instance?’
‘Or confide in me?’ added Mr. Pickwick.
‘Dear, dear,’ said Arabella, taking up the defence, ‘what is the use of asking all that now, especially when you know you had set your covetous old heart on a richer son–in–law, and are so wild and fierce besides, that everybody is afraid of you, except me? Shake hands with him, and order him some dinner, for goodness gracious’ sake, for he looks half starved; and pray have your wine up at once, for you’ll not be tolerable until you have taken two bottles at least.’
The worthy old gentleman pulled Arabella’s ear, kissed her without the smallest scruple, kissed his daughter also with great affection, and shook Mr. Snodgrass warmly by the hand.
‘She is right on one point at all events,’ said the old gentleman cheerfully. ‘Ring for the wine!’
The wine came, and Perker came upstairs at the same moment. Mr. Snodgrass had dinner at a side table, and, when he had despatched it, drew his chair next Emily, without the smallest opposition on the old gentleman’s part.
The evening was excellent. Little Mr. Perker came out wonderfully, told various comic stories, and sang a serious song which was almost as funny as the anecdotes. Arabella was very charming, Mr. Wardle very jovial, Mr. Pickwick very harmonious, Mr. Ben Allen very uproarious, the lovers very silent, Mr. Winkle very talkative, and all of them very happy.
Chapter 55
Mr. Solomon Pell, assisted by a Select Committee of Coachmen, arranges the affairs of the elder Mr. Weller
‘Samivel,’ said Mr. Weller, accosting his son on the morning after the funeral, ‘I’ve found it, Sammy. I thought it wos there.’
‘Thought wot wos there?’ inquired Sam.
‘Your mother–in–law’s vill, Sammy,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘In wirtue o’ vich, them arrangements is to be made as I told you on, last night, respectin’ the funs.’
‘Wot, didn’t she tell you were it wos?’ inquired Sam.
‘Not a bit on it, Sammy,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘We wos a adjestin’ our little differences, and I wos a–cheerin’ her spirits and bearin’ her up, so that I forgot to ask anythin’ about it. I don’t know as I should ha’ done it, indeed, if I had remembered it,’ added Mr. Weller, ‘for it’s a rum sort o’ thing, Sammy, to go a–hankerin’ arter anybody’s property, ven you’re assistin’ ’em in illness. It’s like helping an outside passenger up, ven he’s been pitched off a coach, and puttin’ your hand in his pocket, vile you ask him, vith a sigh, how he finds his–self, Sammy.’
With this figurative illustration of his meaning, Mr. Weller unclasped his pocket–book, and drew forth a dirty sheet of letter–paper, on which were inscribed various characters crowded together in remarkable confusion.
‘This here is the dockyment, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘I found it in the little black tea–pot, on the top shelf o’ the bar closet. She used to keep bank–notes there, ‘fore she vos married, Samivel. I’ve seen her take the lid off, to pay a bill, many and many a time. Poor creetur, she might ha’ filled all the tea–pots in the house vith vills, and not have inconwenienced herself neither, for she took wery little of anythin’ in that vay lately, ‘cept on the temperance nights, ven they just laid a foundation o’ tea to put the spirits atop on!’
‘What does it say?’ inquired Sam.
‘Jist vot I told you, my boy,’ rejoined his parent. ‘Two hundred pound vurth o’ reduced counsels to my son– in–law, Samivel, and all the rest o’ my property, of ev’ry kind and description votsoever, to my husband, Mr. Tony Veller, who I appint as my sole eggzekiter.’
‘That’s all, is it?’ said Sam.
‘That’s all,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘And I s’pose as it’s all right and satisfactory to you and me as is the only parties interested, ve may as vell put this bit o’ paper into the fire.’
‘Wot are you a–doin’ on, you lunatic?’ said Sam, snatching the paper away, as his parent, in all innocence, stirred the fire preparatory to suiting the action to the word. ‘You’re a nice eggzekiter, you are.’
‘Vy not?’ inquired Mr. Weller, looking sternly round, with the poker in his hand.
