‘No,’ said the little man.
‘Yes, for a licence.’
‘We’re in time,’ exclaimed Wardle. ‘Show us the room; not a moment is to be lost.’
‘Pray, my dear sir — pray,’ said the little man; ‘caution, caution.’ He drew from his pocket a red silk purse, and looked very hard at Sam as he drew out a sovereign.
Sam grinned expressively.
‘Show us into the room at once, without announcing us,’ said the little man, ‘and it’s yours.’
Sam threw the painted tops into a corner, and led the way through a dark passage, and up a wide staircase. He paused at the end of a second passage, and held out his hand.
‘Here it is,’ whispered the attorney, as he deposited the money on the hand of their guide.
The man stepped forward for a few paces, followed by the two friends and their legal adviser. He stopped at a door.
‘Is this the room?’ murmured the little gentleman.
Sam nodded assent.
Old Wardle opened the door; and the whole three walked into the room just as Mr. Jingle, who had that moment returned, had produced the licence to the spinster aunt.
The spinster uttered a loud shriek, and throwing herself into a chair, covered her face with her hands. Mr. Jingle crumpled up the licence, and thrust it into his coat pocket. The unwelcome visitors advanced into the middle of the room. ‘You — you are a nice rascal, arn’t you?’ exclaimed Wardle, breathless with passion.
‘My dear Sir, my dear sir,’ said the little man, laying his hat on the table, ‘pray, consider — pray. Defamation of character: action for damages. Calm yourself, my dear sir, pray — ‘
‘How dare you drag my sister from my house?’ said the old man.
Ay — ay — very good,’ said the little gentleman, ‘you may ask that. How dare you, sir? — eh, sir?’
‘Who the devil are you?’ inquired Mr. Jingle, in so fierce a tone, that the little gentleman involuntarily fell back a step or two.
‘Who is he, you scoundrel,’ interposed Wardle. ‘He’s my lawyer, Mr. Perker, of Gray’s Inn. Perker, I’ll have this fellow prosecuted — indicted — I’ll — I’ll — I’ll ruin him. And you,’ continued Mr. Wardle, turning abruptly round to his sister — ‘you, Rachael, at a time of life when you ought to know better, what do you mean by running away with a vagabond, disgracing your family, and making yourself miserable? Get on your bonnet and come back. Call a hackney-coach there, directly, and bring this lady’s bill, d’ye hear — d’ye hear?’ ‘Cert’nly, Sir,’ replied Sam, who had answered Wardle’s violent ringing of the bell with a degree of celerity which must have appeared marvellous to anybody who didn’t know that his eye had been applied to the outside of the keyhole during the whole interview.
‘Get on your bonnet,’ repeated Wardle.
‘Do nothing of the kind,’ said Jingle. ‘Leave the room, Sir — no business here — lady’s free to act as she pleases — more than one-and-twenty.’
‘More than one-and-twenty!’ ejaculated Wardle contemptuously. ‘More than one-and-forty!’
‘I ain’t,’ said the spinster aunt, her indignation getting the better of her determination to faint.
‘You are,’ replied Wardle; ‘you’re fifty if you’re an hour.’
Here the spinster aunt uttered a loud shriek, and became senseless.
‘A glass of water,’ said the humane Mr. Pickwick, summoning the landlady.
‘A glass of water!’ said the passionate Wardle. ‘Bring a bucket, and throw it all over her; it’ll do her good, and she richly deserves it.’
‘Ugh, you brute!’ ejaculated the kindhearted landlady. ‘Poor dear.’ And with sundry ejaculations of ‘Come now, there’s a dear — drink a little of this — it’ll do you good — don’t give way so — there’s a love,’ etc. etc., the landlady, assisted by a chambermaid, proceeded to vinegar the forehead, beat the hands, titillate the nose, and unlace the stays of the spinster aunt, and to administer such other restoratives as are usually applied by compassionate females to ladies who are endeavouring to ferment themselves into hysterics.
‘Coach is ready, Sir,’ said Sam, appearing at the door.
‘Come along,’ cried Wardle. ‘I’ll carry her downstairs.’
At this proposition, the hysterics came on with redoubled violence. The landlady was about to enter a very violent protest against this proceeding, and had already given vent to an indignant inquiry whether Mr. Wardle considered himself a lord of the creation, when Mr. Jingle interposed —
‘Boots,’ said he, ‘get me an officer.’
‘Stay, stay,’ said little Mr. Perker. ‘Consider, Sir, consider.’
‘I’ll not consider,’ replied Jingle. ‘She’s her own mistress — see who dares to take her away — unless she wishes it.’
‘I WON’T be taken away,’ murmured the spinster aunt. ‘I DON’T wish it.’ (Here there was a frightful relapse.)
‘My dear Sir,’ said the little man, in a low tone, taking Mr. Wardle and Mr. Pickwick apart — ‘my dear Sir, we’re in a very awkward situation. It’s a distressing case — very; I never knew one more so; but really, my dear sir, really we have no power to control this lady’s actions. I warned you before we came, my dear sir, that there was nothing to look to but a compromise.’
There was a short pause.
‘What kind of compromise would you recommend?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘Why, my dear Sir, our friend’s in an unpleasant position — very much so. We must be content to suffer some pecuniary loss.’
‘I’ll suffer any, rather than submit to this disgrace, and let her, fool as she is, be made miserable for life,’ said Wardle.
‘I rather think it can be done,’ said the bustling little man. ‘Mr. Jingle, will you step with us into the next room for a moment?’
Mr. Jingle assented, and the quartette walked into an empty apartment.
‘Now, sir,’ said the little man, as he carefully closed the door, ‘is there no way of accommodating this matter — step this way, sir, for a moment — into this window, Sir, where we can be alone — there, sir, there, pray sit down, sir. Now, my dear Sir, between you and I, we know very well, my dear Sir, that you have run off with this lady for the sake of her money. Don’t frown, Sir, don’t frown; I say, between you and I, WE know it. We are both men of the world, and WE know very well that our friends here, are not — eh?’
Mr. Jingle’s face gradually relaxed; and something distantly resembling a wink quivered for an instant in his left eye.
‘Very good, very good,’ said the little man, observing the impression he had made. ‘Now, the fact is, that beyond a few hundreds, the lady has little or nothing till the death of her mother — fine old lady, my dear Sir.’
‘OLD,’ said Mr. Jingle briefly but emphatically.
‘Why, yes,’ said the attorney, with a slight cough. ‘You are right, my dear Sir, she is rather old. She comes of an old family though, my dear Sir; old in every sense of the word. The founder of that family came into Kent when Julius Caesar invaded Britain; — only one member of it, since, who hasn’t lived to eighty-five, and he was beheaded by one of the Henrys. The old lady is not seventy-three now, my dear Sir.’ The little man paused, and took a pinch of snuff.