Chapter 2

"Yes, funny, are they not?" replied the little old man, with a diabolical leer; and then, without pausing for an answer, he continued,--

"I knew another man--let me see--forty years ago now--who took an old, damp, rotten set of chambers in one of the most ancient Inns, that had been shut up and empty for years and years before. There were lots of old women's stories about the place, and it certainly was very far from being a cheerful one; but he was poor, and the rooms were cheap, and that would have been quite a sufficient reason for him, if they had been ten times worse than they really were. He was obliged to take some mouldering fixtures that were on the place, and, among the rest, was a great lumbering wooden press for papers, with large glass doors, and a green curtain inside; a pretty useless thing for him, for he had no papers to put in it; and as to his clothes, he carried them about with him, and that wasn't very hard work either. Well, he had moved in all his furniture--it wasn't quite a truck-full--and had sprinkled it about the room, so as to make the four chairs look as much like a dozen as possible, and was sitting down before the fire at night, drinking the first glass of two gallons of whisky he had ordered on credit, wondering whether it would ever be paid for, and if so, in how many years' time, when his eyes encountered the glass doors of the wooden press. 'Ah,' says he, 'if I hadn't been obliged to take that ugly article at the old broker's valuation I might have got something comfortable for the money. I'll tell you what it is, old fellow,' he said, speaking aloud to the press, having nothing else to speak to, 'if it wouldn't cost more to break up your old carcase than it would ever be worth afterwards, I'd have a fire out of you in less than no time.' He had hardly spoken the words when a sound, resembling a faint groan, appeared to issue from the interior of the case. It startled him at first, but thinking, on a moment's reflection, that it must be some young fellow in the next chamber, who had been dining out, he put his feet on the fender, and raised the poker to stir the fire. At that moment the sound was repeated, and one of the glass doors slowly opening disclosed a pale and emaciated figure in soiled and worn apparel standing erect in the press. The figure was tall and thin, and the countenance expressive of care and anxiety; but there was something in the hue of the skin, and gaunt and unearthly appearance of the whole form, which no being of this world was ever seen to wear. 'Who are you?' said the new tenant, turning very pale, poising the poker in his hand, however, and taking a very decent aim at the countenance of the figure. 'Who are you?' 'Don't throw that poker at me,' replied the form. 'If you hurled it with ever so sure an aim, it would pass through me without resistance, and expend its force on the wood behind. I am a spirit.' 'And, pray, what do you want here?' faltered the tenant. 'In this room,' replied the apparition, 'my worldly ruin was worked, and I and my children beggared. In this press the papers in a long, long suit, which accumulated for years, were deposited. In this room, when I had died of grief and long-deferred hope, two wily harpies divided the wealth for which I had contested during a wretched existence, and of which, at last, not one farthing was left for my unhappy descendants. I terrified them from the spot, and since that day have prowled by night--the only period at which I can re-visit the earth--about the scenes of my long-protracted misery. This apartment is mine; leave it to me.' 'If you insist on making your appearance here,' said the tenant, who had time to collect his presence of mind during this prosy statement of the ghost's, 'I shall give up possession with the greatest pleasure; but I should like to ask you one question, if you will allow me.' 'Say on,' said the apparition, sternly. 'Well,' said the tenant, 'I don't apply the observation personally to you, because it is equally applicable to most of the ghosts I ever heard of; but it does appear to me somewhat inconsistent that when you have an opportunity of visiting the fairest spots of earth--for I suppose space is nothing to you--you should always return exactly to the very places where you have been most miserable.' 'Egad, that's very true; I never thought of that before,' said the ghost. 'You see, sir,' pursued the tenant, 'this is a very uncomfortable room. From the appearance of that press I should be disposed to say that it is not wholly free from bugs; and I really think you might find much more comfortable quarters, to say nothing of the climate of London, which is extremely disagreeable.' 'You are very right, sir,' said the ghost, politely; 'it never struck me till now; I'll try a change of air directly.' In fact, he began to vanish as he spoke--his legs, indeed, had quite disappeared. 'And if, sir,' said the tenant, calling after him, 'if you _would_ have the goodness to suggest to the other ladies and gentlemen who are now engaged in haunting old empty houses, that they might be much more comfortable elsewhere, you will confer a very great benefit on society.' 'I will,' replied the ghost; 'we must be dull fellows, very dull fellows indeed; I can't imagine how we can have been so stupid.' With these words the spirit disappeared; and what is rather remarkable," added the old man, with a shrewd look round the table, "he never came back again."

