Page:The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.djvu/266

204 204. POSTfiUMOUS PAPERS OF

" Sam, I will go immediately to Mr. Perkefs/*

" That's just exactly the wery place vere you ought to haye gone last night," replied Mr. Weller.

" I think it is, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick.

" I know it is," said Mr. Weller.

" Well, well, Sam," replied Mr. Pickwick, " we will go there at once, but first, as I have been rather ruffled, I should like a glass of brandy and water warm, Sam. Where can I have it, Sam?*'

Mr. Weller's knowledge of London was extensive and peculiar. He replied, without the slightest consideration —

<^ Second court on the right hand side — last house but vun on the same side the vay — take the box as stands in the first fire-place, 'cos there an't no leg in the middle o' the table, vhich all the others has, and its wery inconwenient."

Mr. Pickwick observed his valet's directions implicitly, and bidding Sam follow him, entered the tavern he had pointed out, where the hot brandy and water was speedily placed before him ; while Mr. Weller, seated at a respectful distance, though at the same table with his master, was accommodated with a pint of porter.

The room was one of a very homely description, and was apparently under the especial patronage of stage coachmen : for several gentlemen, who had all the appearance of belonging to that learned profession, were drinking and smoking in the different boxes. Among the number was one stout, red-faced, elderly man in particular, seated in an opposite box, who attracted Mr. Pickwick's attention. The stout man was smoking with great vehemence, but between every half-dozen puffs, he took his pipe from his mouth, and looked first at Mr. Weller and then at Mr. Pickwick. Then he would bury in a quart pot, as much of his counte- nance as the dimensions of the quart-pot admitted of its receiving, and take another look at Sam and Mr. Pickwick. Then he would take ano- ther half-dozen puffs with an air of profound meditation, and look at them again. And at last the stout man, putting up his legs on the seat, and leaning his back against the wall, began to puff at his pipe without leaving off at all, and to stare through the smoke at the new comers, as if he had made up his mind to see the most he could of them.

At first the evolutions of the stout man had escaped Mr. Weller's observation, but by degrees as he saw Mr. Pickwick's eyes every now and then turning towards him, he began to gaze in the same direction, at the same time shading his eyes with his hand, as if he partially recognised the object before him, and wished to make quite sure of, its identity. Kis doubts were speedily dispelled, however ; for the stout man having blown a thick cloud from his pipe, a hoarse voice, like some strange effort of ventriloquism, emerged from beneath the capacious shawls which muffled his throat and chest, and slowly uttered these sounds — '< Vy, Sammy."

" Who's that, Sam ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick.

" Why, I wouldn't ha' believed it, Sir," replied Mr. Weller, with astonished eyes. " It's the old 'un."

" Old one," said Mr. Pickwick. " What old one ? "