‘Ah,’ said Sam, ‘that’s the game, is it?’
The mulberry man nodded significantly.
‘Well, and don’t you think, old feller,’ remonstrated Mr. Weller, ‘that if you let your master take in this here young lady, you’re a precious rascal?’
‘I know that,’ said Job Trotter, turning upon his companion a countenance of deep contrition, and groaning slightly, ‘I know that, and that’s what it is that preys upon my mind. But what am I to do?’
‘Do!’ said Sam; ‘di–wulge to the missis, and give up your master.’
‘Who’d believe me?’ replied Job Trotter. ‘The young lady’s considered the very picture of innocence and discretion. She’d deny it, and so would my master. Who’d believe me? I should lose my place, and get indicted for a conspiracy, or some such thing; that’s all I should take by my motion.’
‘There’s somethin’ in that,’ said Sam, ruminating; ‘there’s somethin’ in that.’
‘If I knew any respectable gentleman who would take the matter up,’ continued Mr. Trotter. ‘I might have some hope of preventing the elopement; but there’s the same difficulty, Mr. Walker, just the same. I know no gentleman in this strange place; and ten to one if I did, whether he would believe my story.’
‘Come this way,’ said Sam, suddenly jumping up, and grasping the mulberry man by the arm. ‘My mas’r’s the man you want, I see.’ And after a slight resistance on the part of Job Trotter, Sam led his newly–found friend to the apartment of Mr. Pickwick, to whom he presented him, together with a brief summary of the dialogue we have just repeated.
‘I am very sorry to betray my master, sir,’ said Job Trotter, applying to his eyes a pink checked pocket–handkerchief about six inches square.
‘The feeling does you a great deal of honour,’ replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘but it is your duty, nevertheless.’
‘I know it is my duty, Sir,’ replied Job, with great emotion. ‘We should all try to discharge our duty, Sir, and I humbly endeavour to discharge mine, Sir; but it is a hard trial to betray a master, Sir, whose clothes you wear, and whose bread you eat, even though he is a scoundrel, Sir.’
‘You are a very good fellow,’ said Mr. Pickwick, much affected; ‘an honest fellow.’
‘Come, come,’ interposed Sam, who had witnessed Mr. Trotter’s tears with considerable impatience, ‘blow this ‘ere water–cart bis’ness. It won’t do no good, this won’t.’
‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick reproachfully. ‘I am sorry to find that you have so little respect for this young man’s feelings.’
‘His feelin’s is all wery well, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘and as they’re so wery fine, and it’s a pity he should lose ’em, I think he’d better keep ’em in his own buzzum, than let ’em ewaporate in hot water, ‘specially as they do no good. Tears never yet wound up a clock, or worked a steam ingin’. The next time you go out to a smoking party, young fellow, fill your pipe with that ‘ere reflection; and for the present just put that bit of pink gingham into your pocket. ‘Tain’t so handsome that you need keep waving it about, as if you was a tight–rope dancer.’
‘My man is in the right,’ said Mr. Pickwick, accosting Job, ‘although his mode of expressing his opinion is somewhat homely, and occasionally incomprehensible.’
‘He is, sir, very right,’ said Mr. Trotter, ‘and I will give way no longer.’
‘Very well,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Now, where is this boarding–school?’
‘It is a large, old, red brick house, just outside the town, Sir,’ replied Job Trotter.
‘And when,’ said Mr. Pickwick — ‘when is this villainous design to be carried into execution — when is this elopement to take place?’
‘To–night, Sir,’ replied Job.
‘To–night!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. ‘This very night, sir,’ replied Job Trotter. ‘That is what alarms me so much.’
‘Instant measures must be taken,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘I will see the lady who keeps the establishment immediately.’
‘I beg your pardon, Sir,’ said Job, ‘but that course of proceeding will never do.’
‘Why not?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘My master, sir, is a very artful man.’
‘I know he is,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘And he has so wound himself round the old lady’s heart, Sir,’ resumed Job, ‘that she would believe nothing to his prejudice, if you went down on your bare knees, and swore it; especially as you have no proof but the word of a servant, who, for anything she knows (and my master would be sure to say so), was discharged for some fault, and does this in revenge.’
‘What had better be done, then?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Nothing but taking him in the very act of eloping, will convince the old lady, sir,’ replied Job.
‘All them old cats will run their heads agin milestones,’ observed Mr. Weller, in a parenthesis.
‘But this taking him in the very act of elopement, would be a very difficult thing to accomplish, I fear,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘I don’t know, sir,’ said Mr. Trotter, after a few moments’ reflection. ‘I think it might be very easily done.’
‘How?’ was Mr. Pickwick’s inquiry.
‘Why,’ replied Mr. Trotter, ‘my master and I, being in the confidence of the two servants, will be secreted in the kitchen at ten o’clock. When the family have retired to rest, we shall come out of the kitchen, and the young lady out of her bedroom. A post–chaise will be waiting, and away we go.’
‘Well?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Well, sir, I have been thinking that if you were in waiting in the garden behind, alone—’
‘Alone,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Why alone?’
‘I thought it very natural,’ replied Job, ‘that the old lady wouldn’t like such an unpleasant discovery to be made before more persons than can possibly be helped. The young lady, too, sir — consider her feelings.’
‘You are very right,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘The consideration evinces your delicacy of feeling. Go on; you are very right.’
‘Well, sir, I have been thinking that if you were waiting in the back garden alone, and I was to let you in, at the door which opens into it, from the end of the passage, at exactly half–past eleven o’clock, you would be just in the very moment of time to assist me in frustrating the designs of this bad man, by whom I have been unfortunately ensnared.’ Here Mr. Trotter sighed deeply.
‘Don’t distress yourself on that account,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘if he had one grain of the delicacy of feeling which distinguishes you, humble as your station is, I should have some hopes of him.’
Job Trotter bowed low; and in spite of Mr. Weller’s previous remonstrance, the tears again rose to his eyes.
‘I never see such a feller,’ said Sam, ‘Blessed if I don’t think he’s got a main in his head as is always turned on.’
‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with great severity, ‘hold your tongue.’
‘Wery well, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
‘I don’t like this plan,’ said Mr. Pickwick, after deep meditation. ‘Why cannot I communicate with the young lady’s friends?’
‘Because they live one hundred miles from here, sir,’ responded Job Trotter.
‘That’s a clincher,’ said Mr. Weller, aside.
‘Then this garden,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick. ‘How am I to get into it?’
‘The wall is very low, sir, and your servant will give you a leg up.’
‘My servant will give me a leg up,’ repeated Mr. Pickwick mechanically. ‘You will be sure to be near this door that you speak of?’
‘You cannot mistake it, Sir; it’s the only one that opens into the garden. Tap at it when you hear the clock strike, and I will open it instantly.’
‘I don’t like the plan,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘but as I see no other, and as the happiness of this young lady’s whole life is at stake, I adopt it. I shall be sure to be there.’
Thus, for the second time, did Mr. Pickwick’s innate good–feeling involve him in an enterprise from which he would most willingly have stood aloof.