The other three cordially subscribed to this opinion, and the anecdote afforded the most unlimited satisfaction.
“Nice men these here, Sir,” whispered Mr. Weller to his master; “wery nice notion of fun they has, Sir.”
Mr. Pickwick nodded assent, and coughed to attract the attention of the young gentlemen behind the partition, who, having now relaxed their minds by a little conversation among themselves, condescended to take some notice of the stranger.
“I wonder whether Fogg’s disengaged now?” said Jackson.
“I’ll see,” said Wicks, dismounting leisurely from his stool. “What name shall I tell Mr. Fogg?”
“Pickwick,” replied the illustrious subject of these memoirs.
Mr. Jackson departed upstairs on his errand, and immediately returned with a message that Mr. Fogg would see Mr. Pickwick in five minutes; and having delivered it, returned again to his desk.
“What did he say his name was?” whispered Wicks.
“Pickwick,” replied Jackson; “it’s the defendant in Bardell and Pickwick.”
A sudden scraping of feet, mingled with the sound of suppressed laughter, was heard from behind the partition.
“They’re a-twiggin’ of you, Sir,” whispered Mr. Weller.
“Twigging of me, Sam!” replied Mr. Pickwick; “what do you mean by twigging me?”
Mr. Weller replied by pointing with his thumb over his shoulder, and Mr. Pickwick, on looking up, became sensible of the pleasing fact, that all the four clerks, with countenances expressive of the utmost amusement, and with their heads thrust over the wooden screen, were minutely inspecting the figure and general appearance of the supposed trifler with female hearts, and disturber of female happiness. On his looking up, the row of heads suddenly disappeared, and the sound of pens travelling at a furious rate over paper, immediately succeeded.
A sudden ring at the bell which hung in the office, summoned Mr. Jackson to the apartment of Fogg, from whence he came back to say that he (Fogg) was ready to see Mr. Pickwick if he would step upstairs.
Upstairs Mr. Pickwick did step accordingly, leaving Sam Weller below. The room door of the one-pair back, bore inscribed in legible characters the imposing words, “Mr. Fogg”; and, having tapped thereat, and been desired to come in, Jackson ushered Mr. Pickwick into the presence.
“Is Mr. Dodson in?” inquired Mr. Fogg.
“Just come in, Sir,” replied Jackson.
“Ask him to step here.”
“Yes, sir.” Exit Jackson.
“Take a seat, sir,” said Fogg; “there is the paper, sir; my partner will be here directly, and we can converse about this matter, sir.”
Mr. Pickwick took a seat and the paper, but, instead of reading the latter, peeped over the top of it, and took a survey of the man of business, who was an elderly, pimply-faced, vegetable-diet sort of man, in a black coat, dark mixture trousers, and small black gaiters; a kind of being who seemed to be an essential part of the desk at which he was writing, and to have as much thought or feeling.
After a few minutes’ silence, Mr. Dodson, a plump, portly, stern-looking man, with a loud voice, appeared; and the conversation commenced.
“This is Mr. Pickwick,” said Fogg.
“Ah! You are the defendant, Sir, in Bardell and Pickwick?” said Dodson.
“I am, sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick.
“Well, sir,” said Dodson, “and what do you propose?”
“Ah!” said Fogg, thrusting his hands into his trousers’ pockets, and throwing himself back in his chair, “what do you propose, Mr. Pickwick?”
“Hush, Fogg,” said Dodson, “let me hear what Mr. Pickwick has to say.”
“I came, gentlemen,” said Mr. Pickwick, gazing placidly on the two partners, “I came here, gentlemen, to express the surprise with which I received your letter of the other day, and to inquire what grounds of action you can have against me.”
“Grounds of—” Fogg had ejaculated this much, when he was stopped by Dodson.
“Mr. Fogg,” said Dodson, “I am going to speak.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Dodson,” said Fogg.
“For the grounds of action, sir,” continued Dodson, with moral elevation in his air, “you will consult your own conscience and your own feelings. We, Sir, we, are guided entirely by the statement of our client. That statement, Sir, may be true, or it may be false; it may be credible, or it may be incredible; but, if it be true, and if it be credible, I do not hesitate to say, Sir, that our grounds of action, Sir, are strong, and not to be shaken. You may be an unfortunate man, Sir, or you may be a designing one; but if I were called upon, as a juryman upon my oath, Sir, to express an opinion of your conduct, Sir, I do not hesitate to assert that I should have but one opinion about it.” Here Dodson drew himself up, with an air of offended virtue, and looked at Fogg, who thrust his hands farther in his pockets, and nodding his head sagely, said, in a tone of the fullest concurrence, “Most certainly.”
“Well, Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, with considerable pain depicted in his countenance, “you will permit me to assure you that I am a most unfortunate man, so far as this case is concerned.”
“I hope you are, Sir,” replied Dodson; “I trust you may be, Sir. If you are really innocent of what is laid to your charge, you are more unfortunate than I had believed any man could possibly be. What do you say, Mr. Fogg?”
“I say precisely what you say,” replied Fogg, with a smile of incredulity.
“The writ, Sir, which commences the action,” continued Dodson, “was issued regularly. Mr. Fogg, where is the Praecipe book?”
“Here it is,” said Fogg, handing over a square book, with a parchment cover.
“Here is the entry,”
