr. Pickwick.

  "They appeared in the form of a copious review of a work on Chinesemetaphysics, sir," said Pott.

  "Oh," observed Mr. Pickwick; "from your pen, I hope?"

  "From the pen of my critic, sir," rejoined Pott, with dignity.

  "An abstruse subject, I should conceive," said Mr. Pickwick.

  "Very, sir," responded Pott, looking intensely sage. "He _crammed_ forit, to use a technical but expressive term; he read up for the subject,at my desire, in the _Encyclop?dia Britannica_."

  "Indeed!" said Mr. Pickwick. "I was not aware that that valuable workcontained any information respecting Chinese metaphysics."

  "He read, sir," rejoined Pott, laying his hand on Mr. Pickwick's knee,and looking round with a smile of intellectual superiority, "he readfor metaphysics under the letter M, and for China under the letter C,and combined his information, sir."

  Mr. Pott's features assumed so much additional grandeur at therecollection of the power and research displayed in the learnedeffusions in question, that some minutes elapsed before Mr. Pickwickfelt emboldened to renew the conversation; at length, as the editor'scountenance gradually relaxed into its customary expression of moralsupremacy, he ventured to resume the discourse by asking:

  "Is it fair to inquire what great object has brought you so far fromhome?"

  "That object which actuates and animates me in all my gigantic labours,sir," replied Pott, with a calm smile; "my country's good."

  "I supposed it was some public mission," observed Mr. Pickwick.

  "Yes, sir," resumed Pott, "it is." Here, bending towards Mr. Pickwick,he whispered in a deep, hollow voice, "A buff ball, sir, will takeplace in Birmingham to-morrow evening."

  "God bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.

  "Yes, sir, and supper," added Pott.

  "You don't say so!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick.

  Pott nodded portentously.

  Now, although Mr. Pickwick feigned to stand aghast at this disclosure,he was so little versed in local politics that he was unable to forman adequate comprehension of the importance of the dire conspiracy itreferred to; observing which, Mr. Pott, drawing forth the last numberof the _Eatanswill Gazette_, and referring to the same, deliveredhimself of the following paragraph:

  "+Hole-and-Corner Buffery.+

  "A reptile contemporary has recently sweltered forth his blackvenom in the vain and hopeless attempt of sullying the fair name ofour distinguished and exc
ellent representative, the Honourable Mr.Slumkey--that Slumkey whom we, long before he gained his present nobleand exalted position, predicted would one day be, as he now is, atonce his country's brightest honour, and her proudest boast: alikeher bold defender and her honest pride--our reptile contemporary, wesay, has made himself merry, at the expense of a superbly embossedplated coal-scuttle, which has been presented to that glorious manby his enraptured constituents, and towards the purchase of which,the nameless wretch insinuates, the Honourable Mr. Slumkey himselfcontributed, through a confidential friend of his butler's, more thanthree-fourths of the whole sum subscribed. Why, does not the crawlingcreature see, that even if this be the fact, the Honourable Mr. Slumkeyonly appears in a still more amiable and radiant light than before, ifthat be possible? Does not even _his_ obtuseness perceive that thisamiable and touching desire to carry out the wishes of the constituentbody, must for ever endear him to the hearts and souls of such ofhis fellow-townsmen as are not worse than swine; or, in other words,who are not as debased as our contemporary himself? But such is thewretched trickery of hole-and-corner Buffery! These are not its onlyartifices. Treason is abroad. We boldly state, now that we are goadedto the disclosure, and we throw ourselves on the country and itsconstables for protection--we boldly state that secret preparationsare at this moment in progress for a Buff ball; which is to be held ina Buff town, in the very heart and centre of a Buff population; whichis to be conducted by a Buff master of the ceremonies; which is to beattended by four ultra Buff members of Parliament, and the admission towhich is to be by Buff tickets! Does our fiendish contemporary wince?Let him writhe, in impotent malice, as we pen the words, +We will bethere.+"

  * * * * *

  "There, sir," said Pott, folding up the paper quite exhausted, "that isthe state of the case!"

  The landlord and waiter entering at the moment with dinner, caused Mr.Pott to put his finger on his lips, in token that he considered hislife in Mr. Pickwick's hands, and depended on his secrecy. Messrs. BobSawyer and Benjamin Allen, who had irreverently fallen asleep duringthe reading of the quotation from the _Eatanswill Gazette_, and thediscussion which followed it, were roused by the mere whispering of thetalismanic word "Dinner" in their ears: and to dinner they went withgood digestion waiting on appetite, and health on both, and a waiter onall three.

