THE ESSENTIAL DICKENS – 8 Greatest Novels in One Edition. Charles Dickens

bottle were found, that day, in the churchyard. There were a great many speculations about the sexton’s fate, at first, but it was speedily determined that he had been carried away by the goblins; and there were not wanting some very credible witnesses who had distinctly seen him whisked through the air on the back of a chestnut horse blind of one eye, with the hind-quarters of a lion, and the tail of a bear. At length all this was devoutly believed; and the new sexton used to exhibit to the curious, for a trifling emolument, a good-sized piece of the church weathercock which had been accidentally kicked off by the aforesaid horse in his aerial flight, and picked up by himself in the churchyard, a year or two afterwards.

‘Unfortunately, these stories were somewhat disturbed by the unlooked-for reappearance of Gabriel Grub himself, some ten years afterwards, a ragged, contented, rheumatic old man. He told his story to the clergyman, and also to the mayor; and in course of time it began to be received as a matter of history, in which form it has continued down to this very day. The believers in the weathercock tale, having misplaced their confidence once, were not easily prevailed upon to part with it again, so they looked as wise as they could, shrugged their shoulders, touched their foreheads, and murmured something about Gabriel Grub having drunk all the Hollands, and then fallen asleep on the flat tombstone; and they affected to explain what he supposed he had witnessed in the goblin’s cavern, by saying that he had seen the world, and grown wiser. But this opinion, which was by no means a popular one at any time, gradually died off; and be the matter how it may, as Gabriel Grub was afflicted with rheumatism to the end of his days, this story has at least one moral, if it teach no better one — and that is, that if a man turn sulky and drink by himself at Christmas time, he may make up his mind to be not a bit the better for it: let the spirits be never so good, or let them be even as many degrees beyond proof, as those which Gabriel Grub saw in the goblin’s cavern.’

      CHAPTER XXX.

      HOW THE PICKWICKIANS MADE AND CULTIVATED THE ACQUAINTANCE OF A COUPLE OF NICE YOUNG MEN BELONGING TO ONE OF THE LIBERAL PROFESSIONS; HOW THEY DISPORTED THEMSELVES ON THE ICE; AND HOW THEIR VISIT CAME TO A CONCLUSION

      Table of Contents

      ‘Well, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as that favoured servitor entered his bedchamber, with his warm water, on the morning of Christmas Day, ‘still frosty?’

      ‘Water in the wash-hand basin’s a mask o’ ice, Sir,’ responded Sam.

      ‘Severe weather, Sam,’ observed Mr. Pickwick.

      ‘Fine time for them as is well wropped up, as the Polar bear said to himself, ven he was practising his skating,’ replied Mr. Weller.

      ‘I shall be down in a quarter of an hour, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, untying his nightcap.

      ‘Wery good, sir,’ replied Sam. ‘There’s a couple o’ sawbones downstairs.’

      ‘A couple of what!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, sitting up in bed.

      ‘A couple o’ sawbones,’ said Sam.

      ‘What’s a sawbones?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, not quite certain whether it was a live animal, or something to eat.

      ‘What! Don’t you know what a sawbones is, sir?’ inquired Mr. Weller. ‘I thought everybody know’d as a sawbones was a surgeon.’

      ‘Oh, a surgeon, eh?’ said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile.

      ‘Just that, sir,’ replied Sam. ‘These here ones as is below, though, ain’t reg’lar thoroughbred sawbones; they’re only in trainin’.’ ‘In other words they’re medical students, I suppose?’ said Mr. Pickwick.

      Sam Weller nodded assent.

      ‘I am glad of it,’ said Mr. Pickwick, casting his nightcap energetically on the counterpane. ‘They are fine fellows — very fine fellows; with judgments matured by observation and reflection; and tastes refined by reading and study. I am very glad of it.’

      ‘They’re a-smokin’ cigars by the kitchen fire,’ said Sam.

      ‘Ah!’ observed Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his hands, ‘overflowing with kindly feelings and animal spirits. Just what I like to see.’ ‘And one on ‘em,’ said Sam, not noticing his master’s interruption, ‘one on ‘em’s got his legs on the table, and is a-drinking brandy neat, vile the t’other one — him in the barnacles — has got a barrel o’ oysters atween his knees, which he’s a-openin’ like steam, and as fast as he eats ‘em, he takes a aim vith the shells at young dropsy, who’s a sittin’ down fast asleep, in the chimbley corner.’

      ‘Eccentricities of genius, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘You may retire.’

      Sam did retire accordingly. Mr. Pickwick at the expiration of the quarter of an hour, went down to breakfast.

      ‘Here he is at last!’ said old Mr. Wardle. ‘Pickwick, this is Miss Allen’s brother, Mr. Benjamin Allen. Ben we call him, and so may you, if you like. This gentleman is his very particular friend, Mr. — ‘

      ‘Mr. Bob Sawyer,’interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen; whereupon Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen laughed in concert.

      Mr. Pickwick bowed to Bob Sawyer, and Bob Sawyer bowed to Mr. Pickwick. Bob and his very particular friend then applied themselves most assiduously to the eatables before them; and Mr. Pickwick had an opportunity of glancing at them both.

      Mr. Benjamin Allen was a coarse, stout, thickset young man, with black hair cut rather short, and a white face cut rather long. He was embellished with spectacles, and wore a white neckerchief. Below his single-breasted black surtout, which was buttoned up to his chin, appeared the usual number of pepper-and-salt coloured legs, terminating in a pair of imperfectly polished boots. Although his coat was short in the sleeves, it disclosed no vestige of a linen wristband; and although there was quite enough of his face to admit of the encroachment of a shirt collar, it was not graced by the smallest approach to that appendage. He presented, altogether, rather a mildewy appearance, and emitted a fragrant odour of full-flavoured Cubas.

      Mr. Bob Sawyer, who was habited in a coarse, blue coat, which, without being either a greatcoat or a surtout, partook of the nature and qualities of both, had about him that sort of slovenly smartness, and swaggering gait, which is peculiar to young gentlemen who smoke in the streets by day, shout and scream in the same by night, call waiters by their Christian names, and do various other acts and deeds of an equally facetious description. He wore a pair of plaid trousers, and a large, rough, double-breasted waistcoat; out of doors, he carried a thick stick with a big top. He eschewed gloves, and looked, upon the whole, something like a dissipated Robinson Crusoe.

      Such were the two worthies to whom Mr. Pickwick was introduced, as he took his seat at the breakfast-table on Christmas morning.

      ‘Splendid morning, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

      Mr. Bob Sawyer slightly nodded his assent to the proposition, and asked Mr. Benjamin Allen for the mustard.

      ‘Have you come far this morning, gentlemen?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.

      ‘Blue Lion at Muggleton,’ briefly responded Mr. Allen.

      ‘You should have joined us last night,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

      ‘So we should,’ replied Bob Sawyer, ‘but the brandy was too good to leave in a hurry; wasn’t it, Ben?’

      ‘Certainly,’ said Mr. Benjamin Allen; ‘and the cigars were not bad, or the pork-chops either; were they, Bob?’

      ‘Decidedly not,’ said Bob. The particular friends resumed their attack upon the breakfast, more freely than before, as if the recollection of last night’s supper had imparted a new relish to the meal.

      ‘Peg away, Bob,’ said Mr. Allen, to his companion, encouragingly.

      ‘So I do,’