‘I thought it very natural,’ replied Job, ‘that the old lady wouldn’t like such an unpleasant discovery to be made before more persons than can possibly be helped. The young lady, too, sir--consider her feelings.’ ‘You are very right,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘The consideration evinces your delicacy of feeling. Go on; you are very right.’ ‘Well, sir, I have been thinking that if you were waiting in the back garden alone, and I was to let you in, at the door which opens into it, from the end of the passage, at exactly half-past eleven o’clock, you would be just in the very moment of time to assist me in frustrating the designs of this bad man, by whom I have been unfortunately ensnared.’ Here Mr. Trotter sighed deeply. ‘Don’t distress yourself on that account,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘if he had one grain of the delicacy of feeling which distinguishes you, humble as your station is, I should have some hopes of him.’ Job Trotter bowed low; and in spite of Mr. Weller’s previous remonstrance, the tears again rose to his eyes. ‘I never see such a feller,’ said Sam, ‘Blessed if I don’t think he’s got a main in his head as is always turned on.’ ‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with great severity, ‘hold your tongue.’ ‘Wery well, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘I don’t like this plan,’ said Mr. Pickwick, after deep meditation. ‘Why cannot I communicate with the young lady’s friends?’ ‘Because they live one hundred miles from here, sir,’ responded Job Trotter. ‘That’s a clincher,’ said Mr. Weller, aside. ‘Then this garden,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick. ‘How am I to get into it?’ ‘The wall is very low, sir, and your servant will give you a leg up.’ My servant will give me a leg up,’ repeated Mr. Pickwick mechanically. ‘You will be sure to be near this door that you speak of?’ ‘You cannot mistake it, Sir; it’s the only one that opens into the garden. Tap at it when you hear the clock strike, and I will open it instantly.’ ‘I don’t like the plan,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘but as I see no other, and as the happiness of this young lady’s whole life is at stake, I adopt it. I shall be sure to be there.’ Thus, for the second time, did Mr. Pickwick’s innate good-feeling involve him in an enterprise from which he would most willingly have stood aloof. ‘What is the name of the house?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick. ‘Westgate House, Sir. You turn a little to the right when you get to the end of the town; it stands by itself, some little distance off the high road, with the name on a brass plate on the gate.’ ‘I know it,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘I observed it once before, when I was in this town. You may depend upon me.’ Mr. Trotter made another bow, and turned to depart, when Mr. Pickwick thrust a guinea into his hand. ‘You’re a fine fellow,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘and I admire your goodness of heart. No thanks. Remember--eleven o’clock.’ ‘There is no fear of my forgetting it, sir,’ replied Job Trotter. With these words he left the room, followed by Sam.