ever contemplated matrimony of late years, in any case?”
“Oh no; certainly not,” replied Mr. Winkle.
“Has his behaviour, when females have been in the case, always been that of a man who, having attained a pretty advanced period of life, content with his own occupations and amusements, treats them only as a father might his daughters?”
“Not the least doubt of it,” replied Mr. Winkle, in the fulness of his heart. “That is – yes – oh yes – certainly.”
“You have never known anything in his behaviour towards Mrs. Bardell, or any other female, in the least degree suspicious?” said Mr. Phunky, preparing to sit down; for Serjeant Snubbin was winking at him.
“N – n – no,” replied Mr. Winkle, “except on one trifling occasion which, I have no doubt, might be easily explained.”
Now, if the unfortunate Mr. Phunky had sat down when Serjeant Snubbin winked at him, or if Serjeant Buzfuz had stopped this irregular cross-examination at the outset (which he knew better than to do; observing Mr. Winkle’s anxiety, and well knowing it would, in all probability, lead to something serviceable to him), this unfortunate admission would not have been elicited. The moment the words fell from Mr. Winkle’s lips, Mr. Phunky sat down, and Serjeant Snubbin rather hastily told him he might leave the box, which Mr. Winkle prepared to do with great readiness, when Serjeant Buzfuz stopped him.
“Stay, Mr. Winkle, stay!” said Serjeant Buzfuz. “Will your Lordship have the goodness to ask him, what this one instance of suspicious behaviour towards females, on the part of this gentleman, who is old enough to be his father, was?”
“You hear what the learned counsel says, sir,” observed the judge, turning to the miserable and agonised Mr. Winkle. “Describe the occasion to which you refer.”
“My Lord,” said Mr. Winkle, trembling with anxiety, “I – I’d rather not.”
“Perhaps so,” said the little judge; “but you must.”
Amid the profound silence of the whole court, Mr. Winkle faltered out that the trifling circumstance of suspicion was Mr. Pickwick’s being found in a lady’s sleeping apartment at midnight; which had terminated, he believed, in the breaking off of the projected marriage of the lady in question, and had led, he knew, to the whole party being forcibly carried before George Nupkins, Esq., magistrate and justice of the peace for the borough of Ipswich!
“You may leave the box, sir,” said Serjeant Snubbin. Mr. Winkle did leave the box, and rushed with delirious haste to the George and Vulture, where he was discovered some hours afterwards by the waiter, groaning in a hollow and dismal manner, with his head buried beneath the sofa cushions.
Tracy Tupman, and Augustus Snodgrass, were severally called into the box; both corroborated the testimony of their unhappy friend; and each was driven to the verge of desperation by excessive badgering.
Susannah Sanders was then called, and examined by Serjeant Buzfuz, and cross-examined by Serjeant Snubbin. Had always said and believed that Pickwick would marry Mrs. Bardell; knew that Mrs. Bardell’s being engaged to Pickwick was the current topic of conversation in the neighbourhood, after the fainting in July; had been told it herself by Mrs. Mudberry which kept a mangle, and Mrs. Bunkin which clear-starched, but did not see either Mrs. Mudberry or Mrs. Bunkin in court. Had heard Pickwick ask the little boy how he should like to have another father. Did not know that Mrs. Bardell was at that time keeping company with the baker, but did know that the baker was then a single man and is now married. Couldn’t swear that Mrs. Bardell was not very fond of the baker, but should think that the baker was not very fond of Mrs. Bardell, or he wouldn’t have married somebody else. Thought Mrs. Bardell fainted away on the morning in July, because Pickwick asked her to name the day: knew that she (witness) fainted away stone dead when Mr. Sanders asked her to name the day, and believed that everybody as called herself a lady would do the same, under similar circumstances. Heard Pickwick ask the boy the question about the marbles, but upon her oath did not know the difference between an alley tor and a commoney.
By the Court – During the period of her keeping company with Mr. Sanders had received love-letters, like other ladies. In the course of their correspondence Mr. Sanders had often called her a “duck,” but never “chops,” nor yet “tomato sauce.” He was particularly fond of ducks. Perhaps if he had been as fond of chops and tomato sauce, he might have called her that, as a term of affection.
Serjeant Buzfuz now rose with more importance than he had yet exhibited, if that were possible, and vociferated: “Call Samuel Weller.”
It was quite unnecessary to call Samuel Weller; for Samuel Weller stepped briskly into the box the instant his name was pronounced; and placing his hat on the floor, and his arms on the rail, took a bird’s-eye view of the bar, and a comprehensive survey of the bench, with a remarkably cheerful and lively aspect.
“What’s your name, sir?” inquired the judge.
“Sam Weller, my Lord,” replied that gentleman.
“Do you spell it with a ‘V’ or a ‘W’?” inquired the judge.
“That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my Lord,” replied Sam; “I never had occasion to spell it more than once or twice in my life, but I spells it with a ‘V’.”
Here a voice in the gallery exclaimed aloud, “Quite right, too, Samivel, quite right. Put it down a ‘we,’ my Lord, put it down a ‘we’.”
“Who is that who dares to address the court?” said the little judge, looking up. “Usher!”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“Bring that person here instantly.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
But as the usher didn’t find the person, he didn’t bring him; and, after a great commotion, all the people who had got up to look for the culprit sat down again. The little judge turned to the witness as soon as his indignation would allow him to speak, and said,
“Do you know who that was, sir?”
“I rayther suspect it was my father, my Lord,” replied Sam.
“Do you see him here, now?” said the judge.
“No, I don’t, my Lord,” replied Sam, staring right up into the lantern in the roof of the court.
“If you could have pointed him out, I would have committed him instantly,” said the judge.
Sam bowed his acknowledgments and turned, with unimpaired cheerfulness of countenance, towards Serjeant Buzfuz.
“Now, Mr. Weller,” said Serjeant Buzfuz.
“Now, sir,” replied Sam.
“I believe you are in the service of Mr. Pickwick, the defendant in this case. Speak up, if you please, Mr. Weller.”
“I mean to speak up, sir,” replied Sam; “I am in the service of that ’ere gen’l’m’n, and a wery good service it is.”
“Little to do, and plenty to get, I suppose?” said Serjeant Buzfuz, with jocularity.
“Oh, quite enough to get, sir, as the soldier said ven they ordered him three hundred and fifty lashes,” replied Sam.
“You
