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The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club. Volume 2 of 2

“You are a little rebel,” replied Wardle in the same tone, “and I am afraid I shall be obliged to forbid you the house. People like you, who get married in spite of everybody, ought not to be let loose on society. But come!” added the old gentleman, aloud, “here’s the dinner, you shall sit by me. Joe; why, damn the boy, he’s awake!”

To the great distress of his master, the fat boy was indeed in a state of remarkable vigilance; his eyes being wide open, and looking as if they intended to remain so. There was an alacrity in his manner, too, which was equally unaccountable; every time his eyes met those of Emily or Arabella, he smirked and grinned: once Wardle could have sworn he saw him wink.

This alteration in the fat boy’s demeanour originated in his increased sense of his own importance, and the dignity he acquired from having been taken into the confidence of the young ladies; and the smirks, and grins, and winks, were so many condescending assurances that they might depend upon his fidelity. As these tokens were rather calculated to awaken suspicion than to allay it, and were somewhat embarrassing besides, they were occasionally answered by a frown or shake of the head from Arabella, which the fat boy considering as hints to be on his guard, expressed his perfect understanding of, by smirking, grinning, and winking, with redoubled assiduity.

“Joe,” said Mr. Wardle, after an unsuccessful search in all his pockets, “is my snuff-box on the sofa?”

“No, sir,” replied the fat boy.

“Oh, I recollect; I left it on my dressing-table this morning,” said Wardle. “Run into the next room and fetch it.”

The fat boy went into the next room; and having been absent about a minute, returned with the snuff-box, and the palest face that ever a fat boy wore.

“What’s the matter with the boy!” exclaimed Wardle.

“Nothen’s the matter with me,” replied Joe, nervously.

“Have you been seeing any spirits?” inquired the old gentleman.

“Or taking any?” added Ben Allen.

“I think you’re right,” whispered Wardle, across the table. “He is intoxicated, I’m sure.”

Ben Allen replied that he thought he was; and as that gentleman had seen a vast deal of the disease in question, Wardle was confirmed in an impression which had been hovering about his mind for half an hour, and at once arrived at the conclusion that the fat boy was drunk.

“Just keep your eye upon him for a few minutes,” murmured Wardle. “We shall soon find out whether he is or not.”

The unfortunate youth had only interchanged a dozen words with Mr. Snodgrass: that gentleman having implored him to make a private appeal to some friend to release him, and then pushed him out with the snuff-box, lest his prolonged absence should lead to a discovery. He ruminated a little with a most disturbed expression of face, and left the room in search of Mary.

But Mary had gone home after dressing her mistress, and the fat boy came back again more disturbed than before.

Wardle and Mr. Ben Allen exchanged glances.

“Joe!” said Wardle.

“Yes, sir.”

“What did you go away for?”

The fat boy looked hopelessly in the face of everybody at table and stammered out that he didn’t know.

“Oh,” said Wardle, “you don’t know, eh? Take this cheese to Mr. Pickwick.”

Now, Mr. Pickwick being in the very best health and spirits, had been making himself perfectly delightful all dinner-time, and was at this moment engaged in an energetic conversation with Emily and Mr. Winkle: bowing his head, courteously, in the emphasis of his discourse, gently waving his left hand to lend force to his observations, and all glowing with placid smiles. He took a piece of cheese from the plate, and was on the point of turning round to renew the conversation, when the fat boy, stooping so as to bring his head on a level with that of Mr. Pickwick, pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, and made the most horrible and hideous face that was ever seen out of a Christmas pantomime.

“Dear me!” said Mr. Pickwick, starting, “what a very – eh?” He stopped, for the fat boy had drawn himself up, and was, or pretended to be, fast asleep.

“What’s the matter?” inquired Wardle.

“This is such an extremely singular lad!” replied Mr. Pickwick, looking uneasily at the boy. “It seems an odd thing to say, but upon my word I am afraid that, at times, he is a little deranged.”

