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a seat, vile I makes out
the affidavit, Sir," says the lawyer.--"Thankee, Sir," says my
father, and down he sat, and stared with all his eyes, and his
mouth vide open, at the names on the boxes. "Whats your name,
Sir," says the lawyer.--"Tony Weller," says my father.--"Parish?"
says the lawyer. "Belle Savage," says my father; for he stopped
there wen he drove up, and he knowd nothing about parishes, he
didnt.--"And whats the ladys name?" says the lawyer. My
father was struck all of a heap. "Blessed if I know," says he.--
"Not know!" says the lawyer.--"No more nor you do," says my
father; "cant I put that in arterwards?"--"Impossible!" says
the lawyer.--"Wery well," says my father, after hed thought a
moment, "put down Mrs. Clarke."--"What Clarke?" says the
lawyer, dipping his pen in the ink.--"Susan Clarke, Markis o
Granby, Dorking," says my father; "shell have me, if I ask. I
des-say--I never said nothing to her, but shell have me, I know."
The licence was made out, and she DID have him, and whats more
shes got him now; and I never had any of the four hundred
pound, worse luck. Beg your pardon, sir, said Sam, when he had
concluded, but wen I gets on this here grievance, I runs on like a
new barrow with the wheel greased. Having said which, and
having paused for an instant to see whether he was wanted for
anything more, Sam left the room.
Half-past nine--just the time--off at once; said the gentleman,
whom we need hardly introduce as Mr. Jingle.
Time--for what? said the spinster aunt coquettishly.
Licence, dearest of angels--give notice at the church--call you
mine, to-morrow--said Mr. Jingle, and he squeezed the spinster
aunts hand.
The licence! said Rachael, blushing.
The licence, repeated Mr. Jingle--
In hurry, post-haste for a licence,
In hurry, ding dong I come back.
How you run on, said Rachael.
Run on--nothing to the hours, days, weeks, months, years,
when were united--run on--theyll fly on--bolt--mizzle--
steam-engine--thousand-horse power--nothing to it.
Cant--cant we be married before to-morrow morning?
inquired Rachael.
Impossible--cant be--notice at the church--leave the licence
to-day--ceremony come off to-morrow.
I am so terrified, lest my brother should discover us! said Rachael.
Discover--nonsense--too much shaken by the break-down--
besides--extreme caution--gave up the post-chaise--walked on
--took a hackney-coach--came to the Borough--last place in the
world that hed look in--ha! ha!--capital notion that--very.
Dont be long, said the spinster affectionately, as Mr. Jingle
stuck the pinched-up hat on his head.
Long away from you?--Cruel charmer; and Mr. Jingle
skipped playfully up to the spinster aunt, imprinted a chaste kiss
upon her lips, and danced out of the room.
Dear man! said the spinster, as the door closed after him.
Rum old girl, said Mr. Jingle, as he walked down the passage.
It is painful to reflect upon the perfidy of our species; and we
will not, therefore, pursue the thread of Mr. Jingles meditations,
as he wended his way to Doctors Commons. It will be sufficient
for our purpose to relate, that escaping the snares of the dragons
in white aprons, who guard the entrance to that enchanted
region, he reached the vicar-generals office in safety and having
procured a highly flattering address on parchment, from the
Archbishop of Canterbury, to his trusty and well-beloved Alfred
Jingle and Rachael Wardle, greeting, he carefully deposited the
mystic document in his pocket, and retraced his steps in triumph
to the Borough.
He was yet on his way to the White Hart, when two plump
gentleman and one thin one entered the yard, and looked round
in search of some authorised person of whom they could make a
few inquiries. Mr. Samuel Weller happened to be at that moment
engaged in burnishing a pair of painted tops, the personal
property of a farmer who was refreshing himself with a slight
lunch of two or three pounds of cold beef and a pot or two of
porter, after the fatigues of the Borough market; and to him the
thin gentleman straightway advanced.
My friend, said the thin gentleman.
Youre one o the adwice gratis order, thought Sam, or you
wouldnt be so wery fond o me all at once. But he only said--
Well, Sir.
My friend, said the thin gentleman, with a conciliatory hem--
have you got many people stopping here now? Pretty busy. Eh?
Sam stole a look at the inquirer. He was 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 The Pickwick Papers page 58 The Pickwick Papers page 60 |