Page:The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.djvu/154

104 104 POSTHUMOUS PAPERS OF

and embellished with a great variety of old portraits and roughly- coloured prints of some antiquity. At the upper end of the room was a table, with a white cloth upon it, well covered with a roast fowl, bacon, ale^ and et ceteras ; and at the table sat Mr. Tupman, looking as unlike a man who had taken his leave of the world, as possible.

On the entrance of his friends, that gentleman laid down his knife and fork, and with a mournful air advanced to meet them.

" I did not expect to see you here," he said, as he grasped Mr. Pick- wick's hand. " It's very kind."

" Ah I " said Mr. Pickwick, sitting down, and wiping from his fore- head the perspiration which the walk had engendered. " Finish your dinner, and walk out with me. I wish to speak to you alone."

Mr. Tupman did as he was desired ; and Mr. Pickwick having refreshed himself with a copious draught of ale, waited his friend's leisure. The dinner was quickly despatched, and they walked out together.

For half an hour, their forms might have been seen pacing the church- yard to and fro, while Mr. Pickwick was engaged in combatting his companion's resolution. Any repetition of his arguments would be useless ; for what language could convey to them that energy and force which their great originator's manner communicated ? Whether Mr. Tupman was already tired of retirement, or whether he was wholly un- able to resist the eloquent appeal which was made to him, matters not ; he did not resist it at last.

" It mattered little to him," he said, " where he dragged out the miserable remainder of his days : and since his friend laid so much stress upon his humble companionship, he was willing to share his adventures."

Mr. Pickwick smiled ; they shook hands; and walked back to re-join their companions.

It was at this moment that Mr. Pickwick made that immortal disco- very, which has been the pride and boast of his friends, and the envy of every antiquarian in this or any other country. They had passed the door of their inn, and walked a little way down the village, before they recollected the precise spot in which it stood. As they turned back, Mr. Pickwick's eye fell upon a small broken stone, partially buried in the ground, in front of a cottage-door. He paused.

" This is very strange," said Mr. Pickwick.

" What is strange ? " inquired Mr. Tupman, staring eagerly at every object near him, but the right one. " God bless me, what's the matter ?"

This last was an ejaculation of irrepressible astonishment, occasioned by seeing Mr. Pickwick, in his enthusiasm for discovery, fall on his knees before the little stone, and commence wiping the dust off it with his pocket-handkerchief.

" There is an inscription here," said Mr. Pickwick.

" Is it possible ! " said Mr. Tupman.

" I can discern," continued Mr. Pickwick, rubbing away with all his might, and gazing intently through his spectacles : " I can discern a cross, and a B, and then a T. This is important," continued Mr. Pick- wick, starting up. " This is some very old inscription, existing perhaps