“Oh! Mr. Pickwick, pray don’t say so,” cried Emily and Arabella, both at once.

“I am not certain, of course,” said Mr. Pickwick, amidst profound silence, and looks of general dismay; “but his manner to me this moment was really very alarming. Oh!” ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, suddenly jumping up with a short scream. “I beg your pardon, ladies, but at that moment he ran some sharp instrument into my leg. Really he is not safe.”

“He’s drunk,” roared old Wardle, passionately. “Ring the bell! Call the waiters! He’s drunk.”

“I ain’t,” said the fat boy, falling on his knees as his master seized him by the collar. “I ain’t drunk.”

“Then you’re mad; that’s worse. Call the waiters,” said the old gentleman.

“I ain’t mad; I’m sensible,” rejoined the fat boy, beginning to cry.

“Then, what the devil do you run sharp instruments into Mr. Pickwick’s legs for?” inquired Wardle, angrily.

“He wouldn’t look at me,” replied the boy. “I wanted to speak to him.”

“What did you want to say?” asked half a dozen voices at once.

The fat boy gasped, looked at the bedroom door, gasped again, and wiped two tears away with the knuckle of each of his forefingers.

“What did you want to say?” demanded Wardle, shaking him.

“Stop!” said Mr. Pickwick; “allow me. What did you wish to communicate to me, my poor boy?”

“I want to whisper to you,” replied the fat boy.

“You want to bite his ear off, I suppose,” said Wardle. “Don’t come near him; he’s vicious; ring the bell and let him be taken down-stairs.”

Just as Mr. Winkle caught the bell rope in his hand, it was arrested by a general expression of astonishment; the captive lover, his face burning with confusion, suddenly walked in from the bedroom, and made a comprehensive bow to the company.

“Hallo!” cried Wardle, releasing the fat boy’s collar, and staggering back. “What’s this!”

“I have been concealed in the next room, sir, since you returned,” explained Mr. Snodgrass.

“Emily, my girl,” said Wardle, reproachfully, “I detest meanness and deceit; this is unjustifiable and indelicate in the highest degree. I don’t deserve this at your hands, Emily, indeed!”

“Dear papa,” said Emily, “Arabella knows – everybody here knows – Joe knows – that I was no party to this concealment. Augustus, for Heaven’s sake, explain it!”

Mr. Snodgrass, who had only waited for a hearing, at once recounted how he had been placed in his then distressing predicament; how the fear of giving rise to domestic dissensions had alone prompted him to avoid Mr. Wardle on his entrance; how he merely meant to depart by another door, but, finding it locked, had been compelled to stay against his will. It was a painful situation to be placed in; but he now regretted it the less, inasmuch as it afforded him an opportunity of acknowledging, before their mutual friends, that he loved Mr. Wardle’s daughter, deeply and sincerely; that he was proud to avow that the feeling was mutual; and that if thousands of miles were placed between them, or oceans rolled their waters, he could never for an instant forget those happy days, when first – and so on.

Having delivered himself to this effect, Mr. Snodgrass bowed again, looked into the crown of his hat, and stepped towards the door.

“Stop!” shouted Wardle. “Why in the name of all that’s – ”

“Inflammable,” mildly suggested Mr. Pickwick, who thought something worse was coming.

“Well – that’s inflammable,” said Wardle, adopting the substitute, “couldn’t you say all this to me in the first instance?”

“Or confide in me?” added Mr. Pickwick.

“Dear, dear,” said Arabella, taking up the defence, “what is the use of asking all that now, especially when you know you had set your covetous old heart on a richer son-in-law, and are so wild and fierce besides, that everybody is afraid of you, except me. Shake hands with him, and order him some dinner, for goodness gracious sake, for he looks half-starved; and pray have your wine up at once, for you’ll not be tolerable until you have taken two bottles at least.”

The worthy old gentleman pulled Arabella’s ear, kissed her without the smallest scruple, kissed his daughter also with great affection, and shook Mr. Snodgrass warmly by the hand.