  In the course of the dinner and the sitting which succeeded it, Mr.Pott descending, for a few moments, to domestic topics, informed Mr.Pickwick that the air of Eatanswill not agreeing with his lady, she wasthen engaged in making a tour of different fashionable watering-placeswith a view to the recovery of her wonted health and spirits; thiswas a delicate veiling of the fact that Mrs. Pott, acting upon heroften-repeated threat of separation, had, in virtue of an arrangementnegotiated by her brother, the Lieutenant, and concluded by Mr. Pott,permanently retired with the faithful body-guard upon one moiety orhalf-part of the annual income and profits arising from the editorshipand sale of the _Eatanswill Gazette_.

  While the great Mr. Pott was dwelling upon this and other matters,enlivening the conversation from time to time with various extractsfrom his own lucubrations, a stern stranger, calling from the windowof a stage-coach, outward bound, which halted at the inn to deliverpackages, requested to know whether, if he stopped short on his journeyand remained there for the night, he could be furnished with thenecessary accommodation of a bed and bedstead.

  "Certainly, sir," replied the landlord.

  "I can, can I?" inquired the stranger, who seemed habitually suspiciousin look and manner.

  "No doubt of it, sir," replied the landlord.

  "Good," said the stranger. "Coachman, I get down here. Guard, mycarpet-bag!"

  Bidding the other passengers good night, in a rather snappish manner,the stranger alighted. He was a shortish gentleman, with very stiffblack hair cut in the porcupine or blacking-brush style, and standingstiff and straight all over his head; his aspect was pompous andthreatening; his manner was peremptory; his eyes were sharp andrestless; and his whole bearing bespoke a feeling of great confidencein himself, and a consciousness of immeasurable superiority over allother people.

  This gentleman was shown into the room originally assigned to thepatriotic Mr. Pott; and the waiter remarked, in dumb astonishment atthe singular coincidence, that he had no sooner lighted the candlesthan the gentleman, diving into his hat, drew forth a newspaper, andbegan to read it with the very same expression of indignant scorn,which, upon the majestic features of Pott, had paralysed his energiesan hour before. The man observed too, that whereas Mr. Pott's scorn hadbeen roused by a newspaper headed the _Eatanswill Independent_, thisgentleman's withering contempt was awakened by a newspaper entitled the_Eatanswill Gazette_.

  "Send the landlord," said the stranger.

  "Yes, sir," rejoined the waiter.

  The landlord was sent, and came.

  "Are you the landlord?" inquired the gentleman.

  "I am, sir," replied the landlord.

  "Do you know me?" demanded the gentleman.

  "I have not that pleasure, sir," rejoined the landlord.

  "My name is Slurk," said the gentleman.

  The landlord slightly inclined his head.

  "Slurk, sir," repeated the gentleman, haughtily. "Do you know me now,man?"

  The landlord scratched his head, looked at the ceiling, and at thestranger, and smiled feebly.

  "Do you know me, man?" inquired the stranger, angrily.

  The landlord made a strong effort, and at length replied: "Well, sir, Ido _not_ know you."

  "Great Heaven!" said the stranger, dashing his clenched fist upon thetable. "And this is popularity!"

  The landlord took a step or two towards the door; the stranger fixinghis eyes upon him, resumed:

  "This," said the stranger, "this is gratitude for years of labour andstudy in behalf of the masses. I alight wet and weary; no enthusiasticcrowds press forward to greet their champion; the church-bells aresilent; the very name elicits no responsive feeling in their torpidbosoms. It is enough," said the agitated Mr. Slurk, pacing to and fro,"to curdle the ink in one's pen, and induce one to abandon their causefor ever."

  "Did you say brandy and water, sir?" said the landlord, venturing ahint.

  "Rum," said Mr. Slurk, turning fiercely upon him. "Have you got a fireanywhere?"

  "We can light one directly, sir," said the landlord.

  "Which will throw out no heat until it is bed-time," interrupted Mr.Slurk. "Is there anybody in the kitchen?"

  Not a soul. There was a beautiful fire. Everybody had gone, and thehouse door was closed for the night.

