CHAPTER XXVII
_Samuel Weller makes a Pilgrimage to Dorking, and beholds his Mother-in-law_
There still remaining an interval of two days before the time agreedupon for the departure of the Pickwickians to Dingley Dell, Mr. Wellersat himself down in a back room at the George and Vulture, aftereating an early dinner, to muse on the best way of disposing of histime. It was a remarkably fine day; and he had not turned the matterover in his mind ten minutes, when he was suddenly stricken filial andaffectionate; and it occurred to him so strongly that he ought to godown and see his father, and pay his duty to his mother-in-law, thathe was lost in astonishment at his own remissness in never thinking ofthis moral obligation before. Anxious to atone for his past neglectwithout another hour's delay, he straightway walked up the stairs toMr. Pickwick, and requested leave of absence for this laudable purpose.
"Certainly, Sam, certainly," said Mr. Pickwick, his eyes glisteningwith delight at this manifestation of filial feeling on the part of hisattendant; "certainly, Sam."
Mr. Weller made a grateful bow.
"I am very glad to see that you have so high a sense of your duties asa son, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick.
"I always had, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
"That's a very gratifying reflection, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick,approvingly.
"Wery, sir," replied Mr. Weller; "if ever I wanted anythin' o' myfather, I always asked for it in a very 'spectful and obligin' manner.If he didn't give it me, I took it, for fear I should be led to doanythin' wrong, through not havin' it. I saved him a world o' troublein this vay, sir."
"That's not precisely what I meant, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, shakinghis head, with a slight smile.
"All good feeling, sir--the wery best intentions, as the gen'lm'nsaid ven he run away from his wife 'cos she seemed unhappy with him,"replied Mr. Weller.
"You may go, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Thank'ee, sir," replied Mr. Weller; and having made his best bow, andput on his best clothes, Sam planted himself on the top of the Arundelcoach, and journeyed on to Dorking.
The Marquis of Granby in Mrs. Weller's time was quite a model of aroadside public-house of the better class--just large enough to beconvenient, and small enough to be snug. On the opposite side of theroad was a large sign-board on a high post, representing the head andshoulders of a gentleman with an apoplectic countenance, in a redcoat with deep blue facings, and a touch of the same blue over histhree-cornered hat, for a sky. Over that again were a pair of flags;beneath the last button of his coat were a couple of cannon; and thewhole formed an expressive and undoubted likeness of the Marquis ofGranby of glorious memory.
The bar window displayed a choice collection of geranium plants, and awell-dusted row of spirit phials. The open shutters bore a variety ofgolden inscriptions, eulogistic of good beds and neat wines; and thechoice group of countrymen and hostlers lounging about the stable-doorand horse-trough, afforded presumptive proof of the excellent qualityof the ale and spirits which were sold within. Sam Weller paused, whenhe dismounted from the coach, to note all these little indications of athriving business, with the eye of an experienced traveller; and havingdone so, stepped in at once, highly satisfied with everything he hadobserved.
"Now, then!" said a shrill female voice the instant Sam thrust his headin at the door, "what do you want, young man?"
Sam looked round in the direction whence the voice proceeded. It camefrom a rather stout lady of comfortable appearance, who was seatedbeside the fire-place, in the bar, blowing the fire to make thekettle boil for tea. She was not alone; for on the other side of thefire-place, sitting bolt upright in a high-backed chair, was a man inthreadbare black clothes, with a back almost as long and stiff as thatof the chair itself, who caught Sam's most particular and especialattention at once.
He was a prim-faced, red-nosed man, with a long, thin countenance, anda semi-rattlesnake sort of eye--rather sharp, but decidedly bad. Hewore very short trousers, and black cotton stockings, which, like therest of his apparel, were particularly rusty. His looks were starched,but his white neckerchief was not, and its long limp ends straggledover his closely-buttoned waistcoat in a very uncouth and unpicturesquefashion. A pair of old, worn beaver gloves, a broad-brimmed hat, anda faded green umbrella, with plenty of whalebone sticking through thebottom, as if to counter-balance the want of a handle at the top, layon a chair beside him, and, being disposed in a very tidy and carefulmanner, seemed to imply that the red-nosed man, whoever he was, had nointention of going away in a hurry.
