the left side of his nose, to intimate that he was not there to disclose the secrets of the prison-house, and playfully rejoined:
‘Not knowin’, can’t say.’
‘For what other reason, sir,’ pursued Mr. Pickwick, ‘are these subpœnas served upon them, if not for this?’
‘Very good plant, Mr. Pickwick,’ replied Jackson, slowly shaking his head. ‘But it won’t do. No harm in trying, but there’s little to be got out of me.’
Here Mr. Jackson smiled once more upon the company, and, applying his left thumb to the tip of his nose, worked a visionary coffee-mill with his right hand: thereby performing a very graceful piece of pantomime (then much in vogue, but now, unhappily, almost obsolete) which was familiarly denominated ‘taking a grinder.’ (Imagine a modern solicitor’s clerk “Taking a grinder!”)
‘No, no, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Jackson, in conclusion; ‘Perker’s people must guess what we served these subpœnas for. If they can’t, they must wait till the action comes on, and then they’ll find out.’
Mr. Pickwick bestowed a look of excessive disgust on his unwelcome visitor, and would probably have hurled some tremendous anathema at the heads of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, had not Sam’s entrance at the instant interrupted him.
‘Samuel Weller?’ said Mr. Jackson, inquiringly.
‘Vun o’ the truest things as you’ve said for many a long year,’ replied Sam, in a most composed manner.
‘Here’s a subpœna for you, Mr. Weller,’ said Jackson.
‘What’s that in English?’ inquired Sam.
‘Here’s the original,’ said Jackson, declining the required explanation.
‘Which?’ said Sam.
‘This,’ replied Jackson, shaking the parchment.
‘Oh, that’s the ’rig’nal, is it?’ said Sam. ‘Well, I’m wery glad I’ve seen the ’rig’nal, ’cos it’s a gratifyin’ sort o’ thing, and eases vun’s mind so much.’
‘And here’s the shilling,’ said Jackson. ‘It’s from Dodson and Fogg’s.’
‘And it’s uncommon handsome o’ Dodson and Fogg, as knows so little of me, to come down vith a present,’ said Sam. ‘I feel it as a wery high compliment, sir; it’s a wery hon’rable thing to them, as they knows how to reward merit werever they meets it. Besides wich, it’s affectin to one’s feelin’s.’
As Mr. Weller said this, he inflicted a little friction on his right eye-lid, with the sleeve of his coat, after the most approved manner of actors when they are in domestic pathetics.
Mr. Jackson seemed rather puzzled by Sam’s proceedings; but, as he had served the subpœnas, and had nothing more to say, he made a feint of putting on the one glove which he usually carried in his hand, for the sake of appearances; and returned to the office to report progress.
Another of Mr. Pickwick’s foolish and self-willed proceedings was the interview with Serjeant Snubbin, which he so positively insisted upon. We may wonder now-a-days would any K.C. of position have condescended to allow such a proceeding? I fancy it would be thought “irregular:” though perhaps ex gratia, and from the oddity of the proposal, it might be conceded.
When Mr. Pickwick called upon him, it turned out that the Serjeant knew nothing whatever of his case; probably cared nothing about it. It was not in his line. He perhaps wondered why the old-fashioned lawyer had “retained” him. We learn Parker’s reason:
‘Well, we’ve done everything that’s necessary. I have engaged Serjeant Snubbin.’
‘Is he a good man?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘Good man!’ replied Perker; ‘bless your heart and soul, my dear sir, Serjeant Snubbin is at the very top of his profession. Gets treble the business of any man in court – engaged in every case. You needn’t mention it abroad; but we say – we of the profession – that Serjeant Snubbin leads the court by the nose.’
How foolish was this reasoning can be seen on an instant’s reflection. To “lead the court by the nose” is well enough in an argument before a judge: but here it was more important to lead a jury by the nose, which Buzfuz knew how to do. Moreover when a counsel has this power, it usually operates on a special judge and his colleagues; but who could guarantee that Snubbin’s special judge would try the case. As it turned out, the Chief Justice fell sick before the day, and Mr. Justice Stareleigh unexpectedly took the case. He as it proved was anything but “led by the nose.” Perker indeed, summed up the whole weakness of the case in a single sentence:
‘They have subpœna’d my three friends,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Ah! of course they would,’ replied Perker. ‘Important witnesses; saw you in a delicate situation.’
‘But she fainted of her own accord,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘She threw herself into my arms.’
‘Very likely, my dear sir,’ replied Perker; ‘very likely and very natural. Nothing more so, my dear sir, nothing. But who’s to prove it?’
A suggestion, we are told, that rather “staggered” Mr. Pickwick.
Within ten minutes after he had received the assurance that the thing was impossible, he was conducted by his solicitors into the outer office of the great Serjeant Snubbin himself.
It was an uncarpeted room of tolerable dimensions, with a large writing table drawn up near the fire, the baize top of which had long since lost all claim to its original hue of green, and had gradually grown grey with dust and age, except where all traces of its natural colour were obliterated by ink-stains. Upon the table were numerous little bundles of papers tied with red tape; and behind it, sat an elderly clerk, whose sleek appearance and heavy gold watch-chain presented imposing indications of the extensive and lucrative practice of Mr. Serjeant Snubbin.
‘Is the Serjeant in his room, Mr. Mallard?’ inquired Perker, offering his box with all imaginable courtesy.
‘Yes, he is,’ was the reply, ‘but he’s very busy. Look here; not an opinion given yet, on any one of these cases; and an expedition fee paid with all of them.’ The clerk smiled as he said this, and inhaled the pinch of snuff with a zest which seemed to be compounded of a fondness for snuff and a relish for fees.
‘Something like practice that,’ said Perker.
‘Yes,’ said the barrister’s clerk, producing his own box, and offering it with the greatest cordiality; ‘and the best of it is, that as nobody alive except myself can read the Serjeant’s writing, they are obliged to wait for the opinions, when he has given them, till I have copied ’em, ha – ha – ha!’
‘Which makes good for we know who, besides the Serjeant, and draws a little more out of his clients, eh?’ said Perker; ‘Ha, ha, ha!’ At this the Serjeant’s clerk laughed again – not a noisy boisterous laugh, but a silent, internal chuckle, which Mr. Pickwick disliked to hear. When a man bleeds inwardly, it is a dangerous thing for himself; but when he laughs inwardly, it bodes no good to other people.
‘You haven’t made me out that little list of the fees that I’m in your debt, have you?’ said Perker.
‘No,