But I must not delay longer over where the lawyers live. The lawyers of Dickens furnish me with three types of the practising solicitor or attorney, each admirable in its way. First, Mr. Perker, whose aid Mr. Wardle seeks to release Miss Rachel Wardle from that scoundrel Jingle. He is described as a little high-dried man, with a dark squeezed-up face, and small restless black eyes, that kept winking and twinkling on each side of his little inquisitive nose, as if they were playing a perpetual game of peep-bo with that feature. He was dressed all in black, with boots as shiny as his eyes, a low white neckcloth, and a clean shirt with a frill to it. A gold watch-chain and seals depended from his fob. He carried his black kid gloves _in_ his hands, and not _on_ them; and as he spoke, thrust his wrists beneath his coat-tails, with the air of a man who was in the habit of propounding some regular posers.

He lived at Montague Place, Russell Square, and had offices in Gray's Inn, and appears to have had a large and very respectable business, into the details of which we have not time to travel; but perhaps the cleverest piece of business he ever did was when, as Agent to the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, he brought about the return of that honourable gentleman as Member of Parliament. I suppose we have all read the account of that memorable election, which is a pretty accurate record of what went on at Eatanswill, and I am credibly informed at many other places.

Mr. Pickwick and his companions, in their quest for experience, set out for the excitement of a contested election, and found their way to the agent's room.

"Ah--ah, my dear sir," said the little man, advancing to meet him; "very happy to see you, my dear sir, very. Pray sit down. So you have carried your intention into effect. You have come down here to see an election--eh?"

Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative.

"Spirited contest, my dear sir," said the little man.

"I'm delighted to hear it," said Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his hands. "I like to see sturdy patriotism, on whatever side it is called forth;--and so it's a spirited contest?"

"Oh, yes," said the little man, "very much so indeed. We have opened all the public-houses in the place, and left our adversary nothing but the beer-shops--masterly stroke of policy that, my dear sir, eh?"

The little man smiled complacently, and took a large pinch of snuff.

"And what are the probabilities as to the result of the contest?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.

"Why, doubtful, my dear sir; rather doubtful as yet," replied the little man. "Fizkin's people have got three-and-thirty voters in the lock-up coach-house at the White Hart."

"In the coach-house!" said Mr. Pickwick, considerably astonished by this second stroke of policy.

"They keep 'em locked up there till they want 'em," resumed the little man. "The effect of that is, you see, to prevent our getting at them; and even if we could, it would be of no use, for they keep them very drunk on purpose. Smart fellow Fizkin's agent--very smart fellow indeed."

Mr. Pickwick stared, but said nothing.

"We are pretty confident, though," said Mr. Perker, sinking his voice almost to a whisper. "We had a little tea-party here last night--five- and-forty women, my dear sir--and gave every one of 'em a green parasol when she went away."

"A parasol?" said Mr. Pickwick.

"Fact, my dear sir, fact. Five-and-forty green parasols at seven and sixpence a-piece. All women like finery--extraordinary the effect of those parasols. Secured all their husbands, and half their brothers--beat stockings, and flannel, and all that sort of thing hollow. My idea, my dear sir, entirely. Hail, rain, or sunshine, you can't walk half-a-dozen yards up the street without encountering half- a-dozen green parasols."