To do the red-nosed man justice, he would have been very far fromwise if he had entertained any such intention; for, to judge from allappearances, he must have been possessed of a most desirable circleof acquaintance, if he could have reasonably expected to be morecomfortable anywhere else. The fire was blazing brightly under theinfluence of the bellows, and the kettle was singing gaily under theinfluence of both. A small tray of tea-things was arranged on thetable, a plate of hot buttered toast was gently simmering before thefire, and the red-nosed man himself was busily engaged in convertinga large slice of bread into the same agreeable edible, through theinstrumentality of a long brass toasting-fork. Beside him stood a glassof reeking hot pine-apple rum and water, with a slice of lemon in it;and every time the red-nosed man stopped to bring the round of toastto his eye, with the view of ascertaining how it got on, he imbibed adrop or two of the hot pine-apple rum and water, and smiled upon therather stout lady, as she blew the fire.
Sam was so lost in the contemplation of this comfortable scene, that hesuffered the first inquiry of the rather stout lady to pass unheeded.It was not until it had been twice repeated, each time in a shrillertone, that he became conscious of the impropriety of his behaviour.
"Governor in?" inquired Sam, in reply to the question.
"No, he isn't," replied Mrs. Weller; for the rather stout lady was noother than the quondam relict and sole executrix of the dead-and-goneMr. Clarke. "No, he isn't, and I don't expect him, either."
"I suppose he's a drivin' up to-day?" said Sam.
"He may be, or he may not," replied Mrs. Weller, buttering the round oftoast which the red-nosed man had just finished. "I don't know, and,what's more, I don't care. Ask a blessin', Mr. Stiggins."
The red-nosed man did as he was desired, and instantly commenced on thetoast with fierce voracity.
The appearance of the red-nosed man had induced Sam, at first sight,to more than half suspect that he was the deputy shepherd of whom hisestimable parent had spoken. The moment he saw him eat, all doubton the subject was removed, and he perceived at once, that if hepurposed to take up his temporary quarters where he was, he must makehis footing good without delay. He therefore commenced proceedings byputting his arm over the half-door of the bar, coolly unbolting it, andleisurely walking in.
"Mother-in-law," said Sam, "how are you?"
"Why, I do believe he is a Weller!" said Mrs. W., raising her eyes toSam's face, with no very gratified expression of countenance.
"I rayther think he is," said the imperturbable Sam; "and I hope thishere reverend gen'lm'n 'll excuse me saying that I wish I was _the_Weller as owns you, mother-in-law."
"_Mother-in-law," said Sam, "how are you?_"]
This was a double-barrelled compliment. It implied that Mrs. Weller wasa most agreeable female, and also that Mr. Stiggins had a clericalappearance. It made a visible impression at once; and Sam followed uphis advantage by kissing his mother-in-law.
"Get along with you!" said Mrs. Weller, pushing him away.
"For shame, young man!" said the gentleman with the red nose.
"No offence, sir, no offence," replied Sam; "you're wery right, though;it ain't the right sort o' thing, when mothers-in-law is young andgood-looking, is it, sir?"
"It's all vanity," said Mr. Stiggins.
"Ah, so it is," said Mrs. Weller, setting her cap to rights.
Sam thought it was, too, but he held his peace.
The deputy shepherd seeme
d by no means best pleased with Sam's arrival;and when the first effervescence of the compliment had subsided, evenMrs. Weller looked as if she could have spared him without the smallestinconvenience. However, there he was; and as he couldn't be decentlyturned out, they all three sat down to tea.
"And how's father?" said Sam.
At this inquiry Mrs. Weller raised her hands, and turned up her eyes,as if the subject were too painful to be alluded to.
Mr. Stiggins groaned.
"What's the matter with that 'ere gen'lm'n?" inquired Sam.
