COMPRISING THE FINAL EXIT OF MR.JINGLE AND JOB TROTTER;WITH A GREAT MORNING OF BUSINESS IN GRAY'S INN SQUARE.CONCLUDING WITHA DOUBLE KNOCK AT MR.PERKER'S DOOR
W HEN Arabella, after some gentle preparation, and many assurances that there was not the least occasion for being low-spirited, was at length made acquainted by Mr.Pickwick with the unsatisfactory result of his visit to Birmingham, she burst into tears, and sobbing aloud, lamented in moving terms that she should have been the unhappy cause of any estrangement between a father and his son.
"My dear girl," said Mr.Pickwick, kindly, "it is no fault of yours.
It was impossible to foresee that the old gentleman would be so strongly prepossessed against his son's marriage, you know.I am sure," added Mr.
Pickwick, glancing at her pretty face, "he can have very little idea of the pleasure he denies himself.""Oh, my dear Mr.Pickwick," said Arabella, "what shall we do, if he continues to be angry with us?""Why, wait patiently, my dear, until he thinks better of it," replied Mr.Pickwick, cheerfully.
"But, dear Mr.Pickwick, what is to become of Nathaniel if his father withdraws his assistance?" urged Arabella.
"In that case, my love," rejoined Mr.Pickwick, "I will venture to prophesy that he will find some other friend who will not be backward in helping him to start in the world."The significance of this reply was not so well disguised by Mr.Pickwick but that Arabella understood it.So, throwing her arms around his neck, and kissing him affectionately, she sobbed louder than before.
"Come, come," said Mr.Pickwick, taking her hand, "we will wait here a few days longer, and see whether he writes or takes any other notice of your husband's communication.If not, I have thought of half a dozen plans, any one of which would make you happy at once.There, my dear, there!"With these words, Mr.Pickwick gently pressed Arabella's hand, and bade her dry her eyes, and not distress her husband.Upon which, Arabella, who was one of the best little creatures alive, put her handkerchief in her reticule, and by the time Mr.Winkle joined them, exhibited in full lustre the same beaming smiles and sparkling eyes that had originally captivated him.
"This is a distressing predicament for these young people," thought Mr.Pickwick, as he dressed himself next morning."I'll walk up to Perker's, and consult him about the matter."As Mr.Pickwick was further prompted to betake himself to Gray's Inn Square by an anxious desire to come to a pecuniary settlement with the kind-hearted little attorney without further delay, he made a hurried breakfast, and executed his intention so speedily, that ten o'clock had not struck when he reached Gray's Inn.
It still wanted ten minutes to the hour when he had ascended the staircase on which Perker's chambers were.The clerks had not arrived yet, and he beguiled the time by looking out of the staircase window.
The healthy light of a fine October morning made even the dingy old houses brighten up a little: some of the dusty windows actually looking almost cheerful as the sun's rays gleamed upon them.Clerk after clerk hastened into the square by one or other of the entrances, and looking up at the Hall clock, accelerated or decreased his rate of walking according to the time at which his office hours nominally commenced; the half-past nine o'clock people suddenly becoming very brisk, and the ten o'clock gentlemen falling into a pace of most aristocratic slowness.The clock struck ten, and clerks poured in faster than ever, each one in a greater perspiration than his predecessor.The noise of unlocking and opening doors echoed and re-echoed on every side; heads appeared as if by magic in every window;the porters took up their stations for the day; the slipshod laundresses hurried off; the postman ran from house to house; and the whole legal hive was in a bustle.
"You're early, Mr.Pickwick," said a voice behind him.
"Ah, Mr.Lowten," replied that gentleman, looking round, and recognising his old acquaintance.
"Precious warm walking, isn't it?" said Lowten, drawing a Bramah key from his pocket, with a small plug therein, to keep the dust out.
"You appear to feel it so," rejoined Mr.Pickwick, smiling at the clerk, who was literally red hot.
"I've come along rather, I can tell you," replied Lowten."It went the half hour as I came through the Polygon.I'm here before him , though, so I don't mind."Comforting himself with this reflection, Mr.Lowten extracted the plug from the door-key, and having opened the door, replugged and repocketed his Bramah, and picked up the letters which the postman had dropped through the box.He then ushered Mr.Pickwick into the office.Here, in the twinkling of an eye, he divested himself of his coat, put on a threadbare garment which he took out of a desk, hung up his hat, pulled forth a few sheets of cartridge and blotting-paper in alternate layers, and sticking a pen behind his ear, rubbed his hands with an air of great satisfaction.
"There you see, Mr.Pickwick," he said, "now I'm complete.I've got my office coat on, and my pad out, and let him come as soon as he likes.
You haven't got a pinch of snuff about you, have you?""No, I have not," replied Mr.Pickwick.
"I'm sorry for it," said Lowten."Never mind.I'll run out presently, and get a bottle of soda.Don't I look rather queer about the eyes, Mr.
Pickwick?"
The individual appealed to, surveyed Mr.Lowten's eyes from a distance, and expressed his opinion that no unusual queerness was perceptible in those features.
