The Pickwick Papers

As Lowten did mean yes, he said no more on the subject, but inquired of Job, in an audible whisper, whether the portrait of Perker, which hung opposite the fireplace, wasn’t a wonderful likeness, to which Job of course replied that it was. The wine being by this time poured out, Lowten drank to Mrs. Perker and the children, and Job to Perker. The gentleman in the plush shorts and cottons considering it no part of his duty to show the people from the office out, consistently declined to answer the bell, and they showed themselves out. The attorney betook himself to his drawing–room, the clerk to the Magpie and Stump, and Job to Covent Garden Market to spend the night in a vegetable basket.

Punctually at the appointed hour next morning, the good–humoured little attorney tapped at Mr. Pickwick’s door, which was opened with great alacrity by Sam Weller.

‘Mr. Perker, sir,’ said Sam, announcing the visitor to Mr. Pickwick, who was sitting at the window in a thoughtful attitude. ‘Wery glad you’ve looked in accidentally, Sir. I rather think the gov’nor wants to have a word and a half with you, Sir.’

Perker bestowed a look of intelligence on Sam, intimating that he understood he was not to say he had been sent for; and beckoning him to approach, whispered briefly in his ear.

‘You don’t mean that ‘ere, Sir?’ said Sam, starting back in excessive surprise.

Perker nodded and smiled.

Mr. Samuel Weller looked at the little lawyer, then at Mr. Pickwick, then at the ceiling, then at Perker again; grinned, laughed outright, and finally, catching up his hat from the carpet, without further explanation, disappeared.

‘What does this mean?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, looking at Perker with astonishment. ‘What has put Sam into this extraordinary state?’

‘Oh, nothing, nothing,’ replied Perker. ‘Come, my dear Sir, draw up your chair to the table. I have a good deal to say to you.’

‘What papers are those?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, as the little man deposited on the table a small bundle of documents tied with red tape.

‘The papers in Bardell and Pickwick,’ replied Perker, undoing the knot with his teeth.

Mr. Pickwick grated the legs of his chair against the ground; and throwing himself into it, folded his hands and looked sternly—if Mr. Pickwick ever could look sternly—at his legal friend.

‘You don’t like to hear the name of the cause?’ said the little man, still busying himself with the knot.

‘No, I do not indeed,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.

‘Sorry for that,’ resumed Perker, ‘because it will form the subject of our conversation.’

‘I would rather that the subject should be never mentioned between us, Perker,’ interposed Mr. Pickwick hastily.

‘Pooh, pooh, my dear Sir,’ said the little man, untying the bundle, and glancing eagerly at Mr. Pickwick out of the corners of his eyes. ‘It must be mentioned. I have come here on purpose. Now, are you ready to hear what I have to say, my dear Sir? No hurry; if you are not, I can wait. I have this morning’s paper here. Your time shall be mine. There!’ Hereupon, the little man threw one leg over the other, and made a show of beginning to read with great composure and application.

‘Well, well,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with a sigh, but softening into a smile at the same time. ‘Say what you have to say; it’s the old story, I suppose?’

‘With a difference, my dear Sir; with a difference,’ rejoined Perker, deliberately folding up the paper and putting it into his pocket again. ‘Mrs. Bardell, the plaintiff in the action, is within these walls, Sir.’

‘I know it,’ was Mr. Pickwick’s reply,

‘Very good,’ retorted Perker. ‘And you know how she comes here, I suppose; I mean on what grounds, and at whose suit?’

‘Yes; at least I have heard Sam’s account of the matter,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with affected carelessness.

‘Sam’s account of the matter,’ replied Perker, ‘is, I will venture to say, a perfectly correct one. Well now, my dear Sir, the first question I have to ask, is, whether this woman is to remain here?’

‘To remain here!’ echoed Mr. Pickwick.

‘To remain here, my dear Sir,’ rejoined Perker, leaning back in his chair and looking steadily at his client.

‘How can you ask me?’ said that gentleman. ‘It rests with Dodson and Fogg; you know that very well.’

‘I know nothing of the kind,’ retorted Perker firmly. ‘It does not rest with Dodson and Fogg; you know the men, my dear Sir, as well as I do. It rests solely, wholly, and entirely with you.’

‘With me!’ ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, rising nervously from his chair, and reseating himself directly afterwards.

The little man gave a double–knock on the lid of his snuff–box, opened it, took a great pinch, shut it up again, and repeated the words, ‘With you.’