“She is right on one point at all events,” said the old gentleman, cheerfully. “Ring for the wine!”

The wine came, and Perker came up-stairs at the same moment. Mr. Snodgrass had dinner at a side table, and, when he had despatched it, drew his chair next Emily, without the smallest opposition on the old gentleman’s part.

The evening was excellent. Little Mr. Perker came out wonderfully, told various comic stories, and sang a serious song which was almost as funny as the anecdotes. Arabella was very charming, Mr. Wardle very jovial, Mr. Pickwick very harmonious, Mr. Ben Allen very uproarious, the lovers very silent, Mr. Winkle very talkative, and all of them very happy.

CHAPTER XXVII
Solomon Pell, assisted by a Select Committee of Coachmen, arranges the Affairs of the Elder Mr. Weller

“Samivel,” said Mr. Weller, accosting his son on the morning after the funeral, “I’ve found it, Sammy. I thought it wos there.”

“Thought vot wos were?” inquired Sam.

“Your mother-in-law’s vill, Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller. “In wirtue o’ wich, them arrangements is to be made as I told you on, last night, respectin’ the funs.”

“Wot, didn’t she tell you vere it wos?” inquired Sam.

“Not a bit on it, Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller. “We wos a adjestin’ our little differences, and I wos a cheerin’ her spirits and bearin’ her up, so that I forgot to ask anythin’ about it. I don’t know as I should ha’ done it indeed, if I had remembered it,” added Mr. Weller, “for it’s a rum sort o’ thing, Sammy, to go a hankerin’ arter anybody’s property, ven you’re assistin’ ’em in illness. It’s like helping an outside passenger up, ven he’s been pitched off a coach, and puttin’ your hand in his pocket, vile you ask him vith a sigh how he finds hisself, Sammy.”

With this figurative illustration of his meaning, Mr. Weller unclasped his pocket-book, and drew forth a dirty sheet of letter paper, on which were inscribed various characters crowded together in remarkable confusion.

“This here is the dockyment, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller. “I found it in the little black teapot, on the top shelf o’ the bar closet. She used to keep bank notes there, ‘afore she vos married, Samivel. I’ve seen her take the lid off, to pay a bill, many and many a time. Poor creetur, she might ha’ filled all the teapots in the house vith vills, and not have inconwenienced herself neither, for she took wery little of anythin’ in that vay lately, ’cept on the Temperance nights, ven they fust laid a foundation o’ tea to put the spirits a-top on!”

“What does it say?” inquired Sam.

“Jist vot I told you, my boy,” rejoined his parent. “Two hundred pound vurth o’ reduced counsels to my son-in-law, Samivel, and all the rest o’ my property, of ev’ry kind and description votsoever to my husband, Mr. Tony Veller, who I appint as my sole eggzekiter.”

“That’s all, is it?” said Sam.

“That’s all,” replied Mr. Weller. “And I s’pose as it’s all right and satisfactory to you and me as is the only parties interested, ve may as vell put this bit o’ paper into the fire.”

“Wot are you a-doin’ on, you lunatic?” said Sam, snatching the paper away, as his parent, in all innocence, stirred the fire preparatory to suiting the action to the word. “You’re a nice eggzeketir, you are.”

“Vy not?” inquired Mr. Weller, looking sternly round, with the poker in his hand.

“Vy not!” exclaimed Sam. “’Cos it must be proved, and probated, and swore to, and all manner o’ formalities.”

“You don’t mean that?” said Mr. Weller, laying down the poker.

Sam buttoned the will carefully in a side pocket; intimating by a look meanwhile, that he did mean it, and very seriously too.

“Then I’ll tell you wot it is,” said Mr. Weller, after a short meditation, “this is a case for that ’ere confidential pal o’ the Chancellorship’s. Pell must look into this, Sammy. He’s the man for a difficult question at law. Ve’ll have this here brought afore the Solvent Court directly, Samivel.”

