XII.
MR. WARDLE'S SERVANT JOE.
AN old country gentleman named Wardle had a servant of whom he was veryproud, not because of the latter's diligence, but because Joe, commonlycalled the "Fat Boy," was a character which could not be matchedanywhere in the world. At the time when our story opens, Mr. Pickwick ofLondon, and three others of his literary club, were traveling in searchof adventure. With Mr. Pickwick, the founder and head of the Pickwickclub, were Mr. Tupman, whose great weakness for the ladies brought himfrequent troubles, Mr. Winkle, whose desire to appear as a sport broughtmuch ridicule upon himself, and Mr. Snodgrass, whose poetic natureinduced him to write many romantic verses which amused his friends andall who read them. These four Pickwickians were introduced one day toMr. Wardle, his aged sister Miss Rachel Wardle, and his two daughters,Emily and Isabella, as they were looking at some army reviews from theircoach. Mr. Wardle hospitably asked Mr. Pickwick and his friends to jointhem in the coach.
"Come up here! Mr. Pickwick," said Mr. Wardle, "come along sir. Joe!Drat that boy! He's gone to sleep again. Joe, let down the steps andopen the carriage door. Come ahead, room for two of you inside and oneoutside. Joe, make room for one. Put this gentleman on the box!" Mr.Wardle mounted with a little help and the fat boy, where he was, fellfast asleep.
One rank of soldiers after another passed, firing over the heads ofanother rank, and when the cannon went off the air resounded with thescreams of ladies. Mr. Snodgrass actually found it necessary to supportone of the Misses Wardle with his arm. Their maidenly aunt was in such adreadful state of nervous alarm that Mr. Tupman found that _he_ wasobliged to put his arm about _her_ waist to keep her up at all. Everyonewas excited with the exception of the fat boy, and he slept as soundlyas if the roaring of cannon were his ordinary lullaby.
"Joe! Joe!" called Mr. Wardle. "Drat that boy! He's gone asleep again.Pinch him in the leg, if you please. Nothing else wakens him. Thank you.Get out the lunch, Joe." The fat boy, who had been effectually arousedby Mr. Winkle, proceeded to unpack the hamper with more quickness thancould have been expected from his previous inactivity.
"Now Joe, knives and forks." The knives and forks were handed in andeach one was furnished with these useful implements.
"Now Joe, the fowls. Drat that boy! He's gone asleep again. Joe! Joe!"Numerous taps on the head with a stick and the fat boy with somedifficulty was awakened. "Go hand in the eatables." There was somethingin the sound of the last word which aroused him. He jumped up withreddened eyes which twinkled behind his mountainous cheeks, and feastedupon the food as he unpacked it from the basket.
"Now make haste," said Mr. Wardle, for the fat boy was hanging fondlyover a chicken which he seemed wholly unable to part with. The boysighed deeply and casting an ardent gaze upon its plumpness, unwillinglyhanded it to his master.
"A very extraordinary boy, that," said Mr. Pickwick. "Does he alwayssleep in this way?"
"Sleep!" said the old gentleman. "He's always sleeping. Goes on errandsfast asleep and snores as he waits at table."
"How very odd," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Ah! odd indeed," returned the old gentleman. "I'm proud of that boy.Wouldn't part with him on any account. He's a natural curiosity. Here,Joe, take these things away and open another bottle. Do you hear?" Thefat boy aroused, opened his eyes, started and finished the piece of piehe was in the act of eating when he fell fast asleep, and slowly obeyedhis master's orders, looking intently upon the remains of the feast ashe removed the plates and stowed them in the hamper. At last Mr. Wardleand his party mounted the coach and prepared to drive off.
"Now mind," he said, as he shook hands with Mr. Pickwick, "we expect tosee you all to-morrow. You have the address?"
"Manor Farm, Dingley Dell," said Mr. Pickwick, consulting hispocket-book.
