England -- Fiction; Humorous stories; Male friendship -- Fiction; Men -- Societies and clubs -- Fiction
‘But of this I am determined, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘that if I were
to stop in this house for six months, I would never trust myself about
it, alone, again.’
‘That’s the wery prudentest resolution as you could come to, Sir,’
replied Mr. Weller. ‘You rayther want somebody to look arter you, Sir,
when your judgment goes out a wisitin’.’
‘What do you mean by that, Sam?’ said Mr. Pickwick. He raised himself in
bed, and extended his hand, as if he were about to say something more;
but suddenly checking himself, turned round, and bade his valet ‘Good-
night.’
‘Good-night, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. He paused when he got outside the
door--shook his head--walked on--stopped--snuffed the candle--shook his
head again--and finally proceeded slowly to his chamber, apparently
buried in the profoundest meditation.
CHAPTER XXIII. IN WHICH MR. SAMUEL WELLER BEGINS TO DEVOTE HIS ENERGIES
TO THE RETURN MATCH BETWEEN HIMSELF AND MR. TROTTER
In a small room in the vicinity of the stableyard, betimes in the
morning, which was ushered in by Mr. Pickwick’s adventure with the
middle--aged lady in the yellow curl-papers, sat Mr. Weller, senior,
preparing himself for his journey to London. He was sitting in an
excellent attitude for having his portrait taken; and here it is.
It is very possible that at some earlier period of his career, Mr.
Weller’s profile might have presented a bold and determined outline. His
face, however, had expanded under the influence of good living, and a
disposition remarkable for resignation; and its bold, fleshy curves had
so far extended beyond the limits originally assigned them, that unless
you took a full view of his countenance in front, it was difficult to
distinguish more than the extreme tip of a very rubicund nose. His chin,
from the same cause, had acquired the grave and imposing form which is
generally described by prefixing the word ‘double’ to that expressive
feature; and his complexion exhibited that peculiarly mottled
combination of colours which is only to be seen in gentlemen of his
profession, and in underdone roast beef. Round his neck he wore a
crimson travelling-shawl, which merged into his chin by such
imperceptible gradations, that it was difficult to distinguish the folds
of the one, from the folds of the other. Over this, he mounted a long
waistcoat of a broad pink-striped pattern, and over that again, a wide-
skirted green coat, ornamented with large brass buttons, whereof the two
which garnished the waist, were so far apart, that no man had ever
beheld them both at the same time. His hair, which was short, sleek, and
black, was just visible beneath the capacious brim of a low-crowned
brown hat. His legs were encased in knee-cord breeches, and painted top-
boots; and a copper watch-chain, terminating in one seal, and a key of
the same material, dangled loosely from his capacious waistband.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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