‘Vy not?’ exclaimed Sam. ‘‘Cos it must be proved, and probated, and swore to, and all manner o’ formalities.’
‘You don’t mean that?’ said Mr. Weller, laying down the poker.
Sam buttoned the will carefully in a side pocket; intimating by a look, meanwhile, that he did mean it, and very seriously too.
‘Then I’ll tell you wot it is,’ said Mr. Weller, after a short meditation, ‘this is a case for that ‘ere confidential pal o’ the Chancellorship’s. Pell must look into this, Sammy. He’s the man for a difficult question at law. Ve’ll have this here brought afore the Solvent Court, directly, Samivel.’
‘I never did see such a addle–headed old creetur!’ exclaimed Sam irritably; ‘Old Baileys, and Solvent Courts, and alleybis, and ev’ry species o’ gammon alvays a–runnin’ through his brain. You’d better get your out o’ door clothes on, and come to town about this bisness, than stand a–preachin’ there about wot you don’t understand nothin’ on.’
‘Wery good, Sammy,’ replied Mr. Weller, ‘I’m quite agreeable to anythin’ as vill hexpedite business, Sammy. But mind this here, my boy, nobody but Pell—nobody but Pell as a legal adwiser.’
‘I don’t want anybody else,’ replied Sam. ‘Now, are you a–comin’?’
‘Vait a minit, Sammy,’ replied Mr. Weller, who, having tied his shawl with the aid of a small glass that hung in the window, was now, by dint of the most wonderful exertions, struggling into his upper garments. ‘Vait a minit’ Sammy; ven you grow as old as your father, you von’t get into your veskit quite as easy as you do now, my boy.’
‘If I couldn’t get into it easier than that, I’m blessed if I’d vear vun at all,’ rejoined his son.
‘You think so now,’ said Mr. Weller, with the gravity of age, ‘but you’ll find that as you get vider, you’ll get viser. Vidth and visdom, Sammy, alvays grows together.’
As Mr. Weller delivered this infallible maxim—the result of many years’ personal experience and observation —he contrived, by a dexterous twist of his body, to get the bottom button of his coat to perform its office. Having paused a few seconds to recover breath, he brushed his hat with his elbow, and declared himself ready.
‘As four heads is better than two, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, as they drove along the London Road in the chaise–cart, ‘and as all this here property is a wery great temptation to a legal gen’l’m’n, ve’ll take a couple o’ friends o’ mine vith us, as’ll be wery soon down upon him if he comes anythin’ irreg’lar; two o’ them as saw you to the Fleet that day. They’re the wery best judges,’ added Mr. Weller, in a half–whisper—‘the wery best judges of a horse, you ever know’d.’
‘And of a lawyer too?’ inquired Sam.
‘The man as can form a ackerate judgment of a animal, can form a ackerate judgment of anythin’,’ replied his father, so dogmatically, that Sam did not attempt to controvert the position.
In pursuance of this notable resolution, the services of the mottled–faced gentleman and of two other very fat coachmen—selected by Mr. Weller, probably, with a view to their width and consequent wisdom—were put into requisition; and this assistance having been secured, the party proceeded to the public–house in Portugal Street, whence a messenger was despatched to the Insolvent Court over the way, requiring Mr. Solomon Pell’s immediate attendance.
The messenger fortunately found Mr. Solomon Pell in court, regaling himself, business being rather slack, with a cold collation of an Abernethy biscuit and a saveloy. The message was no sooner whispered in his ear than he thrust them in his pocket among various professional documents, and hurried over the way with such alacrity that he reached the parlour before the messenger had even emancipated himself from the court.
‘Gentlemen,’ said Mr. Pell, touching his hat, ‘my service to you all. I don’t say it to flatter you, gentlemen, but there are not five other men in the world, that I’d have come out of that court for, to–day.’
‘So busy, eh?’ said Sam.
‘Busy!’ replied Pell; ‘I’m completely sewn up, as my friend the late Lord Chancellor many a time used to say to me, gentlemen, when he came out from hearing appeals in the House of Lords. Poor fellow; he was very