On the day of the election the stable yard exhibited unequivocal symptoms of the glory and strength of the Eatanswill Blues. There was a regular army of blue flags, some with one handle, and some with two, exhibiting appropriate devices, in golden characters four feet high, and stout in proportion. There was a grand band of trumpets, bassoons, and drums, marshalled four abreast, and earning their money, if ever men did, especially the drum beaters, who were very muscular. There were bodies of constables with blue staves, twenty committee men with blue scarves, and a mob of voters with blue cockades. There were electors on horseback and electors on foot. There was an open carriage and four, for the Honourable Samuel Slumkey; and there were four carriages and pair, for his friends and supporters; and the flags were rustling, and the band was playing, and the constables were swearing, and the twenty committee men were squabbling, and the mob were shouting, and the horses were backing, and the post-boys were perspiring; and everybody, and everything, then and there assembled, was for the special use, behoof, honour, and renown, of the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, one of the candidates for the representation of the Borough of Eatanswill, in the Commons House of Parliament of the United Kingdom.

Loud and long were the cheers, and mighty was the rustling of one of the blue flags, with "Liberty of the Press" inscribed thereon, when the sandy head of Mr. Pott was discerned in one of the windows by the mob beneath; and tremendous was the enthusiasm when the Honourable Samuel Slumkey himself, in top boots, and a blue neckerchief, advanced and seized the hand of the said Pott, and melodramatically testified by gestures to the crowd his ineffaceable obligations to the _Eatanswill Gazette_.

"Is everything ready?" said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey to Mr. Perker.

"Everything, my dear sir," was the little man's reply.

"Nothing has been omitted, I hope?" said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey.

"Nothing has been left undone, my dear sir--nothing whatever. There are twenty washed men at the street door for you to shake hands with; and six children in arms that you're to pat on the head, and inquire the age of; be particular about the children, my dear sir,--it has always a great effect, that sort of thing."

"I'll take care," said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey.

"And perhaps, my dear sir," said the cautious little man, "perhaps if you _could_--I don't mean to say it's indispensable--but if you _could_ manage to kiss one of 'em it would produce a very great impression on the crowd."

"Wouldn't it have as good an effect if the proposer or seconder did that?" said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey.

"Why, I am afraid it wouldn't," replied the agent; "if it were done by yourself, my dear sir, I think it would make you very popular."

"Very well," said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, with a resigned air, "then it must be done. That's all."

"Arrange the procession," cried the twenty committee men.

Amidst the cheers of the assembled throng, the band, and the constables, and the committee men, and the voters, and the horsemen, and the carriages took their places--each of the two-horse vehicles being closely packed with as many gentlemen as could manage to stand upright in it; and that assigned to Mr. Perker containing Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, and about half-a-dozen of the committee beside.

There was a moment of awful suspense as the procession waited for the Honourable Samuel Slumkey to step into his carriage. Suddenly the crowd set up a great cheering.

"He has come out," said little Mr. Perker, greatly excited; the more so as their position did not enable them to see what was going forward.

Another cheer, much louder.

"He has shaken hands with the men," cried the little agent.

Another cheer, far more vehement.

"He has patted the babies on the head," said Mr. Perker, trembling with anxiety.

A roar of applause that rent the air.

"He has kissed one of 'em!" exclaimed the delighted little man.

A second roar.

"He has kissed another," gasped the excited manager.

A third roar.

"He's kissing 'em all!" screamed the enthusiastic little gentleman. And hailed by the deafening shouts of the multitude the procession moved on.

Ladies and gentlemen, according to our modern ideas this account does not do much to raise Mr. Perker in our estimation; but the best testimonial to his memory is to be found in Mr. Pickwick's observation when, being at last free from all his legal difficulties, he proposed to settle up with his lawyer.

"Well, now," said Mr. Pickwick, "let me have a settlement with you."

"Of the same kind as the last?" inquired Perker, with another laugh, for Mr. Pickwick had just been dismissing Messrs. Dodson and Fogg with some strong language indeed.

"Not exactly," said Mr. Pickwick, drawing out his pocket-book, and shaking the little man heartily by the hand; "I only mean a pecuniary settlement. You have done me many acts of kindness that I can never repay, and have no wish to repay, for I prefer continuing the obligation."