  "I will drink my rum and water," said Mr. Slurk, "by the kitchen fire."So, gathering up his hat and newspaper, he stalked solemnly behind thelandlord to that humble apartment, and throwing himself on a settle bythe fireside, resumed his countenance of scorn, and began to read anddrink in silent dignity.

  Now, some demon of discord, flying over the Saracen's Head at thatmoment, on casting down his eyes in mere idle curiosity, happenedto behold Slurk established comfortably by the kitchen fire, andPott slightly elevated with wine in another room; upon which themalicious demon, darting down into the last-mentioned apartment withinconceivable rapidity, passed at once into the head of Mr. Bob Sawyer,and prompted him for his (the demon's) own evil purposes to speak asfollows:

  "I say, we've let the fire out. It's uncommonly cold after the rain,isn't it?"

  "It really is," replied Mr. Pickwick, shivering.

  "It wouldn't be a bad notion to have a cigar by the kitchen fire, wouldit?" said Bob Sawyer, still prompted by the demon aforesaid.

  "It would be particularly comfortable, _I_ think," replied Mr.Pickwick. "Mr. Pott, what do you say?"

  Mr. Pott yielded a ready assent; and all four travellers, each with hisglass in his hand, at once betook themselves to the kitchen, with SamWeller heading the procession to show them the way.

  The stranger was still reading; he looked up and starte
d. Mr. Pottstarted.

  "What's the matter?" whispered Mr. Pickwick.

  "That reptile!" replied Pott.

  "What reptile?" said Mr. Pickwick, looking about him for fear he shouldtread on some overgrown black beetle or dropsical spider.

  "That reptile," whispered Pott, catching Mr. Pickwick by the arm,and pointing towards the stranger. "That reptile Slurk, of the_Independent_!"

  "Perhaps we had better retire," whispered Mr. Pickwick.

  "Never, sir," rejoined Pott, pot-valiant in a double sense, "never."With these words, Mr. Pott took up his position on an opposite settle,and selecting one from a little bundle of newspapers began to readagainst his enemy.

  Mr. Pott, of course, read the _Independent_, and Mr. Slurk, of course,read the _Gazette_; and each gentleman audibly expressed his contemptof the other's compositions by bitter laughs and sarcastic sniffs;whence they proceeded to more open expressions of opinion, such as"absurd," "wretched," "atrocity," "humbug," "knavery," "dirt," "filth,""slime," "ditch-water," and other critical remarks of the like nature.

  Both Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Ben Allen had beheld these symptoms ofrivalry and hatred, with a degree of delight which imparted greatadditional relish to the cigars at which they were puffing mostvigorously. The moment they began to flag, the mischievous Mr. BobSawyer, addressing Slurk with great politeness, said:

  "Will you allow me to look at your paper, sir, when you have quite donewith it?"

  "You will find very little to repay you for your trouble in thiscontemptible _thing_, sir," replied Slurk, bestowing a Satanic frown onPott.

  "You shall have this presently," said Pott, looking up pale with rageand quivering in his speech from the same cause. "Ha! ha! you will beamused with this _fellow's_ audacity."

  Terrific emphasis was laid on this "thing" and "fellow;" and the facesof both editors began to glow with defiance.

  "The ribaldry of this miserable man is despicably disgusting," saidPott, pretending to address Bob Sawyer, and scowling upon Slurk.

  Here, Mr. Slurk laughed very heartily, and folding up the paper so asto get at a fresh column conveniently, said that the blockhead reallyamused him.

  "What an impudent blunderer this fellow is," said Pott, turning frompink to crimson.

  "Did you ever read any of this man's foolery, sir?" inquired Slurk, ofBob Sawyer.

  "Never," replied Bob; "is it very bad?"

  "Oh, shocking! shocking!" rejoined Slurk.

  "Really! Dear me, this is too atrocious!" exclaimed Pott, at thisjuncture; still feigning to be absorbed in his reading.

  "If you can wade through a few sentences of malice, meanness,falsehood, perjury, treachery, and cant," said Slurk, handing the paperto Bob, "you will, perhaps, be somewhat repaid by a laugh at the styleof this ungrammatical twaddler."

  "What's that you said, sir?" inquired Mr. Pott, looking up, tremblingall over with passion.

  "What's that to you, sir?" replied Slurk.

