The Pickwick Papers

‘Why, he drove a coach down here once,’ said Sam; ‘‘lection time came on, and he was engaged by vun party to bring down woters from London. Night afore he was going to drive up, committee on t’ other side sends for him quietly, and away he goes vith the messenger, who shows him in;—large room—lots of gen’l’m’n—heaps of papers, pens and ink, and all that ‘ere. “Ah, Mr. Weller,” says the gen’l’m’n in the chair, “glad to see you, sir; how are you?”—“Wery well, thank ‘ee, Sir,” says my father; “I hope you’re pretty middlin,” says he.—“Pretty well, thank’ee, Sir,” says the gen’l’m’n; “sit down, Mr. Weller—pray sit down, sir.” So my father sits down, and he and the gen’l’m’n looks wery hard at each other. “You don’t remember me?” said the gen’l’m’n.—“Can’t say I do,” says my father.—“Oh, I know you,” says the gen’l’m’n: “know’d you when you was a boy,” says he.—“Well, I don’t remember you,” says my father.—“That’s wery odd,” says the gen’l’m’n.”—“Wery,” says my father.—“You must have a bad mem’ry, Mr. Weller,” says the gen’l’m’n.—“Well, it is a wery bad ’un,” says my father.—“I thought so,” says the gen’l’m’n. So then they pours him out a glass of wine, and gammons him about his driving, and gets him into a reg’lar good humour, and at last shoves a twenty–pound note into his hand. “It’s a wery bad road between this and London,” says the gen’l’m’n.—“Here and there it is a heavy road,” says my father.—” ‘Specially near the canal, I think,” says the gen’l’m’n.—“Nasty bit that ‘ere,” says my father.—“Well, Mr. Weller,” says the gen’l’m’n, “you’re a wery good whip, and can do what you like with your horses, we know. We’re all wery fond o’ you, Mr. Weller, so in case you should have an accident when you’re bringing these here woters down, and should tip ’em over into the canal vithout hurtin’ of ’em, this is for yourself,” says he.—“Gen’l’m’n, you’re wery kind,” says my father, “and I’ll drink your health in another glass of wine,” says he; vich he did, and then buttons up the money, and bows himself out. You wouldn’t believe, sir,’ continued Sam, with a look of inexpressible impudence at his master, ‘that on the wery day as he came down with them woters, his coach was upset on that ‘ere wery spot, and ev’ry man on ’em was turned into the canal.’

‘And got out again?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick hastily.

‘Why,’ replied Sam very slowly, ‘I rather think one old gen’l’m’n was missin’; I know his hat was found, but I ain’t quite certain whether his head was in it or not. But what I look at is the hex–traordinary and wonderful coincidence, that arter what that gen’l’m’n said, my father’s coach should be upset in that wery place, and on that wery day!’

‘it is, no doubt, a very extraordinary circumstance indeed,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘But brush my hat, Sam, for I hear Mr. Winkle calling me to breakfast.’

With these words Mr. Pickwick descended to the parlour, where he found breakfast laid, and the family already assembled. The meal was hastily despatched; each of the gentlemen’s hats was decorated with an enormous blue favour, made up by the fair hands of Mrs. Pott herself; and as Mr. Winkle had undertaken to escort that lady to a house–top, in the immediate vicinity of the hustings, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Pott repaired alone to the Town Arms, from the back window of which, one of Mr. Slumkey’s committee was addressing six small boys and one girl, whom he dignified, at every second sentence, with the imposing title of ‘Men of Eatanswill,’ whereat the six small boys aforesaid cheered prodigiously.