Page:The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.djvu/225

167 THE nCKWICK CLl B. K>7


 * ' VVcry well, Sir."

" And you will sit up, 'till I return,"

" Cert'nly, Sir."


 * ' Take hold of my leg ; and, when I say ' Over/ raise me gently."

" All rig-ht, Sir."

Having settled these preliminaries, Mr. Pickwick grasped the top of the wall, and gave the word " Over," which was very literally obeyed. Whether his body partook in some degree of the elasticity of his mind, or whether Mr. Weller's notions of a gentle push were of a somewhat rougher description than Mr. Pickwick's, the immediate effect of his assistance was to jerk that immortal gentleman completely over the wall on to tlie bed beneath, where, after crushing three gooseberry-bushes and a rose- tree, he finally alighted at full length.

" You ha'n't hurt yourself, I hope, Sir," said Sam, in a loud whisper, as soon as he recovered from the surprise consequent upon the myste- rious disappearance of his master.

'* I have not hurt myself, Sam, certainly," replied Mr. Pickwick, from the other side of the wall, " but I rather think that you have hurt me"

" I hope not, Sir," said Sam.

scratches. Go away, or we shall be overheard."
 * ' Never mind," said Mr. Pickwick, rising, " it's nothing but a few

" Good-byo,^ Sir."

" Good-bye."

With stealthy steps Sam Weller departed, leaving Mr. Pickwick alone in the garden.

Lights occasionally appeared in the different windows of the house, or glanced from the staircases, as if the inmates were retiring to rest. Not caring to ^o too near the door, until the appointed time, Mr. Pick- wick crouched into an angle of the wall, and awaited its arrival.

It was a situation which might well have depressed the spirits of many a man. Mr. Pickwick, however, feit neither depression nor mis- giving. He knew that his purpose was in the main a good one, and he placed implicit reliance on the high-minded Job. It was dull, certainly ; not to say, dreary ; but a contemplative man can always employ himself in meditation. Mr. Pickwick had meditated himself into a doze, when he was roused by the chimes of the neighbouring church ringing out the hour — half-past eleven.

" That's the time," thought Mr. Pickwick, getting cautiously on his feet. He looked up at the house. The lights had disappeared, and the shutters were closed — all in bed, no doubt. He walked on tip-toe to the door, and gave a gentle tap. Two or three minutes passing with- out any reply, he gave another tap rather louder, and then another rather louder than that.

At length the sound of feet was audible upon the stairs, and then the light of a candle shone through the key-hole of the door. There was a good deal of unchaining and unbolting, and the door was slowly opened.

Now the door opened outwards : and as the door opened wider and