  "Ungrammatical twaddler, was it, sir?" said Pott.

  "Yes, sir, it was," replied Slurk; "and _blue bore_, sir, if you likethat better; ha! ha!"

  Mr. Pott retorted not a word to this jocose insult, but deliberatelyfolded up his copy of the _Independent_, flattened it carefully down,crushed it beneath his boot, spat upon it with great ceremony, andflung it into the fire.

  "There, sir," said Pott, retreating from the stove, "and that's the wayI would serve the viper who produces it, if I were not, fortunately forhim, restrained by the laws of my country."

  "Serve him so, sir!" cried Slurk, starting up. "Those laws shall neverbe appealed to by him, sir, in such a case. Serve him so, sir!"

  "Hear! hear!" said Bob Sawyer.

  "Nothing can be fairer," observed Mr. Ben Allen.

  "Serve him so, sir!" reiterated Slurk, in a loud voice.

  Mr. Pott darted a look of contempt, which might have withered an anchor.

  "Serve him so, sir!" reiterated Slurk, in a louder voice than before.

  "I will not, sir," rejoined Pott.

  "Oh, you won't, won't you, sir?" said Mr. Slurk, in a taunting manner;"you hear this, gentlemen! He won't; not that he's afraid; oh no! he_won't_. Ha! ha!"

  "I consider you, sir," said Mr. Pott, moved by this sarcasm, "Iconsider you a viper. I look upon you, sir, as a man who has placedhimself beyond the pale of society, by his most audacious, disgraceful,and abominable public conduct. I view you, sir, personally andpolitically, in no other light than as a most unparalleled andunmitigated viper."

  The indignant _Independent_ did not wait to hear the end of thispersonal denunciation; for, catching up his carpet-bag, which was wellstuffed with movables, he swung it in the air as Pott turned away,and, letting it fall with a circular sweep on his head, just at thatparticular angle of the bag where a good thick hair-brush happened tobe packed, caused a sharp crash to be heard throughout the kitchen andbrought him at once to the ground.

  "Gentlemen," cried Mr. Pickwick, as Pott started up andseized the fire-shovel, "gentlemen! Consider, for Heaven'ssake--help--Sam--here--pray, gentlemen--interfere, somebody."

  Uttering these incoherent exclamations, Mr. Pickwick rushed betweenthe infuriated combatants just in time to receive the carpet-bag onone side of his body, and the fire-shovel on the other. Whether therepresentatives of the public feeling of Eatanswill were blinded byanimosity, or (being both acute reasoners) saw the advantage of havinga third party between them to bear all the blows, certain it is thatthey paid not the slightest attention to Mr. Pickwick, but defyingeach other with great spirit, plied the carpet-bag and the fire-shovelmost fearlessly. Mr. Pickwick would unquestionably have sufferedseverely for his humane interference, if Mr. Weller, attracted by hismaster's cries, had not rushed in at the moment, and, snatching up ameal-sack, effectually stopped the conflict by drawing it over the headand shoulders of the mighty Pott, and clasping him tight round theshoulders.

  "Take avay that 'ere bag from t'other madman," said Sam to Ben Allenand Bob Sawyer, who had done nothing but dodge round the group, eachwith a tortoise-shell lancet in his hand, ready to bleed the first manstunned. "Give it up, you wretched little creetur, or I'll smother youin it."

  Awed by these threats, and quite out of breath, the _Independent_suffered himself to be disarmed; and Mr. Weller, removing theextinguisher from Pott, set him free with a caution.

  "You take yourself off to bed quietly," said Sam, "or I'll put you bothin it, and let you fight it out vith the mouth tied, as I vould a dozensich, if they played these games. And you have the goodness to comethis here vay, sir, if you please."

  Thus addressing his master, Sam took him by the arm, and led him off,while the rival editors were severally removed to their beds by thelandlord, under the inspection of Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. BenjaminAllen; breathing, as they went away, many sanguinary threats, andmaking vague appointments for mortal combat next day. When they came tothink it over, however, it occurred to them that they could do it muchbetter in print, so they recommenced deadly hostilities without delay;and all Eatanswill rung with their boldness on paper.

  They had taken themselves off in separate coaches, early next morning,before the other travellers were stirring; and the weather having nowcleared up, the chaise companions once more turned their faces toLondon.