"He's shocked at the way your father goes on in," replied Mrs. Weller.
"Oh, he is, is he?" said Sam.
"And with too good reason," added Mrs. Weller, gravely.
Mr. Stiggins took up a fresh piece of toast, and groaned heavily.
"He is a dreadful reprobate," said Mrs. Weller.
"A man of wrath!" exclaimed Mr. Stiggins. He took a large semi-circularbite of the toast, and groaned aloud.
Sam felt very strongly disposed to give the Reverend Mr. Stigginssomething to groan for, but he repressed his inclination, and merelyasked, "What's the old 'un up to, now?"
"Up to, indeed!" said Mrs. Weller. "Oh, he has a hard heart. Nightafter night does this excellent man--don't frown, Mr. Stiggins: I_will_ say you are an excellent man--come and sit here, for hourstogether, and it has not the least effect upon him."
"Well, that is odd," said Sam; "it 'ud have a wery considerable effectupon me, if I wos in his place; I know that."
"The fact is, my young friend," said Mr. Stiggins, solemnly, "he hasan obderrate bosom. Oh, my young friend, who else could have resistedthe pleading of sixteen of our fairest sisters, and withstood theirexhortations to subscribe to our noble society for providing theinfant negroes in the West Indies with flannel waistcoats and moralpocket-handkerchiefs?"
"What's a moral pocket ankercher?" said Sam; "I never see one o' themarticles o' furniter."
"Those which combine amusement with instruction, my young friend,"replied Mr. Stiggins: "blending select tales with wood-cuts."
"Oh, I know," said Sam; "them as hangs up in the linen-drapers' shops,with beggars' petitions and all that 'ere upon 'em?"
Mr. Stiggins began a third round of toast, and nodded assent.
"And he wouldn't be persuaded by the ladies, wouldn't he?" said Sam.
"Sat and smoked his pipe, and said the infant negroes were--what did hesay the infant negroes were?" said Mrs. Weller.
"Little humbugs," replied Mr. Stiggins, deeply affected.
"Said the infant negroes were little humbugs," repeated Mrs. Weller.And they both groaned at the atrocious conduct of the old gentleman.
A great many more inquiries of a similar nature might have beendisclosed, only the toast being all eaten, the tea having got veryweak, and Sam holding out no indications of meaning to go, Mr. Stigginssuddenly recollected that he had a most pressing appointment with theshepherd, and took himself off accordingly.
The tea-things had scarcely been put away, and the hearth swept up,when the London coach deposited Mr. Weller senior at the door; his legsdeposited him in the bar; and his eyes showed him his son.
"What, Sammy!" exclaimed the father.
"What, old Nobs!" ejaculated the son. And they shook hands heartily.
"Wery glad to see you, Sammy," said the elder Mr. Weller, "though howyou've managed to get over your mother-in-law, is a mystery to me. Ionly vish you'd write me out the receipt, that's all."
"Hush!" said Sam, "she's at home, old feller."
"She ain't vithin hearin'," replied Mr. Weller; "she always goes andblows up, down-stairs, for a couple of hours arter tea; so we'll justgive ourselves a damp, Sammy."
Saying this, Mr. Weller mixed two glasses of spirits and water, andproduced a couple of pipes. The father and son sitting down oppositeeach other: Sam on one side of the fire, in the high-backed chair, andMr. Weller senior on the other, in an easy ditto: they proceeded toenjoy themselves with all due gravity.
"Anybody been here, Sammy?" asked Mr. Weller senior, drily, after along silence.
Sam nodded an expressive assent.
"Red-nosed chap?" inquired Mr. Weller.
Sam nodded again.
"Amiable man that 'ere, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, smoking violently.
"Seems so," observed Sam.
"Good hand at accounts," said Mr. Weller.
"Is he?" said Sam.
"Borrows eighteenpence on Monday, and comes on Tuesday for a shillin'to make it up half a crown; calls again on Vensday for another halfcrown to make it five shillin's; and goes on, doubling, till he getsit up to a five-pund note in no time, like them sums in the 'rithmeticbook 'bout the nails in the horse's shoes, Sammy."