With this preface the two friends dived into some very complicated accounts and vouchers, which, having been duly displayed and gone through by Perker, were at once discharged by Mr. Pickwick with many professions of esteem and friendship.

Never was bill of costs so pleasantly discharged, though I know many lawyers who have won the friendship and esteem of their clients.

The next type is that of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, of Freeman's Court, Cornhill. The character of the genial partner is best described by one of his clerks in a conversation overheard by Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller while waiting for an interview with this celebrated firm.

"There was such a game with Fogg here this morning," said the man in the brown coat, "while Jack was upstairs sorting the papers, and you two were gone to the stamp-office. Fogg was down here opening the letters when that chap as we issued the writ against at Camberwell, you know, came in--what's his name again?"

"Ramsey," said the clerk who had spoken to Mr. Pickwick.

"Ah, Ramsey--a precious seedy-looking customer. 'Well, sir,' says old Fogg, looking at him very fierce--you know his way--'well, sir, have you come to settle?' 'Yes, I have, sir,' said Ramsey, putting his hand in his pocket and bringing out the money; 'the debt's two pound ten, and the costs three pound five, and here it is, sir,' and he sighed like bricks as he lugged out the money, done up in a bit of blotting-paper. Old Fogg looked first at the money, and then at him, and then he coughed in his rum way, so that I knew something was coming. 'You don't know there's a declaration filed, which increases the costs materially, I suppose?' said Fogg. 'You don't say that, sir,' said Ramsey, starting back; 'the time was only out last night, sir.' 'I do say it, though,' said Fogg; 'my clerk's just gone to file it. Hasn't Mr. Jackson gone to file that declaration in Bullman and Ramsey, Mr. Wicks?' Of course I said yes, and then Fogg coughed again, and looked at Ramsey. 'My God!' said Ramsey; 'and here have I nearly driven myself mad, scraping this money together, and all to no purpose.' 'None at all,' said Fogg, coolly; 'so you had better go back and scrape some more together, and bring it here in time.' 'I can't get it, by God!' said Ramsey, striking the desk with his fist. 'Don't bully me, sir,' said Fogg, getting into a passion on purpose. 'I am not bullying you, sir,' said Ramsey. 'You are,' said Fogg; 'get out, sir; get out of this office, sir, and come back, sir, when you know how to behave yourself.' Well, Ramsey tried to speak, but Fogg wouldn't let him, so he put the money in his pocket and sneaked out. The door was scarcely shut when old Fogg turned round to me, with a sweet smile on his face, and drew the declaration out of his coat pocket. 'Here, Wicks,' said Fogg, 'take a cab and go down to the Temple as quick as you can and file that. The costs are quite safe, for he's a steady man with a large family, at a salary of five-and- twenty shillings a week; and if he gives us a warrant of attorney, as he must in the end, I know his employers will see it paid, so we may as well get all we can out of him, Mr. Wicks; it's a Christian act to do it, Mr. Wicks, for with his large family and small income he'll be all the better for a good lesson against getting into debt--won't he, Mr. Wicks, won't he?' and he smiled so good-naturedly as he went away that it was delightful to see him. 'He is a capital man of business,' said Wicks, in a tone of the deepest admiration; 'capital, isn't he?'"

Mr. Fogg, we are told, was an elderly, pimply-faced, vegetable diet sort of man, in a black coat, and dark-mixtured trousers; and Mr. Dodson was a plump, portly, stern-looking man, with a loud voice. And it was from these worthies that Mr. Pickwick had received a letter dated the 28th of August, 1827.

FREEMAN'S COURT, CORNHILL. _Bardell against Pickwick_.

SIR,--Having been instructed by Mrs. Martha Bardell to commence an action against you for a breach of promise of marriage, for which the plaintiff lays her damages at fifteen hundred pounds, we beg to inform you that a writ has been issued against you in this suit in the Court of Common Pleas, and request to know, by return of post, the name of your attorney in London, who will accept service thereof.

We are, Sir, Your obedient servants, DODSON AND FOGG. MR. SAMUEL PICKWICK.