"That's it," said the old gentleman. "You must come for at least a week.If you are traveling to get country life, come to me and I will give youplenty of it. Joe! Drat that boy, he's gone to sleep again. Help put inthe horses." The horses were put in and the driver mounted and the boyclambered up by his side. The farewells were exchanged and the carriagerolled off. As the Pickwickians turned around to take a last glimpse ofit the setting sun cast a red gold upon the faces of their entertainers,and fell upon the form of the fat boy. His head was sunk upon hisbosom, and he slumbered again.
After some amusing difficulties, which we have not space to describehere, Mr. Pickwick and his friends arrived safely at the country home ofMr. Wardle. The time passed very pleasantly.
One day some of the men decided upon a shooting trip, and Mr. Winkle, tomaintain his reputation as a sport, did not admit that he knew nothingabout guns. Mr. Pickwick, early in the morning, seeing Mr. Wardlecarrying a gun, asked what they were going to do.
"Why, your friend and I are going out rook shooting. He's a very goodshot, isn't he?" said Mr. Wardle.
"I have heard him say he's a capital one," replied Mr. Pickwick, "but Inever saw him aim at anything."
"Well," said the host, "I wish Mr. Tupman would join us. Joe! Joe!" Thefat boy who, under the exciting influences of the morning, did notappear to be more than three parts and a fraction asleep, emerged fromthe house. "Go up and call Mr. Tupman, and tell him he will find uswaiting." At last the party started, Mr. Tupman having joined them. Someboys, who were with them, discovered a tree with a nest in one of thebranches, and when all was ready Mr. Wardle was persuaded to shootfirst. The boys shouted, and shook a branch with a nest on it, and ahalf-a-dozen young rooks, in violent conversation, flew out to ask whatthe matter was. Mr. Wardle leveled his gun and fired; down fell one andoff flew the others.
"Pick him up, Joe," said the old gentleman. There was a smile upon theyouth's face as he advanced, for an indistinct vision of rook piefloated through his imagination. He laughed as he retired with the bird.It was a plump one.
"Now, Mr. Winkle," said the host, reloading his own gun, "fire away."Mr. Winkle advanced and raised his gun. Mr. Pickwick and his friendscrouched involuntarily to escape damage from the heavy fall of birdswhich they felt quite certain would be caused by their friend's skill.There was a solemn pause, a shout, a flapping of wings.
Mr. Winkle closed his eyes and fired; there was a scream from anindividual, not a rook. Mr. Tupman had saved the lives of innumerablebirds by receiving a portion of the charge in his left arm. Though itwas a very slight wound, Mr. Tupman made a great fuss about it andeveryone was horror-stricken. He was partly carried to the house. Theunmarried aunt uttered a piercing scream, burst into an hystericallaugh and fell backwards into the arms of her nieces. She recovered,screamed again, laughed again and fainted again.
"Calm yourself," said Mr. Tupman, affected almost to tears by thisexpression of sympathy. "Dear, dear Madam, calm yourself."
"You are not dead?" exclaimed the hysterical lady. "Say you are notdead!"
"Don't be a fool, Rachel," said Mr. Winkle. "What the mischief is theuse of his saying he isn't dead?"
"No! No! I am not," said Mr. Tupman. "I require no assistance but yours.Let me lean on your arm," he added in a whisper. Miss Rachel advancedand offered her arm. They turned into the breakfast parlor. Mr. Tupmangently pressed her hands to his lips and sunk upon the sofa. Presentlythe others left him to her tender mercies. That afternoon Mr. Tupman,much affected by the extreme tenderness of Miss Rachel, suggested thatas he was feeling much better they take a short stroll in the garden.There was a bower at the farther end, all honeysuckles and creepingplants, and somehow they unconsciously wandered in its direction and satdown on a bench within.
