"No; wouldn't do, you know, after having just come off a journey.Wait till to-morrow, sir; double the chance then.Mr.Pickwick, sir, there is a suit of clothes in that bag, and a hat in that box, which I expect, in the effect they will produce, will be invaluable to me, sir.""Indeed!" said Mr.Pickwick.
"Yes; you must have observed my anxiety about them to-day.I do not believe that such another suit of clothes, and such a hat, could be bought for money, Mr.Pickwick."Mr.Pickwick congratulated the fortunate owner of the irresistible garments, on their acquisition; and Mr.Peter Magnus remained for a few moments apparently absorbed in contemplation.
"She's a fine creature," said Mr.Magnus.
"Is she?" said Mr.Pickwick.
"Very," said Mr.Magnus, "very.She lives about twenty miles from here, Mr.Pickwick.I heard she would be here to-night and all to-morrow forenoon, and came down to seize the opportunity.I think an inn is a good sort of a place to propose to a single woman in, Mr.Pickwick.She is more likely to feel the loneliness of her situation in travelling, perhaps, than she would be at home.What do you think, Mr.Pickwick?""I think it very probable," replied that gentleman.
"I beg your pardon, Mr.Pickwick," said Mr.Peter Magnus, "but I am naturally rather curious; what may you have come down here for?""On a far less pleasant errand, sir," replied Mr.Pickwick, the colour mounting to his face at the recollection."I have come down here, sir, to expose the treachery and falsehood of an individual, upon whose truth and honour I placed implicit reliance.""Dear me," said Mr.Peter Magnus, "that's very unpleasant.It is a lady, I presume? Eh? ah! Sly, Mr.Pickwick, sly.Well, Mr.Pickwick, sir, I wouldn't these, sir, very painful.Don't mind me, Mr.Pickwick, if you wish to give vent to your feelings.I know what it is to be jilted, sir; I have endured that sort of thing three or four times.""I am much obliged to you, for your condolence on what you presume to be my melancholy case," said Mr.Pickwick, winding up his watch, and laying it on the table, "but--""No, no," said Mr.Peter Magnus, "not a word more: it's a painful subject.
I see, I see.What's the time, Mr.Pickwick?""Past twelve."
"Dear me, it's time to go to bed.It will never do, sitting here.Ishall be pale to-morrow, Mr.Pickwick."
At the bare notion of such a calamity, Mr.Peter Magnus rang the bell for the chamber-maid; and the striped bag, the red bag, the leathern hat-box, and the brown-paper parcel, having been conveyed to his bed-room, he retired in company with a japanned candlestick, to one side of the house, while Mr.Pickwick, and another japanned candlestick, were conducted through a multitude of tortuous windings, to another.
"This is your room, sir," said the chamber-maid.
"Very well," replied Mr.Pickwick, looking round him.It was a tolerably large double-bedded room, with a fire; upon the whole, a more comfortable-looking apartment than Mr.Pickwick's short experience of the accommodations of the Great White Horse had led him to expect.
"Nobody sleeps in the other bed, of course," said Mr.Pickwick.
"Oh, no, sir."
"Very good.Tell my servant to bring me up some hot water at half-past eight in the morning, and that I shall not want him any more to-night.""Yes, sir." And bidding Mr.Pickwick good night, the chamber-maid retired, and left him alone.
Mr.Pickwick sat himself down in a chair before the fire, and fell into a train of rambling meditations.First he thought of his friends, and wondered when they would join him; then his mind reverted to Mrs.Martha Bardell;and from that lady it wandered, by a natural process, to the dingy counting-house of Dodson and Fogg.From Dodson and Fogg's it flew off at a tangent, to the very centre of the history of the queer client; and then it came back to the Great White Horse at Ipswich, with sufficient clearness to convince Mr.Pickwick that he was falling asleep.So he roused himself, and began to undress, when he recollected he had left his watch on the table down-stairs.
Now, this watch was a special favourite with Mr.Pickwick, having been carried about, beneath the shadow of his waistcoat, for a greater number of years than we feel called upon to state at present.The possibility of going to sleep, unless it were ticking gently beneath his pillow, or in the watch-pocket over his head, had never entered Mr.Pickwick's brain.
So as it was pretty late now, and he was unwilling to ring his bell at that hour of the night, he slipped on his coat, of which he had just divested himself, and taking the japanned candlestick in his hand, walked quietly down-stairs.
The more stairs Mr.Pickwick went down, the more stairs there seemed to be to descend, and again and again, when Mr.Pickwick got into some narrow passage, and began to congratulate himself on having gained the ground-floor, did another flight of stairs appear before his astonished eyes.At last he reached a stone hall, which he remembered to have seen when he entered the house.Passage after passage did he explore; room after room did he peep into; at length, as he was on the point of giving up the search in despair, he opened the door of the identical room in which he had spent the evening, and beheld his missing property on the table.
Mr.Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, and proceeded to re-trace his steps to his bed-chamber.If his progress downward had been attended with difficulties and uncertainty, his journey back was infinitely more perplexing.Rows of doors, garnished with boots of every shape, make, and size, branched off in every possible direction.A dozen times did he softly turn the handle of some bed-room door which resembled his own, when a gruff cry from within of "Who the devil's that?" or "What do you want here?"caused him to steal away, on tiptoe, with a perfectly marvellous celerity.
