Mr. Pickwick yawned several times when he had arrived at the
end of this little manuscript, carefully refolded, and replaced it in
the inkstand drawer, and then, with a countenance expressive of
the utmost weariness, lighted his chamber candle, and went
upstairs to bed.
He stopped at Mr. Dowler's door, according to custom, and
knocked to say good-night.
'Ah!' said Dowler, 'going to bed? I wish I was. Dismal night.
Windy; isn't it?'
'Very,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Good-night.'
'Good-night.'
Mr. Pickwick went to his bedchamber, and Mr. Dowler
resumed his seat before the fire, in fulfilment of his rash promise
to sit up till his wife came home.
There are few things more worrying than sitting up for somebody,
especially if that somebody be at a party. You cannot help
thinking how quickly the time passes with them, which drags so
heavily with you; and the more you think of this, the more your
hopes of their speedy arrival decline. Clocks tick so loud, too,
when you are sitting up alone, and you seem as if you had an
under-garment of cobwebs on. First, something tickles your
right knee, and then the same sensation irritates your left. You
have no sooner changed your position, than it comes again in the
arms; when you have fidgeted your limbs into all sorts of queer
shapes, you have a sudden relapse in the nose, which you rub as
if to rub it off—as there is no doubt you would, if you could.
Eyes, too, are mere personal inconveniences; and the wick of one
candle gets an inch and a half long, while you are snuffing the
other. These, and various other little nervous annoyances,
render sitting up for a length of time after everybody else has
gone to bed, anything but a cheerful amusement.
This was just Mr. Dowler's opinion, as he sat before the fire,
and felt honestly indignant with all the inhuman people at the
party who were keeping him up. He was not put into better
humour either, by the reflection that he had taken it into his
head, early in the evening, to think he had got an ache there, and
so stopped at home. At length, after several droppings asleep,
and fallings forward towards the bars, and catchings backward
soon enough to prevent being branded in the face, Mr. Dowler
made up his mind that he would throw himself on the bed in the
back room and think—not sleep, of course.
'I'm a heavy sleeper,' said Mr. Dowler, as he flung himself on
the bed. 'I must keep awake. I suppose I shall hear a knock here.
Yes. I thought so. I can hear the watchman. There he goes.
Fainter now, though. A little fainter. He's turning the corner.
Ah!' When Mr. Dowler arrived at this point, he turned the
corner at which he had been long hesitating, and fell fast asleep.
Just as the clock struck three, there was blown into the crescent
a sedan-chair with Mrs. Dowler inside, borne by one short, fat
chairman, and one long, thin one, who had had much ado to
keep their bodies perpendicular: to say nothing of the chair.
But on that high ground, and in the crescent, which the wind
swept round and round as if it were going to tear the paving
stones up, its fury was tremendous. They were very glad to set
the chair down, and give a good round loud double-knock at the
street door.
They waited some time, but nobody came.
'Servants is in the arms o' Porpus, I think,' said the short
chairman, warming his hands at the attendant link-boy's torch.
'I wish he'd give 'em a squeeze and wake 'em,' observed the
long one.
'Knock again, will you, if you please,' cried Mrs. Dowler from
the chair. 'Knock two or three times, if you please.'
The short man was quite willing to get the job over, as soon as
possible; so he stood on the step, and gave four or five most
startling double-knocks, of eight or ten knocks a-piece, while the
long man went into the road, and looked up at the windows for
a light.
Nobody came. It was all as silent and dark as ever.
'Dear me!' said Mrs. Dowler. 'You must knock again, if you
please.'
'There ain't a bell, is there, ma'am?' said the short chairman.
'Yes, there is,' interposed the link-boy, 'I've been a-ringing at
it ever so long.'
'It's only a handle,' said Mrs. Dowler, 'the wire's broken.'
'I wish the servants' heads wos,' growled the long man.
'I must trouble you to knock again, if you please,' said Mrs.
Dowler, with the utmost politeness.
The short man did knock again several times, without producing
the smallest effect. The tall man, growing very impatient,
then relieved him, and kept on perpetually knocking double-knocks of two loud knocks each, like an insane postman.
At length Mr. Winkle began to dream that he was at a club,
and that the members being very refractory, the chairman was
obliged to hammer the table a good deal to preserve order; then
he had a confused notion of an auction room where there were
no bidders, and the auctioneer was buying everything in; and
ultimately he began to think it just within the bounds of possibility
that somebody might be knocking at the street door. To
make quite certain, however, he remained quiet in bed for ten
minutes or so, and listened; and when he had counted two or
three-and-thirty knocks, he felt quite satisfied, and gave himself a
great deal of credit for being so wakeful.