“I never did see such a addle-headed old creetur!” exclaimed Sam, irritably, “Old Baileys, and Solvent Courts, and alleybis, and ev’ry species o’ gammon alvays a-runnin’ through his brain! You’d better get your out o’ door clothes on, and come to town about this bisness, than stand a-preachin’ there about wot you don’t understand nothin’ on.”

“Wery good, Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller, “I’m quite agreeable to anythin’ as vill hexpedite business, Sammy. But mind this here, my boy, nobody but Pell – nobody but Pell as a legal adwiser.”

“I don’t want anybody else,” replied Sam. “Now are you a-comin’?”

“Vait a minute, Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller, who, having tied his shawl with the aid of a small glass that hung in the window, was now, by dint of the most wonderful exertions, struggling into his upper garments. “Vait a minit, Sammy; ven you grow as old as your father, you von’t get into your veskit quite as easy as you do now, my boy.”

“If I couldn’t get into it easier than that, I’m blessed if I’d vear vun at all,” rejoined his son.

“You think so now,” said Mr. Weller, with the gravity of age, “but you’ll find that as you get vider, you’ll get viser. Vidth and visdom, Sammy, alvays grows together.”

As Mr. Weller delivered this infallible maxim – the result of many years’ personal experience and observation – he contrived, by a dexterous twist of his body, to get the bottom button of his coat to perform its office. Having paused a few seconds to recover breath, he brushed his hat with his elbow, and declared himself ready.

“As four heads is better than two, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, as they drove along the London Road in the chaise cart, “and as all this here property is a wery great temptation to a legal gen’l’m’n, ve’ll take a couple o’ friends o’ mine vith us, as’ll be wery soon down upon him if he comes anythin’ irreg’lar; two o’ them as saw you to the Fleet that day. They’re the wery best judges,” added Mr. Weller in a half whisper, “the wery best judges of a horse, you ever know’d.”

“And of a lawyer too?” inquired Sam.

“The man as can form a ackerate judgment of a animal, can form a ackerate judgment of anythin’,” replied his father; so dogmatically, that Sam did not attempt to controvert the position.

In pursuance of this notable resolution the services of the mottled-faced gentleman and of two other very fat coachmen – selected by Mr. Weller, probably with a view to their width and consequent wisdom – were put into requisition; and this assistance having been secured, the party proceeded to the public-home in Portugal Street, whence a messenger was despatched to the Insolvent Court over the way, requiring Mr. Solomon Pell’s immediate attendance.

The messenger fortunately found Mr. Solomon Pell in court, regaling himself, business being rather slack, with a cold collation of an Abernethy biscuit and a saveloy. The message was no sooner whispered in his ear than he thrust them in his pocket among various professional documents, and hurried over the way with such alacrity that he reached the parlour before the messenger had even emancipated himself from the court.

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Pell, touching his hat, “my service to you all. I don’t say it to flatter you, gentlemen, but there are not five other men in the world, that I’d have come out of that court for, to-day.”

“So busy, eh?” said Sam.

“Busy!” replied Pell; “I’m completely sewn up, as my friend the late Lord Chancellor many a time used to say to me, gentlemen, when he came out from hearing appeals in the House of Lords. Poor fellow! he was very susceptible of fatigue; he used to feel those appeals uncommonly. I actually thought more than once that he’d have sunk under ’em; I did indeed.”

Here Mr. Pell shook his head and paused; on which, the elder Mr. Weller, nudging his neighbour, as begging him to mark the attorney’s high connections, asked whether the duties in question produced any permanent ill effects on the constitution of his noble friend.

“I don’t think he ever quite recovered them,” replied Pell; “in fact I’m sure he never did. ‘Pell,’ he used to say to me many a time, ‘how the blazes you can stand the head-work you do, is a mystery to me.’ – ‘Well,’ I used to answer, ‘I hardly know how I do it, upon my life.’ – ‘Pell,’ he’d add, sighing, and looking at me with a little envy – friendly envy, you know, gentlemen, mere friendly envy; I never minded it – ‘Pell, you’re a wonder; a wonder.’ Ah! you’d have liked him very much if you had known him, gentlemen. Bring me three penn’orth of rum, my dear.”