"Miss Wardle," said Mr. Tupman, "you are an angel." Miss Rachel blushedvery becomingly. Much more conversation of this nature followed untilfinally Mr. Tupman proceeded to do what his enthusiastic emotionsprompted and what were, (for all we know, for we are but littleacquainted with such matters) what people in such circumstances alwaysdo. She started, and he, throwing his arms around her neck imprintedupon her lips numerous kisses, which, after a proper show of stru
gglingand resistance, she received so passively that there is no telling howmany more Mr. Tupman might have bestowed if the lady had not given avery unaffected start and exclaimed: "Mr. Tupman, we are observed! Weare discovered!"
Mr. Tupman looked around. There was the fat boy perfectly motionless,with his large, circular eyes staring into the arbor, but without theslightest expression on his face. Mr. Tupman gazed at the fat boy andthe fat boy stared at him, but the longer Mr. Tupman observed the uttervacancy of the fat boy's face, the more convinced he became that heeither did not know or did not understand anything that had beenhappening. Under this impression he said with great fierceness: "What doyou want here?"
"Mr. Tupman, We Are Observed!"
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"Supper is ready, sir," was the prompt reply.
"Have you just come here?" inquired Mr. Tupman, with a piercing look.
"Just," replied the fat boy. Mr. Tupman looked at him very hard againbut there was not a wink of his eye or a movement in his face. Mr.Tupman took the arm of the spinster aunt and walked toward the house.The fat boy followed behind.
"He knows nothing of what has happened," he whispered.
"Nothing," said the spinster aunt. There was a sound behind them as ofan imperfectly suppressed chuckle. Mr. Tupman turned sharply around.
No, it could not have been the fat boy. There was not a gleam of mirthor anything but feeding in his whole visage. "He must have been fastasleep," whispered Mr. Tupman.
"I have not the least doubt of it," replied Miss Rachel, and they bothlaughed heartily. Mr. Tupman was wrong. The fat boy for once had notbeen fast asleep. He was awake, wide awake to everything that hadhappened.
The day following, Joe saw his mistress, Mr. Wardle's aged mother,sitting in the arbor. Without saying a word he walked up to her, stoodperfectly still and said nothing.
The old lady was easily frightened; most old ladies are, and her firstimpression was that Joe was about to do her some bodily harm with a viewof stealing what money she might have with her. She therefore watchedhis motions, or rather lack of motions, with feelings of intense terror,which were in no degree lessened by his finally coming close to her andshouting in her ear, for she was very deaf, "Missus!"
"Well, Joe," said the trembling old lady, "I am sure I have been a goodmistress to you." He nodded. "You have always been treated very kindly?"He nodded. "You have never had too much to do?" He nodded. "You havealways had enough to eat?" This last was an appeal to the fat boy's mostsensitive feelings. He seemed touched as he replied, "I know I has."
"Then what do you want to do now?"
"I wants to make yo' flesh creep," replied the boy. This sounded like avery blood-thirsty method of showing one's gratitude and so the old ladywas as much frightened as before. "What do you think I saw in this veryarbor last night?" inquired the boy.
"Mercies, what?" screamed the old lady, alarmed at the mysteriousmanner of the corpulent youth.
"A strange gentleman as had his arm around her, a kissin' and huggin'."
"Who, Joe, who? None of the servants, I hope?"
"Worser than that," roared the fat boy in the old lady's ear.
"None of my granddaughters."
"Worser than that," said Joe.
"Worse than that?" said the old lady, who had thought this the extremelimit. "Who was it, Joe? I insist upon knowing!"
The fat boy looked cautiously about and having finished his surveyshouted in the old lady's ear, "Miss Rachel!"
"What?" said the old lady in a shrill tone, "speak louder!"
"Miss Rachel," roared the fat boy.