'Rap rap-rap rap-rap rap-ra, ra, ra, ra, ra, rap!' went the knocker.
Mr. Winkle jumped out of bed, wondering very much what
could possibly be the matter, and hastily putting on his stockings
and slippers, folded his dressing-gown round him, lighted a flat
candle from the rush-light that was burning in the fireplace, and
hurried downstairs.
'Here's somebody comin' at last, ma'am,' said the
short chairman.
'I wish I wos behind him vith a bradawl,' muttered the long one.
'Who's there?' cried Mr. Winkle, undoing the chain.
'Don't stop to ask questions, cast-iron head,' replied the long
man, with great disgust, taking it for granted that the inquirer was
a footman; 'but open the door.'
'Come, look sharp, timber eyelids,' added the other encouragingly.
Mr. Winkle, being half asleep, obeyed the command mechanically,
opened the door a little, and peeped out. The first thing he
saw, was the red glare of the link-boy's torch. Startled by the
sudden fear that the house might be on fire, he hastily threw the
door wide open, and holding the candle above his head, stared
eagerly before him, not quite certain whether what he saw was a
sedan-chair or a fire-engine. At this instant there came a violent
gust of wind; the light was blown out; Mr. Winkle felt himself
irresistibly impelled on to the steps; and the door blew to, with
a loud crash.
'Well, young man, now you HAVE done it!' said the short chairman.
Mr. Winkle, catching sight of a lady's face at the window of
the sedan, turned hastily round, plied the knocker with all his
might and main, and called frantically upon the chairman to
take the chair away again.
'Take it away, take it away,' cried Mr. Winkle. 'Here's somebody
coming out of another house; put me into the chair. Hide
me! Do something with me!'
All this time he was shivering with cold; and every time he
raised his hand to the knocker, the wind took the dressing-gown
in a most unpleasant manner.
'The people are coming down the crescent now. There are
ladies with 'em; cover me up with something. Stand before me!'
roared Mr. Winkle. But the chairmen were too much exhausted
with laughing to afford him the slightest assistance, and the ladies
were every moment approaching nearer and nearer.
Mr. Winkle gave a last hopeless knock; the ladies were only a
few doors off. He threw away the extinguished candle, which, all
this time he had held above his head, and fairly bolted into the
sedan-chair where Mrs. Dowler was.
Now, Mrs. Craddock had heard the knocking and the voices
at last; and, only waiting to put something smarter on her head
than her nightcap, ran down into the front drawing-room to make
sure that it was the right party. Throwing up the window-sash
as Mr. Winkle was rushing into the chair, she no sooner caught
sight of what was going forward below, than she raised a vehement
and dismal shriek, and implored Mr. Dowler to get up
directly, for his wife was running away with another gentleman.
Upon this, Mr. Dowler bounced off the bed as abruptly as an
India-rubber ball, and rushing into the front room, arrived at one
window just as Mr. Pickwick threw up the other, when the first
object that met the gaze of both, was Mr. Winkle bolting into the
sedan-chair.
'Watchman,' shouted Dowler furiously, 'stop him—hold him
—keep him tight—shut him in, till I come down. I'll cut his
throat—give me a knife—from ear to ear, Mrs. Craddock—I
will!' And breaking from the shrieking landlady, and from Mr.
Pickwick, the indignant husband seized a small supper-knife, and
tore into the street.
But Mr. Winkle didn't wait for him. He no sooner heard the
horrible threat of the valorous Dowler, than he bounced out of
the sedan, quite as quickly as he had bounced in, and throwing
off his slippers into the road, took to his heels and tore round the
crescent, hotly pursued by Dowler and the watchman. He kept
ahead; the door was open as he came round the second time; he
rushed in, slammed it in Dowler's face, mounted to his bedroom,
locked the door, piled a wash-hand-stand, chest of drawers, and a
table against it, and packed up a few necessaries ready for flight
with the first ray of morning.
Dowler came up to the outside of the door; avowed, through
the keyhole, his steadfast determination of cutting Mr. Winkle's
throat next day; and, after a great confusion of voices in the
drawing-room, amidst which that of Mr. Pickwick was distinctly
heard endeavouring to make peace, the inmates dispersed to their
several bed-chambers, and all was quiet once more.
It is not unlikely that the inquiry may be made, where Mr.
Weller was, all this time? We will state where he was, in the next
chapter.