Addressing this latter remark to the waitress in a tone of subdued grief, Mr. Pell sighed, looked at his shoes, and the ceiling; and, the rum having by that time arrived, drunk it up.

“However,” said Pell, drawing a chair to the table, “a professional man has no right to think of his private friendships when his legal assistance is wanted. By-the-bye, gentlemen, since I saw you here before, we have had to weep over a very melancholy occurrence.”

Mr. Pell drew out a pocket-handkerchief, when he came to the word weep, but he made no further use of it than to wipe away a slight tinge of rum which hung upon his upper lip.

“I saw it in the Advertiser, Mr. Weller,” continued Pell. “Bless my soul, not more than fifty-two! Dear me – only think.”

These indications of a musing spirit were addressed to the mottled-faced man, whose eyes Mr. Pell had accidentally caught; on which, the mottled-faced man, whose apprehension of matters in general was of a foggy nature, moved uneasily in his seat, and opined that indeed, so far as that went, there was no saying how things was brought about; which observation, involving one of those subtle propositions which it is so difficult to encounter in argument, was controverted by nobody.

“I have heard it remarked that she was a very fine woman, Mr. Weller,” said Pell in a sympathising manner.

“Yes, sir, she wos,” replied the elder Mr. Weller, not much relishing this mode of discussing the subject, and yet thinking that the attorney, from his long intimacy with the late Lord Chancellor, must know best on all matters of polite breeding. “She wos a wery fine ’ooman, sir, ven I first know’d her. She wos a widder sir, at that time.”

“Now, it’s curious,” said Pell, looking round with a sorrowful smile; “Mrs. Pell was a widow.”

“That’s very extraordinary,” said the mottled-faced man.

“Well, it is a curious coincidence,” said Pell.

“Not at all,” gruffly remarked the elder Mr. Weller. “More widders is married than single wimin.”

“Very good, very good,” said Pell, “you’re quite right, Mr. Weller. Mrs. Pell was a very elegant and accomplished woman; her manners were the theme of universal admiration in our neighbourhood. I was proud to see that woman dance; there was something so firm and dignified, and yet natural in her motion. Her cutting, gentlemen, was simplicity itself. Ah! well, well! Excuse my asking the question, Mr. Samuel,” continued the attorney in a lower voice, “was your mother-in-law tall?”

“Not wery,” replied Sam.

“Mrs. Pell was a tall figure,” said Pell, “a splendid woman, with a noble shape, and a nose, gentlemen, formed to command and be majestic. She was very much attached to me – very much – highly connected, too. Her mother’s brother, gentlemen, failed for eight hundred pounds, as a Law Stationer.”

“Vell,” said Mr. Weller, who had grown rather restless during this discussion, “vith regard to bis’ness.”

The word was music to Pell’s ears. He had been revolving in his mind whether any business was to be transacted, or whether he had been merely invited to partake of a glass of brandy and water, or a bowl of punch, or any similar professional compliment, and now the doubt was set at rest without his appearing at all eager for its solution. His eyes glistened as he laid his hat on the table, and said:

“What is the business upon which – um? Either of these gentlemen wish to go through the court? We require an arrest; a friendly arrest will do, you know; we are all friends here, I suppose?”

“Give me the dockyment, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, taking the will from his son, who appeared to enjoy the interview amazingly. “Wot we rekvire, sir, is a probe o’ this here.”

“Probate, my dear sir, probate,” said Pell.

“Well, sir,” replied Mr. Weller sharply, “probe and probe it, is wery much the same; if you don’t understand wot I mean, sir, I dessay I can find them as does.”

“No offence, I hope, Mr. Weller,” said Pell, meekly. “You are the executor, I see,” he added, casting his eyes over the paper.

“I am, sir,” replied Mr. Weller.

