The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens (black male authors txt) đ
- Author: Charles Dickens
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âNow, Joe, knives and forks.â The knives and forks were handed in, and the ladies and gentlemen inside, and Mr. Winkle on the box, were each furnished with those useful instruments.
âPlates, Joe, plates.â A similar process employed in the distribution of the crockery.
âNow, Joe, the fowls. Damn that boy; heâs gone to sleep again. Joe! Joe!â (Sundry taps on the head with a stick, and the fat boy, with some difficulty, roused from his lethargy.) âCome, hand in the eatables.â
There was something in the sound of the last word which roused the unctuous boy. He jumped up, and the leaden eyes which twinkled behind his mountainous cheeks leered horribly upon the food as he unpacked it from the basket.
âNow make haste,â said Mr. Wardle; for the fat boy was hanging fondly over a capon, which he seemed wholly unable to part with. The boy sighed deeply, and, bestowing an ardent gaze upon its plumpness, unwillingly consigned it to his master.
âThatâs rightâlook sharp. Now the tongueânow the pigeon pie. Take care of that veal and hamâmind the lobstersâtake the salad out of the clothâgive me the dressing.â Such were the hurried orders which issued from the lips of Mr. Wardle, as he handed in the different articles described, and placed dishes in everybodyâs hands, and on everybodyâs knees, in endless number. âNow ainât this capital?â inquired that jolly personage, when the work of destruction had commenced.
âCapital!â said Mr. Winkle, who was carving a fowl on the box.
âGlass of wine?â
âWith the greatest pleasure.â âYouâd better have a bottle to yourself up there, hadnât you?â
âYouâre very good.â
âJoe!â
âYes, Sir.â (He wasnât asleep this time, having just succeeded in abstracting a veal patty.)
âBottle of wine to the gentleman on the box. Glad to see you, Sir.â
âThankâee.â Mr. Winkle emptied his glass, and placed the bottle on the coach-box, by his side.
âWill you permit me to have the pleasure, Sir?â said Mr. Trundle to Mr. Winkle.
âWith great pleasure,â replied Mr. Winkle to Mr. Trundle, and then the two gentlemen took wine, after which they took a glass of wine round, ladies and all.
âHow dear Emily is flirting with the strange gentleman,â whispered the spinster aunt, with true spinster-aunt-like envy, to her brother, Mr. Wardle.
âOh! I donât know,â said the jolly old gentleman; âall very natural, I dare sayânothing unusual. Mr. Pickwick, some wine, Sir?â Mr. Pickwick, who had been deeply investigating the interior of the pigeon-pie, readily assented.
âEmily, my dear,â said the spinster aunt, with a patronising air, âdonât talk so loud, love.â
âLor, aunt!â
âAunt and the little old gentleman want to have it all to themselves, I think,â whispered Miss Isabella Wardle to her sister Emily. The young ladies laughed very heartily, and the old one tried to look amiable, but couldnât manage it.
âYoung girls have such spirits,â said Miss Wardle to Mr. Tupman, with an air of gentle commiseration, as if animal spirits were contraband, and their possession without a permit a high crime and misdemeanour.
âOh, they have,â replied Mr. Tupman, not exactly making the sort of reply that was expected from him. âItâs quite delightful.â
âHem!â said Miss Wardle, rather dubiously.
âWill you permit me?â said Mr. Tupman, in his blandest manner, touching the enchanting Rachaelâs wrist with one hand, and gently elevating the bottle with the other. âWill you permit me?â
âOh, sir!â Mr. Tupman looked most impressive; and Rachael expressed her fear that more guns were going off, in which case, of course, she should have required support again.
âDo you think my dear nieces pretty?â whispered their affectionate aunt to Mr. Tupman.
âI should, if their aunt wasnât here,â replied the ready Pickwickian, with a passionate glance.
âOh, you naughty manâbut really, if their complexions were a little better, donât you think they would be nice-looking girlsâ by candlelight?â
âYes; I think they would,â said Mr. Tupman, with an air of indifference.
âOh, you quizâI know what you were going to say.â
âWhat?â inquired Mr. Tupman, who had not precisely made up his mind to say anything at all.
âYou were going to say that Isabel stoopsâI know you wereâ you men are such observers. Well, so she does; it canât be denied; and, certainly, if there is one thing more than another that makes a girl look ugly it is stooping. I often tell her that when she gets a little older sheâll be quite frightful. Well, you are a quiz!â
Mr. Tupman had no objection to earning the reputation at so cheap a rate: so he looked very knowing, and smiled mysteriously.
âWhat a sarcastic smile,â said the admiring Rachael; âI declare Iâm quite afraid of you.â
âAfraid of me!â
âOh, you canât disguise anything from meâI know what that smile means very well.â
âWhat?â said Mr. Tupman, who had not the slightest notion himself.
âYou mean,â said the amiable aunt, sinking her voice still lowerââyou mean, that you donât think Isabellaâs stooping is as bad as Emilyâs boldness. Well, she is bold! You cannot think how wretched it makes me sometimesâIâm sure I cry about it for hours togetherâmy dear brother is SO good, and so unsuspicious, that he never sees it; if he did, Iâm quite certain it would break his heart. I wish I could think it was only mannerâI hope it may beââ (Here the affectionate relative heaved a deep sigh, and shook her head despondingly).
