Company, you see--company is--is--it's a very different thing from solitude--ain't it?""There's no denying that 'ere," said Mr.Weller, joining in the conversation, with an affable smile."That's what I call a self-evident proposition, as the dog's-meat man said, when the housemaid told him he warn't a gentleman.""Ah," said the red-haired man, surveying Mr.Weller from head to foot with a supercilious look."Friend of yours, sir?""Not exactly a friend," replied Mr.Pickwick in a low tone."The fact is, he is my servant, but I allow him to take a good many liberties; for, between ourselves, I flatter myself he is an original, and I am rather proud of him.""Ah," said the red-haired man, "that, you see, is a matter of taste.
I am not fond of anything original; I don't like it; don't see the necessity for it.What's your name, sir?""Here is my card, sir," replied Mr.Pickwick, much amused by the abruptness of the question, and the singular manner of the stranger.
"Ah," said the red-haired man, placing the card in his pocket-book, "Pickwick; very good.I like to know a man's name, it saves so much trouble.
That's my card, sir, Magnus, you will perceive, sir--Magnus is my name.
It's rather a good name, I think, sir?"
"A very good name, indeed," said Mr.Pickwick, wholly unable to repress a smile.
"Yes, I think it is," resumed Mr.Magnus."There's a good name before it, too, you will observe.Permit me, sir--if you hold the card a little slanting, this way, you catch the light upon the up-stroke.There--Peter Magnus--sounds well, I think, sir.""Very," said Mr.Pickwick.
"Curious circumstance about those initials, sir," said Mr.Magnus."You will observe--P.M.--post meridian.In hasty notes to intimate acquaintance, I sometimes sign myself `Afternoon.' It amuses my friends very much, Mr.
Pickwick."
"It is calculated to afford them the highest gratification, I should conceive," said Mr.Pickwick, rather envying the ease with which Mr.Magnus's friends were entertained.
"Now, gen'l'm'n," said the hostler, "coach is ready, if you please.""Is all my luggage in?" inquired Mr.Magnus.
"All right, sir."
"Is the red bag in?"
"All right, sir."
"And the striped bag?"
"Fore boot, sir."
"And the brown-paper parcel?"
"Under the seat, sir."
"And the leather hat-box?"
"They're all in, sir."
"Now, will you get up?" said Mr.Pickwick.
"Excuse me," replied Magnus, standing on the wheel."Excuse me, Mr.
Pickwick.I cannot consent to get up, in this state of uncertainty.I am quite satisfied from that man's manner, that that leather hat-box is not in."The solemn protestations of the hostler being wholly unavailing, the leather hat-box was obliged to be raked up from the lowest depth of the boot, to satisfy him that it had been safely packed; and after he had been assured on this head, he felt a solemn presentiment, first, that the red bag was mislaid, and next that the striped bag had been stolen, and then that the brown-paper parcel "had come untied."At length when he had received ocular demonstration of the groundless nature of each and every of these suspicions, he consented to climb up to the roof of the coach, observing that now he had taken everything off his mind, he felt quite comfortable and happy.
"You're given to nervousness, an't you, sir?" inquired Mr.Weller senior, eyeing the stranger askance, as he mounted to his place.
"Yes; I always am rather, about these little matters," said the stranger, "but I am all right now--quite right.""Well, that's a blessin'," said Mr.Weller."Sammy, help your master up to the box: t'other leg, sir, that's it; give us your hand, sir.Up with you.You was a lighter weight when you was a boy, sir.""True enough, that, Mr.Weller," said the breathless Mr.Pickwick, good humouredly, as he took his seat on the box beside him.
"Jump up in front, Sammy," said Mr.Weller."Now Villam, run 'em out.
Take care o' the archvay, gen'l'm'n.`Heads,' as the pieman says.That'll do, Villam.Let 'em alone." And away went the coach up Whitechapel, to the admiration of the whole population of that pretty-densely populated quarter.
"Not a very nice neighbourhood this, sir," said Sam, with a touch of the hat, which always preceded his entering into conversation with his master.
"It is not indeed, Sam," replied Mr.Pickwick surveying the crowded and filthy street through which they were passing.
"It's a wery remarkable circumstance, sir," said Sam, "that poverty and oysters always seems to go together.""I don't understand you, Sam," said Mr.Pickwick.
"What I mean, sir," said Sam, "is, that the poorer a place is, the greater call there seems to be for oysters.Look here, sir; here's a oyster stall to every half-dozen houses.The street's lined vith 'em.Blessed if I don't think that ven a man's wery poor, he rushes out of his lodgings, and eats oysters in reg'lar desperation.""To be sure he does," said Mr.Weller senior; "and it's just the same vith pickled salmon!""Those are two very remarkable facts, which never occurred to me before,"said Mr.Pickwick."The very first place we stop at, I'll make a note of them."By this time they had reached the turnpike at Mile End; a profound silence prevailed until they had got two or three miles further on, when Mr.Weller senior, turning suddenly to Mr.Pickwick, said:
"Wery queer life is a pike-keeper's, sir.""A what?" said Mr.Pickwick.
"A pike-keeper."
"What do you mean by a pike-keeper?" inquired Mr.Peter Magnus.
"The old 'un means a turnpike keeper, gen'l'm'n," observed Mr.Samuel Weller, in explanation.
"Oh," said Mr.Pickwick, "I see.Yes; very curious life.Very uncomfortable.""They're all on 'em men as has met vith some disappointment in life,"said Mr.Weller senior.
"Ay, ay?" said Mr.Pickwick.