“These other gentlemen, I presume, are legatees, are they?” inquired Pell with a congratulatory smile.

“Sammy is a leg-at-ease,” replied Mr. Weller; “these other gen’l’m’n is friends o’ mine, just come to see fair; a kind of umpires.”

“Oh!” said Pell, “very good. I have no objections, I’m sure. I shall want a matter of five pound of you before I begin, ha! ha! ha!”

It being decided by the committee that the five pound might be advanced, Mr. Weller produced that sum; after which, a long consultation about nothing particular took place, in the course whereof Mr. Pell demonstrated to the perfect satisfaction of the gentlemen who saw fair, that unless the management of the business had been entrusted to him, it must all have gone wrong, for reasons not clearly made out, but no doubt sufficient. This important point being dispatched, Mr. Pell refreshed himself with three chops, and liquids both malt and spirituous, at the expense of the estate, and then they all went away to Doctors’ Commons.

The next day, there was another visit to Doctors’ Commons, and a great to-do with an attesting hostler, who, being inebriated, declined swearing anything but profane oaths, to the great scandal of a proctor and surrogate. Next week, there were more visits to Doctors’ Commons, and there was a visit to the Legacy Duty Office besides, and there were treaties entered into, for the disposal of the lease and business, and ratifications of the same, and inventories to be made out, and lunches to be taken, and dinners to be eaten, and so many profitable things to be done, and such a mass of papers accumulated, that Mr. Solomon Pell, and the boy, and the blue bag to boot, all got so stout that scarcely anybody would have known them for the same man, boy, and bag, that had loitered about Portugal Street, a few days before.

At length all these weighty matters being arranged, a day was fixed for selling out and transferring the stock, and of waiting with that view upon Wilkins Flasher, Esq., stock-broker, of somewhere near the Bank, who had been recommended by Mr. Solomon Pell for the purpose.

It was a kind of festive occasion, and the parties were attired accordingly. Mr. Weller’s tops were newly cleaned and his dress was arranged with peculiar care; the mottled-faced gentleman wore at his button-hole a full-sized dahlia with several leaves; and the coats of his two friends were adorned with nosegays of laurel and other evergreens. All three were habited in strict holiday costume; that is to say, they were wrapped up to the chins, and wore as many clothes as possible, which is, and has been, a stage-coachman’s idea of full dress ever since stage-coaches were invented.

Mr. Pell was waiting at the usual place of meeting at the appointed time; even Mr. Pell wore a pair of gloves and a clean shirt much frayed at the collar and wristbands by frequent washings.

“A quarter to two,” said Pell, looking at the parlour clock. “If we are with Mr. Flasher at a quarter past, we shall just hit the best time.”

“What should you say to a drop o’ beer, gen’l’m’n?” suggested the mottled-faced man.

“And a little bit of cold beef,” said the second coachman.

“Or a oyster,” added the third, who was a hoarse gentleman supported by very round legs.

“Hear, hear!” said Pell; “to congratulate Mr. Weller, on his coming into possession of his property: eh? ha! ha!”

“I’m quite agreeable, gen’l’m’n,” answered Mr. Weller. “Sammy, pull the bell.”

Sam complied; and the porter, cold beef, and oysters being promptly produced, the lunch was done ample justice to. Where everybody took so active a part, it is almost invidious to make a distinction; but if one individual evinced greater powers than another, it was the coachman with the hoarse voice, who took an imperial pint of vinegar with his oysters, without betraying the least emotion.

“Mr. Pell, sir,” said the elder Mr. Weller, stirring a glass of brandy and water, of which one was placed before every gentleman when the oyster shells were removed, “Mr. Pell, sir, it wos my intention to have proposed the funs on this occasion, but Samivel has vispered to me – ”

Here Mr. Samuel Weller, who had silently eaten his oysters with tranquil smiles, cried “Hear!” in a very loud voice.

“ – Has vispered to me,” resumed his father, “that it vould be better to dewote the liquor to vishin’ you success and prosperity, and thankin’ you for the manner in which you’ve brought this here business through. Here’s your health, sir.”