"My daughter?" The succession of nods which the fat boy gave by way ofassent could not be doubted. "And she allowed him?" exclaimed the oldlady. A grin stole over the fat boy's features as he said, "I see her akissin' of him agin!" Joe's voice of necessity had been so loud thatanother party in the garden could not help hearing the entireconversation. If they could have seen the expression of the old lady'sface at this time it is probable that a sudden burst of laughter wouldhave betrayed them. Fragments of angry sentences drifted to them throughthe leaves, such as "Without my permission!" "At her time of life!""Might have waited until I was dead," etc. Then they heard the heels ofthe fat boy's foot crunching the gravel as he retired and left the oldlady alone.
Mr. Tupman would probably have found himself in considerable trouble ifone of his friends, who had overheard the conversation had not told Mrs.Wardle that perhaps Joe had dreamed the entire incident, which did notseem altogether improbable. She watched Mr. Tupman at supper thatevening, but this gentleman, having been warned, paid no attentionwhatever to Miss Rachel, and the old lady was finally persuaded that itwas all a mistake.
Finally the visit of Mr. Pickwick and his friends came to an end, and itwas several months before they again partook of Mr. Wardle'shospitality. The Pickwickians had arrived at the Inn near Mr. Wardle'splace for dinner before completing the rest of their journey to DingleyDell. Mr. Pickwick had brought with him several barrels of oysters andsome special wine as a gift to his host, and he stood examining hispackages to see that they had all arrived when he felt himself gentlypulled by the skirts of his coat. Looking around he discovered that theindividual who used this means of drawing his attention was no otherthan Mr. Wardle's favorite page, the fat boy.
"Aha!" said Mr. Pickwick.
"Ah!" said the fat boy, and as he said it he glanced from the wine tothe oysters and chuckled joyously. He was fatter than ever.
"Well, you look rosy enough my young friend," said Mr. Pickwick.
"I have been sitting in front of the fire," replied the fat boy, who hadindeed heated himself to the color of a new chimney pot in the course ofan hour's nap. "Master sent me over with the cart to carry your luggageover to the house." Mr. Pickwick called his man, Sam Weller, to him andsaid, "Help Mr. Wardle's servant to put the packages into the cart andthen ride on with him. We prefer to walk." Having given this directionMr. Pickwick and his three friends walked briskly away, leaving Mr.Weller and the fat boy face to face for the first time. Sam looked atthe fat boy with great astonishment but without saying a word, and beganto put the things rapidly upon the cart while Joe stood calmly by andseemed to think it a very interesting sort of thing to see Mr. Wellerworking by himself.
"There," said Sam, "everything packed at last. There they are."
"Yes," said the fat boy in a very satisfied tone, "there they are."
"Well, young twenty stone," said Sam. "You're a nice specimen, you are."
"Thankee," said the fat boy.
"You ain't got nothing on your mind as makes you fret yourself, haveyou?" inquired Sam.
"Not as I knows of," replied the boy.
"I should rather have thought, to look at you, that you was a laborin'under a disappointed love affair with some young woman," said Sam."Vell, young boa-constrictor," said Sam, "I'm glad to hear it. Do youever drink anythin'?"
"I likes eatin' better," replied the boy.
"Ah!" said Sam. "I should ha' 'sposed that, but I 'spose you were nevercold with all them elastic fixtures?"
"Was sometimes," replied the boy, "and I likes a drop of somethingthat's good."
"Ah! you do, do you," said Sam, "come this way." Then after a shortinterruption they got into the cart.
"You can drive, can you?" said the fat boy.
"I should rather think so," replied Sam.
"Well then," said the fat boy, putting the reins in his hands andpointing up a lane, "it's as straight as you can drive. You can't missit." With these words the fat boy laid himself affectionately down bythe side of the provisions and placing an oyster barrel under his headfor a pillow, fell asleep instantly.
"Vell," said Sam, "of all the boys ever I set my eyes on--wake up youngdropsy." But as young dropsy could not be awakened, Sam Weller sethimself down in front of the cart, started the old horse with a jerk ofthe rein, and jogged steadily on toward Manor Farm.
Dickens' Stories About Children Every Child Can Read Page 13