‘Bless your innocence, sir, that ain’t it,’ replied Sam. ‘Ven the lady and gen’l’m’n as keeps the hot-el first begun business, they used to make the beds on the floor; but this wouldn’t do at no price, ‘cos instead o’ taking a moderate twopenn’orth o’ sleep, the lodgers used to lie there half the day. So now they has two ropes, ‘bout six foot apart, and three from the floor, which goes right down the room; and the beds are made of slips of coarse sacking, stretched across ‘em.’
‘Well,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Well,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘the adwantage o’ the plan’s hobvious. At six o’clock every mornin’ they let’s go the ropes at one end, and down falls the lodgers. Consequence is, that being thoroughly waked, they get up wery quietly, and walk away! Beg your pardon, sir,’ said Sam, suddenly breaking off in his loquacious discourse. ‘Is this Bury St. Edmunds?’
‘It is,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
The coach rattled through the well-paved streets of a handsome little town, of thriving and cleanly appearance, and stopped before a large inn situated in a wide open street, nearly facing the old abbey.
‘And this,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking up. ‘Is the Angel! We alight here, Sam. But some caution is necessary. Order a private room, and do not mention my name. You understand.’
‘Right as a trivet, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, with a wink of intelligence; and having dragged Mr. Pickwick’s portmanteau from the hind boot, into which it had been hastily thrown when they joined the coach at Eatanswill, Mr. Weller disappeared on his errand. A private room was speedily engaged; and into it Mr. Pickwick was ushered without delay. ‘Now, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘the first thing to be done is to — ‘ ‘Order dinner, Sir,’ interposed Mr. Weller. ‘It’s wery late, sir.’
‘Ah, so it is,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking at his watch. ‘You are right, Sam.’
‘And if I might adwise, Sir,’ added Mr. Weller, ‘I’d just have a good night’s rest arterwards, and not begin inquiring arter this here deep ‘un till the mornin’. There’s nothin’ so refreshen’ as sleep, sir, as the servant girl said afore she drank the egg-cupful of laudanum.’
‘I think you are right, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘But I must first ascertain that he is in the house, and not likely to go away.’
‘Leave that to me, Sir,’ said Sam. ‘Let me order you a snug little dinner, and make my inquiries below while it’s a-getting ready; I could worm ev’ry secret out O’ the boots’s heart, in five minutes, Sir.’ ‘Do so,’ said Mr. Pickwick; and Mr. Weller at once retired.
In half an hour, Mr. Pickwick was seated at a very satisfactory dinner; and in three-quarters Mr. Weller returned with the intelligence that Mr. Charles Fitz-Marshall had ordered his private room to be retained for him, until further notice. He was going to spend the evening at some private house in the neighbourhood, had ordered the boots to sit up until his return, and had taken his servant with him.
‘Now, sir,’ argued Mr. Weller, when he had concluded his report, ‘if I can get a talk with this here servant in the mornin’, he’ll tell me all his master’s concerns.’
‘How do you know that?’ interposed Mr. Pickwick.
‘Bless your heart, sir, servants always do,’ replied Mr. Weller.
‘Oh, ah, I forgot that,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Well.’
‘Then you can arrange what’s best to be done, sir, and we can act accordingly.’
As it appeared that this was the best arrangement that could be made, it was finally agreed upon. Mr. Weller, by his master’s permission, retired to spend the evening in his own way; and was shortly afterwards elected, by the unanimous voice of the assembled company, into the taproom chair, in which honourable post he acquitted himself so much to the satisfaction of the gentlemen-frequenters, that their roars of laughter and approbation penetrated to Mr. Pickwick’s bedroom, and shortened the term of his natural rest by at least three hours.
Early on the ensuing morning, Mr. Weller was dispelling all the feverish remains of the previous evening’s conviviality, through the instrumentality of a halfpenny showerbath (having induced a young gentleman attached to the stable department, by the offer of that coin, to pump over his head and face, until he was perfectly restored), when he was attracted by the appearance of a young fellow in mulberry-coloured livery, who was sitting on a bench in the yard, reading what appeared to be a hymn-book, with an air of deep abstraction, but who occasionally stole a glance at the individual under the pump, as if he took some interest in his proceedings, nevertheless.
‘You’re a rum ‘un to look at, you are!’ thought Mr. Weller, the first time his eyes encountered the glance of the stranger in the mulberry suit, who had a large, sallow, ugly face, very sunken eyes, and a gigantic head, from which depended a quantity of lank black hair. ‘You’re a rum ‘un!’ thought Mr. Weller; and thinking this, he went on washing himself, and thought no more about him.
Still the man kept glancing from his hymn-book to Sam, and from Sam to his hymn-book, as if he wanted to open a conversation. So at last, Sam, by way of giving him an opportunity, said with a familiar nod —
‘How are you, governor?’
‘I am happy to say, I am pretty well, Sir,’ said the man, speaking with great deliberation, and closing the book. ‘I hope you are the same, Sir?’
‘Why, if I felt less like a walking brandy-bottle I shouldn’t be quite so staggery this mornin’,’ replied Sam. ‘Are you stoppin’ in this house, old ‘un?’
The mulberry man replied in the affirmative.
‘How was it you worn’t one of us, last night?’ inquired Sam, scrubbing his face with the towel. ‘You seem one of the jolly sort — looks as conwivial as a live trout in a lime basket,’ added Mr. Weller, in an undertone.
‘I was out last night with my master,’ replied the stranger.
‘What’s his name?’ inquired Mr. Weller, colouring up very red with sudden excitement, and the friction of the towel combined.
‘Fitz-Marshall,’ said the mulberry man.
‘Give us your hand,’ said Mr. Weller, advancing; ‘I should like to know you. I like your appearance, old fellow.’
‘Well, that is very strange,’ said the mulberry man, with great simplicity of manner. ‘I like yours so much, that I wanted to speak to you, from the very first moment I saw you under the pump.’ ‘Did you though?’
‘Upon my word. Now, isn’t that curious?’
‘Wery sing’ler,’ said Sam, inwardly congratulating himself upon the softness of the stranger. ‘What’s your name, my patriarch?’
‘Job.’
‘And a wery good name it is; only one I know that ain’t got a nickname to it. What’s the other name?’
‘Trotter,’ said the stranger. ‘What is yours?’
Sam bore in mind his master’s caution, and replied —
‘My name’s Walker; my master’s name’s Wilkins. Will you take a drop o’ somethin’ this mornin’, Mr. Trotter?’
Mr. Trotter acquiesced in this agreeable proposal; and having deposited his book in his coat pocket, accompanied Mr. Weller to the tap, where they were soon occupied in discussing an exhilarating compound, formed by mixing together, in a pewter vessel, certain quantities of British Hollands and the fragrant essence of the clove.
‘And what sort of a place have you got?’ inquired Sam, as he filled his companion’s glass, for the second time.
‘Bad,’