“Hold hard there,” interposed the mottled-faced gentleman, with sudden energy, “your eyes on me, gen’l’m’n!”

Saying this, the mottled-faced gentleman rose, as did the other gentlemen. The mottled-faced gentleman reviewed the company, and slowly lifted his hand, upon which every man (including him of the mottled countenance) drew a long breath, and lifted his tumbler to his lips. In one instant the mottled-faced gentleman depressed his hand again, and every glass was set down empty. It is impossible to describe the thrilling effect produced by this striking ceremony. At once dignified, solemn, and impressive, it combined every element of grandeur.

“Well, gentlemen,” said Mr. Pell, “all I can say is, that such marks of confidence must be very gratifying to a professional man. I don’t wish to say anything that might appear egotistical, gentlemen, but I’m very glad, for your own sakes, that you came to me; that’s all. If you had gone to any low member of the profession, it’s my firm conviction, and I assure you of it as a fact, that you would have found yourselves in Queer Street before this. I could have wished my noble friend had been alive to have seen my management of this case. I don’t say it out of pride, but I think – however, gentlemen, I won’t trouble you with that. I am generally to be found here, gentlemen, but if I’m not here, or over the way, that’s my address. You’ll find my terms very cheap and reasonable, and no man attends more to his clients than I do, and I hope I know a little of my profession besides. If you have any opportunity of recommending me to any of your friends, gentlemen, I shall be very much obliged to you, and so will they too, when they come to know me. Your healths, gentlemen.”

With this expression of his feelings, Mr. Solomon Pell laid three small written cards before Mr. Weller’s friends, and, looking at the clock again, feared it was time to be walking. Upon this hint Mr. Weller settled the bill, and, issuing forth, the executor, legatee, attorney, and umpires, directed their steps towards the City.

The office of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, of the Stock Exchange, was in a first floor up a court behind the Bank of England; the house of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was at Brixton, Surrey; the horse and stanhope of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, were at an adjacent livery stable; the groom of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was on his way to the West End to deliver some game; the clerk of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, had gone to his dinner, and Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, himself, cried, “Come in,” when Mr. Pell and his companions knocked at the counting-house door.

“Good morning, sir,” said Pell, bowing obsequiously. “We want to make a little transfer, if you please.”

“Oh, come in, will you?” said Mr. Flasher. “Sit down a minute; I’ll attend to you directly.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Pell, “there’s no hurry. Take a chair, Mr. Weller.”

Mr. Weller took a chair, and Sam took a box, and the umpires took what they could get, and looked at the almanack and one or two papers which were wafered against the wall, with as much open-eyed reverence as if they had been the finest efforts of the old masters.

“Well, I’ll bet you half a dozen of claret on it; come!” said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, resuming the conversation to which Mr. Pell’s entrance had caused a momentary interruption.

This was addressed to a very smart young gentleman who wore his hat on his right whisker, and was lounging over the desk, killing flies with a ruler. Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was balancing himself on two legs of an office stool, spearing a wafer-box with a pen-knife, which he dropped every now and then with great dexterity into the very centre of a small red wafer that was stuck outside. Both gentlemen had very open waistcoats and very rolling collars, and very small boots, and very big rings, and very little watches, and very large guard chains, and symmetrical inexpressibles, and scented pocket-handkerchiefs.

“I never bet half a dozen,” said the other gentleman. “I’ll take a dozen.”

“Done, Simmery, done!” said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. “P. P., mind,” observed the other.

“Of course,” replied Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, entered it in a little book, with a gold pencil-case, and the other gentleman entered it also, in another little book with another gold pencil-case.

“I see there’s a notice up this morning about Boffer,” observed Mr. Simmery. “Poor devil, he’s expelled the house!”

“I’ll bet you ten guineas to five he cuts his throat,” said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.

“Stop! I bar,” said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, thoughtfully. “Perhaps he may hang himself.”