âIâm sure auntâs talking about us,â whispered Miss Emily Wardle to her sisterââIâm quite certain of itâshe looks so malicious.â
âIs she?â replied Isabella.ââHem! aunt, dear!â
âYes, my dear love!â
âIâm SO afraid youâll catch cold, auntâhave a silk handkerchief to tie round your dear old headâyou really should take care of yourselfâconsider your age!â
However well deserved this piece of retaliation might have been, it was as vindictive a one as could well have been resorted to. There is no guessing in what form of reply the auntâs indignation would have vented itself, had not Mr. Wardle unconsciously changed the subject, by calling emphatically for Joe.
âDamn that boy,â said the old gentleman, âheâs gone to sleep again.â
âVery extraordinary boy, that,â said Mr. Pickwick; âdoes he always sleep in this way?â
âSleep!â said the old gentleman, âheâs always asleep. Goes on errands fast asleep, and snores as he waits at table.â
âHow very odd!â said Mr. Pickwick.
âAh! odd indeed,â returned the old gentleman; âIâm proud of that boyâwouldnât part with him on any accountâheâs a natural curiosity! Here, JoeâJoeâtake these things away, and open another bottleâdâye hear?â
The fat boy rose, opened his eyes, swallowed the huge piece of pie he had been in the act of masticating when he last fell asleep, and slowly obeyed his masterâs ordersâgloating languidly over the remains of the feast, as he removed the plates, and deposited them in the hamper. The fresh bottle was produced, and speedily emptied: the hamper was made fast in its old placeâthe fat boy once more mounted the boxâthe spectacles and pocket-glass were again adjustedâand the evolutions of the military recommenced. There was a great fizzing and banging of guns, and starting of ladiesâand then a Mine was sprung, to the gratification of everybodyâand when the mine had gone off, the military and the company followed its example, and went off too.
âNow, mind,â said the old gentleman, as he shook hands with Mr. Pickwick at the conclusion of a conversation which had been carried on at intervals, during the conclusion of the proceedings, âwe shall see you all to-morrow.â
âMost certainly,â replied Mr. Pickwick.
âYou have got the address?â
âManor Farm, Dingley Dell,â said Mr. Pickwick, consulting his pocket-book. âThatâs it,â said the old gentleman. âI donât let you off, mind, under a week; and undertake that you shall see everything worth seeing. If youâve come down for a country life, come to me, and Iâll give you plenty of it. Joeâdamn that boy, heâs gone to sleep againâJoe, help Tom put in the horses.â
The horses were put inâthe driver mountedâthe fat boy clambered up by his sideâfarewells were exchangedâ and the carriage rattled off. As the Pickwickians turned round to take a last glimpse of it, the setting sun cast a rich glow on the faces of their entertainers, and fell upon the form of the fat boy. His head was sunk upon his bosom; and he slumbered again.
CHAPTER V A SHORT ONEâSHOWING, AMONG OTHER MATTERS, HOW Mr. PICKWICK UNDERTOOK TO DRIVE, AND Mr. WINKLE TO RIDE, AND HOW THEY BOTH DID IT
Bright and pleasant was the sky, balmy the air, and beautiful the appearance of every object around, as Mr. Pickwick leaned over the balustrades of Rochester Bridge, contemplating nature, and waiting for breakfast. The scene was indeed one which might well have charmed a far less reflective mind, than that to which it was presented.
On the left of the spectator lay the ruined wall, broken in many places, and in some, overhanging the narrow beach below in rude and heavy masses. Huge knots of seaweed hung upon the jagged and pointed stones, trembling in every breath of wind; and the green ivy clung mournfully round the dark and ruined battlements. Behind it rose the ancient castle, its towers roofless, and its massive walls crumbling away, but telling us proudly of its old might and strength, as when, seven hundred years ago, it rang with the clash of arms, or resounded with the noise of feasting and revelry. On either side, the banks of the Medway, covered with cornfields and pastures, with here and there a windmill, or a distant church, stretched away as far as the eye could see, presenting a rich and varied landscape, rendered more beautiful by the changing shadows which passed swiftly across it as the thin and half-formed clouds skimmed away in the light of the morning sun. The river, reflecting the clear blue of the sky, glistened and sparkled as it flowed noiselessly on; and the oars of the fishermen dipped into the water with a clear and liquid sound, as their heavy but picturesque boats glided slowly down the stream.
Mr. Pickwick was roused from the agreeable reverie into which he had been led by the objects before him, by a deep sigh, and a touch on his shoulder. He turned round: and the dismal man was at his side.
âContemplating the scene?â inquired the dismal man. âI was,â said Mr. Pickwick.
âAnd congratulating yourself on being up so soon?â
Mr. Pickwick nodded assent.
âAh! people need to rise early, to see the sun in all his splendour, for his brightness seldom lasts the day through. The morning of day and the morning of life are but too much alike.â
âYou speak truly, sir,â said Mr. Pickwick.
âHow common the saying,â continued the dismal man, ââThe morningâs too fine to last.â How well might it be applied to our everyday existence. God! what would I forfeit to have the days of my childhood restored, or to be able to forget them for ever!â
âYou have seen much trouble, sir,â said Mr. Pickwick compassionately.
âI have,â said the dismal man hurriedly; âI have. More than those who see me now would believe possible.â He paused for an instant, and then said abruptlyâ
âDid it ever strike you, on such a morning as this, that drowning would be happiness and peace?â
âGod bless me, no!â replied Mr. Pickwick, edging a little from the balustrade, as the possibility of the dismal manâs tipping him over, by way of experiment, occurred to him rather forcibly.
âI have thought so, often,â said the dismal man, without noticing the action. âThe calm, cool water seems to me to murmur an invitation
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