Sam intimated by a nod that he recollected the problem alluded to byhis parent.
"So you vouldn't subscribe to the flannel veskits?" said Sam, afteranother interval of smoking.
"Cert'nly not," replied Mr. Weller; "what's the good o' flannel veskitsto the young niggers abroad? But I'll tell you what it is, Sammy," saidMr. Weller, lowering his voice, and bending across the fire-place;"I'd come down wery handsome towards strait veskits for some people athome."
As Mr. Weller said this, he slowly recovered his former position, andwinked at his first-born, in a profound manner.
"It cert'nly seems a queer start to send out pocket ankerchers topeople as don't know the use on 'em," observed Sam.
"They're alvays a doin' some gammon of that sort, Sammy," replied hisfather. "T'other Sunday I wos walkin' up the road, ven who should Isee, a standin' at a chapel-door, with a blue soup-plate in her hand,but your mother-in-law! I werily believe there was change for a coupleo' suvrins in it, then, Sammy, all in ha'pence: and as the people cameout, they rattled the pennies in it, till you'd ha' thought that nomortal plate as ever was baked could ha' stood the wear and tear. Whatd'ye think it was all for?"
"For another tea-drinkin', perhaps," said Sam.
"Not a bit on it," replied the father; "for the shepherd's water-rate,Sammy."
"The shepherd's water-rate!" said Sam.
"Ay," replied Mr. Weller, "there was three quarters owin' and theshepherd hadn't paid a farden, not he--perhaps it might be on accountthat the water warn't o' much use to him, for it's wery little o' thattap he drinks, Sammy, wery; he knows a trick worth a good half-dozen ofthat, he does. Hows'ever, it warn't paid, and so they cuts the wateroff. Down goes the shepherd to chapel, gives out as he's a persecutedsaint, and says he hopes the heart of the turncock as cut the wateroff, 'll be softened, and turned in the right vay: but he raytherthinks he's booked for somethin' uncomfortable. Upon this, the womencalls a meetin', sings a hymn, wotes your mother-in-law into the chair,wolunteers a collection next Sunday, and hands it all over to theshepherd. And if he ain't got enough out on 'em, Sammy, to make himfree of the water company for life," said Mr. Weller, in conclusion,"I'm one Dutchman, and you're another, and that's all about it."
Mr. Weller smoked for some minutes in silence, and then resumed:
"The worst o' these here shepherds is, my boy, that they reg'larlyturns the heads of all the young ladies, about here. Lord bless theirlittle hearts, they thinks it's all right, and don't know no better:but they're the wictims o' gammon, Samivel, they're the wictims o'gammon."
"I s'pose they are," said Sam.
"Nothin' else," said Mr. Weller, shaking his head gravely; "and wotaggrawates me, Samivel, is to see 'em a wastin' all their time andlabour in making clothes for copper-coloured people as don't want 'em,and taking no notice of flesh-coloured Christians as do. If I'd my vay,Samivel, I'd just stick some o' these here lazy shepherds behind aheavy wheelbarrow, and run 'em up and down a fourteen-inch-wide plankall day. That 'ud shake the nonsense out of 'em, if anything vould."
Mr. Weller having delivered this gentle recipe with strong emphasis,eked out by a variety of nods and contortions of the eye, emptied hisglass at a draught, and knocked the ashes out of his pipe, with nativedignity.
> He was engaged in this operation, when a shrill voice was heard in thepassage.
"Here's your dear relation, Sammy," said Mr. Weller; and Mrs. W.hurried into the room.
"Oh, you've come back, have you!" said Mrs. Weller.
"Yes, my dear," replied Mr. Weller, filling a fresh pipe.
"Has Mr. Stiggins been back?" said Mrs. Weller.
"No, my dear, he hasn't," replied Mr. Weller, lighting the pipe by theingenious process of holding to the bowl thereof, between the tongs, ared-hot coal from the adjacent fire; "and what's more, my dear, I shallmanage to survive it, if he don't come back at all."