I am bound to say that Mr. Pickwick did not conduct himself with his usual dignity on the occasion of his interview on the subject of this letter. The two sharp practitioners had certainly commenced an action against him on grounds which, though definite, were wholly inadequate. But in this alone there was nothing to justify the very violent language of Mr. Pickwick.

"Very well, gentlemen, very well," said Mr. Pickwick, rising in person and wrath at the same time; "you shall hear from my solicitor, gentlemen."

"We shall be very happy to do so," said Fogg, rubbing his hands.

"Very," said Dodson, opening the door.

"And before I go, gentlemen," said the excited Mr. Pickwick, turning round on the landing, "permit me to say, that of all the disgraceful and rascally proceedings--"

"Stay, sir, stay," interposed Dodson, with great politeness. "Mr. Jackson! Mr. Wicks!"

"Sir," said the two clerks, appearing at the bottom of the stairs.

"I merely want you to hear what this gentleman says," replied Dodson. "Pray go on, sir--disgraceful and rascally proceedings, I think you said?"

"I did," said Mr. Pickwick, thoroughly roused. "I said, sir, that of all the disgraceful and rascally proceedings that ever were attempted this is the most so. I repeat it, sir."

"You hear that, Mr. Wicks?" said Dodson.

"You won't forget these expressions, Mr. Jackson?" said Fogg.

"Perhaps you would like to call us swindlers, sir," said Dodson. "Pray do, sir, if you feel disposed; now pray do, sir."

"I do," said Mr. Pickwick. "You _are_ swindlers."

"Very good," said Dodson. "You can hear down there, I hope, Mr. Wicks?"

"Oh, yes, sir," said Wicks.

"You had better come up a step or two higher if you can't," added Mr. Fogg. "Go on, sir; do go on. You had better call us thieves, sir; or perhaps you would like to assault one of us. Pray do it, sir, if you would; we will not make the slightest resistance. Pray do it, sir."

As Fogg put himself very temptingly within the reach of Mr. Pickwick's clenched fist there is little doubt that gentleman would have complied with his earnest entreaty but for the interposition of Sam, who, hearing the dispute, emerged from the office, mounted the stairs, and seized his master by the arm.

"You just come avay," said Mr. Weller. "Battledore and shuttlecock's a wery good game, when you ain't the shuttlecock and two lawyers the battledores, in which case it gets too excitin' to be pleasant. Come avay, sir. If you want to ease your mind by blowing up somebody come out into the court and blow up me; but it's rayther too expensive work to be carried on here."

With that good advice Mr. Weller took Mr. Pickwick away from the lawyers' office. But before we say anything about the trial itself let me introduce to you another solicitor not so well known as either Perker or Dodson and Fogg, but to my mind the most interesting as he certainly is the most humorous.

Mr. Pell had the honour of being the legal adviser of Mr. Weller, Senior. The latter gentleman always stoutly maintained that if Mr. Pickwick had had the services of Mr. Pell, and had established an _alibi_, the great case of Bardell against Pickwick would have been decided otherwise. Mr. Pell practised in the Insolvency Court. He "was a fat, flabby, pale man, in a surtout which looked green one moment, and brown the next, with a velvet collar of the same chameleon tints. His forehead was narrow, his face wide, his head large, and his nose all on one side, as if Nature, indignant with the propensities she observed in him at his birth, had given it an angry tweak which it had never recovered. Being short-necked and asthmatic, however, he respired principally through this feature; so, perhaps, what it wanted in ornament, it made up in usefulness."

Mr. Pell had successfully piloted Mr. Weller through the Insolvency Court, and his services were sought to carry out the process by which Sam Weller became a voluntary prisoner in the Fleet at the suit of his obdurate parent.

"The late Lord Chancellor, gentlemen, was very fond of me," said Mr. Pell.

"And wery creditable in him, too," interposed Mr. Weller.

"Hear, hear," assented Mr. Pell's client. "Why shouldn't he be?"

"Ah, why, indeed!" said a very red-faced man, who had said nothing yet, and who looked extremely unlikely to say anything more. "Why shouldn't he?"