not a high-class firm and their methods were not high-class. Then an extraordinarily incredible display followed. His passion broke forth. “Of all the disgraceful and rascally proceedings he ever, etc.!” Dodson summoned his clerks to listen to this gross language, and said, “Perhaps you would like to call us swindlers.” “You are,” said Mr. Pickwick. Fogg even wished him to assault them – and perhaps he would have done so, but for Sam, who at last got him away. This was certainly not correct, but how aggravating was Mr. Pickwick! One is rather astonished at the forbearance of this sharp firm.
Now, had Mr. Pickwick gone straight to his lodgings in Goswell Street and seen Mrs. Bardell, heard her views and claims, had he been told by her that she had been professionally urged to go to law as she had such a strong case – there might have been some excuse for this violence to Dodson and Fogg. But he knew nothing whatever of the matter – knew nothing of the attornies – and in his blind fury gratuitously assumed that they had “conspired” to harass him in this way. True, he had overheard how they had treated poor Ramsey.
This very malapropos visit of Mr. Pickwick to the firm was, as I said, a mistake and damaged his case. It showed that he was nervous and anxious, and insecure. He took nothing by it. There was in truth much short-sighted cunning in his ways, which came of his overweening vanity. But this was only one of several attempts he made to worm out something to his own advantage.
Another of Mr. Pickwick’s foolish manœuvres was his sending his man to his old lodgings to his landlady – ostensibly to fetch away his “things,” when this dialogue passed:
‘Tell Mrs. Bardell she may put a bill up, as soon as she likes.’
‘Wery good, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘anythin’ more, sir.’
‘Nothing more, Sam.’
Mr. Weller stepped slowly to the door, as if he expected something more; slowly opened it, slowly stepped out, and had slowly closed it within a couple of inches, when Mr. Pickwick called out.
‘Sam.’
‘Sir,’ said Mr. Weller, stepping quickly back, and closing the door behind him.
‘I have no objection, Sam, to your endeavouring to ascertain how Mrs. Bardell herself seems disposed towards me, and whether it is really probable that this vile and groundless action is to be carried to extremity. I say, I do not object to your doing this, if you wish it, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick. Sam gave a short nod of intelligence and left the room.
Now this was very artful on the part of Mr. Pickwick, but it was a very shallow sort of artfulness, and it was later to recoil on himself. Sam of course saw through it at once. It never dawned on this simple-minded man what use the Plaintiff’s solicitors would make of his demarche.
When the subpœnas were served he rushed off to Perker:
‘They have subpœna’d my servant too,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Sam?’ said Perker.
Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative.
‘Of course, my dear sir; of course. I knew they would. I could have told you that a month ago. You know, my dear sir, if you will take the management of your affairs into your own hands after intrusting them to your solicitor, you must also take the consequences.’ Here Mr. Perker drew himself up with conscious dignity, and brushed some stray grains of snuff from his shirt frill.
‘And what do they want him to prove?’ asked Mr. Pickwick, after two or three minutes’ silence.
‘That you sent him up to the plaintiff’s to make some offer of a compromise, I suppose,’ replied Perker. ‘It don’t matter much, though; I don’t think many counsel could get a great deal out of him.’
‘I don’t think they could,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
The minutiæ of legal process are prosaic and uninteresting, and it might seem impossible to invest them with any dramatic interest; but how admirably has Boz lightened up and coloured the simple incident of an attorney’s clerk – a common, vulgar fellow of the lowest type, arriving to serve his subpœnas on the witnesses – all assumed to be hostile. The scene is full of touches of light comedy.
‘How de do, sir?’ said Mr. Jackson, nodding to Mr. Pickwick.
That gentlemen bowed, and looked somewhat surprised for the physiognomy of Mr. Jackson dwelt not in his recollection.
‘I have called from Dodson and Fogg’s,’ said Mr. Jackson, in an explanatory tone.
Mr. Pickwick roused at the name. ‘I refer you to my attorney, sir: Mr. Perker, of Gray’s Inn,’ said he. ‘Waiter, show this gentleman out.’
‘Beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Jackson, deliberately depositing his hat on the floor, and drawing from his pocket the strip of parchment. ‘But personal service, by clerk or agent, in these cases, you know, Mr. Pickwick – nothing like caution, sir, in all legal forms?’
Here Mr. Jackson cast his eye on the parchment; and, resting his hands on the table, and looking round with a winning and persuasive, smile, said: ‘Now, come; don’t let’s have no words about such a little matter as this. Which of you gentlemen’s name’s Snodgrass?’
At this inquiry Mr. Snodgrass gave such a very undisguised and palpable start, that no further reply was needed.
‘Ah! I thought so,’ said Mr. Jackson, more affably than before. ‘I’ve got a little something to trouble you with, sir.’
‘Me!’ exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass.
‘It’s only a subpœna in Bardell and Pickwick on behalf of the plaintiff,’ replied Jackson, singling out one of the slips of paper, and producing a shilling from his waistcoat pocket. ‘It’ll come on, in the settens after Term; fourteenth of Febooary, we expect; we’ve marked it a special jury cause, and it’s only ten down the paper. That’s yours, Mr. Snodgrass.’ As Jackson said this he presented the parchment before the eyes of Mr. Snodgrass, and slipped the paper and the shilling into his hand.
Mr. Tupman had witnessed this process in silent astonishment, when Jackson, turning sharply upon him, said:
‘I think I ain’t mistaken when I say your name’s Tupman, am I?’
Mr. Tupman looked at Mr. Pickwick; but, perceiving no encouragement in that gentleman’s widely-opened eyes to deny his name, said:
‘Yes, my name is Tupman, sir.’
‘And that other gentleman’s Mr. Winkle, I think?’ said Jackson.
Mr. Winkle faltered out a reply in the affirmative; and both gentlemen were forthwith invested with a slip of paper, and a shilling each, by the dexterous Mr. Jackson.
‘Now,’ said Jackson, ‘I’m affraid you’ll think me rather troublesome, but I want somebody else, if it ain’t inconvenient. I have Samuel Weller’s name here, Mr. Pickwick.’
‘Send my servant here, waiter,’ said Mr. Pickwick. The waiter retired, considerably astonished, and Mr. Pickwick motioned Jackson to a seat.
There was a painful pause, which was at length broken by the innocent defendant.
‘I suppose,