"Ugh, you wretch!" said Mrs. Weller.
"Thank'ee, my love," said Mr. Weller.
"Come, come, father," said Sam, "none o' these little lovins aforestrangers. Here's the reverend gen'lm'n a comin' in now."
At this announcement, Mrs. Weller hastily wiped off the tears which shehad just begun to force on; and Mr. W. drew his chair sullenly into thechimney corner.
Mr. Stiggins was easily prevailed on to take another glass of thehot pine-apple rum and water, and a second, and a third, and then torefresh himself with a slight supper, previous to beginning again.He sat on the same side as Mr. Weller senior; and every time he couldcontrive to do so, unseen by his wife, that gentleman indicated tohis son the hidden emotions of his bosom, by shaking his fist overthe deputy shepherd's head: a process which afforded his son the mostunmingled delight and satisfaction, and more especially as Mr. Stigginswent on quietly drinking the hot pine-apple rum and water, whollyunconscious of what was going on.
The major part of the conversation was confined to Mrs. Weller and theReverend Mr. Stiggins; and the topics principally descanted on, werethe virtues of the shepherd, the worthiness of his flock, and the highcrimes and misdemeanours of everybody beside; dissertations which theelder Mr. Weller occasionally interrupted by half-suppressed referencesto a gentleman of the name of Walker, and other running commentaries ofthe same kind.
At length, Mr. Stiggins, with several most indubitable symptoms ofhaving quite as much pine-apple rum and water about him, as he couldcomfortably accommodate, took his hat and his leave: and Sam was,immediately afterwards, shown to bed by his father. The respectable oldgentleman wrung his hand fervently, and seemed disposed to address someobservation to his son; but on Mrs. Weller advancing towards him, heappeared to relinquish that intention, and abruptly bade him good night.
Sam was up betimes next day, and having partaken of a hasty breakfast,prepared to return to London. He had scarcely set foot without thehouse, when his father stood before him.
"Goin', Sammy?" inquired Mr. Weller.
"Off at once," replied Sam.
"I vish you could muffle that 'ere Stiggins, and take him with you,"said Mr. Weller.
"I am ashamed on you!" said Sam, reproachfully; "what do you let himshow his red nose in the Markis o' Granby at all, for?"
Mr. Weller the elder fixed on his son an earnest look, and replied,"'Cause I'm a married man, Samivel, 'cause I'm a married man. Whenyou're a married man, Samivel, you'll understand a good many things asyou don't understand now; but vether it's worth while going through somuch, to learn so little, as the charity boy said ven he got to the endof the alphabet, is a matter o' taste. _I_ rayther think it isn't."
"Well," said Sam, "good-bye."
"Tar tar, Sammy," replied his father.
"I've only got to say this here," said Sam, stopping short, "that if_I_ was the properiator o' the Markis o' Granby, and that 'ere Stigginscame and made toast in _my_ bar, I'd----"
"What?" interposed Mr. Weller, with great anxiety. "What?"
"--Pison his rum and water," said Sam.
"No!" said Mr. Weller, shaking his son eagerly by the hand; "would youraly, Sammy? would you though?"
"I would," said Sam. "I wouldn't be too hard upon him at first. I'ddrop him in the water-butt, and put the lid on; and if I found he wasinsensible to kindness, I'd try the other persvasion."
The elder Mr. Weller bestowed a look of deep, unspeakable admiration onhis son: and, having once more grasped his hand, walked slowly away,revolving in his mind the numerous reflections to which his advice hadgiven rise.
Sam looked after him, until he turned a corner of the road: andthen set forward on his walk to London. He meditated, at first, onthe probable consequences of his own advice, and the likelihood andunlikelihood of his father's adopting it. He dismissed the subjectfrom his mind, however, with the consolatory reflection that timealone would show; and this is the reflection we would impress upon thereader.
The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, v. 1 (of 2) Page 29