"Nay, nay, my dear sir," remonstrated the little attorney, seizing him by the button."Good round sum--a man like you could treble it in no time--great deal to be done with fifty pounds, my dear sir.""More to be done with a hundred and fifty," replied Mr.Jingle, coolly.
"Well, my dear sir, we won't waste time in splitting straws," resumed the little man, "say--say--seventy.""Won't do," said Mr.Jingle.
"Don't go away, my dear sir--pray don't hurry," said the little man.
"Eighty; come: I'll write you a cheque at once.""Won't do," said Mr.Jingle.
"Well, my dear sir, well," said the little man, still detaining him;"just tell me what will do."
"Expensive affair," said Mr.Jingle."Money out of pocket--posting, nine pounds; licence, three--that's twelve--compensation, a hundred--hundred and twelve--Breach of honour--and loss of the lady--""Yes, my dear sir, yes," said the little man, with a knowing look, "never mind the last two items.That's a hundred and twelve--say a hundred--come.""And twenty," said Mr.Jingle.
"Come, come, I'll write you a cheque," said the little man; and down he sat at the table for that purpose.
"I'll make it payable the day after to-morrow," said the little man, with a look towards Mr.Wardle; "and we can get the lady away, meanwhile."Mr.Wardle sullenly nodded assent.
"A hundred," said the little man.
"And twenty," said Mr.Jingle.
"My dear sir," remonstrated the little man.
"Give it him," interposed Mr.Wardle, "and let him go."The cheque was written by the little gentleman, and pocketed by Mr.
Jingle.
"Now, leave this house instantly!" said Wardle, starting up.
"My dear sir," urged the little man.
"And mind," said Mr.Wardle, "that nothing should have induced me to make this compromise--not even a regard for my family--if I had not known that the moment you got any money in that pocket of yours, you'd go to the devil faster, if possible, than you would without it--""My dear sir," urged the little man again.
"Be quiet.Perker," resumed Wardle."Leave the room, sir.""Off directly," said the unabashed Jingle."Bye bye, Pickwick."If any dispassionate spectator could have beheld the countenance of the illustrious man, whose name forms the leading feature of the title of this work, during the latter part of this conversation, he would have been almost induced to wonder that the indignant fire which flashed from his eyes, did not melt the glasses of his spectacles--so majestic was his wrath.His nostrils dilated, and his fists clenched involuntarily, as he heard himself addressed by the villain.But he restrained himself again--he did not pulverise him.
"Here," continued the hardened traitor, tossing the licence at Mr.Pickwick's feet; "get the name altered--take home the lady--do for Tuppy."Mr.Pickwick was a philosopher, but philosophers are only men in armour, after all.The shaft had reached him, penetrated through his philosophical harness, to his very heart.In the frenzy of his rage he hurled the inkstand madly forward, and followed it up himself.But Mr.Jingle had disappeared, and he found himself caught in the arms of Sam.
"Hallo," said that eccentric functionary, "furniter's cheap where you come from, sir.Self-acting ink, that 'ere; it's wrote you mark upon the wall, old gen'lm'n.Hold still, sir; wot's the use o' runnin' arter a man as has made his lucky, and got to t'other end of the Borough by this time."Mr.Pickwick's mind, like those of all truly great men, was open to conviction.He was a quick and powerful reasoner; and a moment's reflection sufficed to remind him of the impotency of his rage.It subsided as quickly as it had been roused.He panted for breath, and looked benignantly round upon his friends.
Shall we tell the lamentations that ensued, when Miss Wardle found herself deserted by the faithless Jingle? Shall we extract Mr.Pickwick's masterly description of that heartrending scene? His note-book, blotted with the tears of sympathising humanity, lies open before us; one word, and it is in the printer's hands.But, no! we will be resolute! We will not wring the public bosom, with the delineation of such suffering!
Slowly and sadly did the two friends and the deserted lady, return next day in the Muggleton heavy coach.Dimly and darkly had the sombre shadows of a summer's night fallen upon all around, when they again reached Dingley Dell, and stood within the entrance to Manor Farm.
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