Wrong for vunce, sir,' replied Mr Weller, 'for back he come, two minits

afore the time, a-bilin' with rage, sayin' how he'd been nearly run over

by a hackney-coach that he warn't used to it; and he was blowed if he

wouldn't write to the lord mayor. They got him pacified at last; and for

five years arter that, he never even so much as peeped out o' the lodge

gate.'

At the expiration of that time he died, I suppose,' said Mr Pickwick.

'No, he didn't, Sir,' replied Sam. 'He got a curiosity to go and taste the

beer at a new public-house over the way, and it wos such a wery nice

parlour, that he took it into his head to go there every night, which he

did for a long time, always comin' back reg'lar about a quarter of an

hour afore the gate shut, which was all wery snug and comfortable. At

last he began to get so precious jolly, that he used to forget how the

time vent, or care nothin' at all about it, and he went on gettin' later

and later, till vun night his old friend wos just a-shuttin' the gate -

had turned the key in fact - wen he come up. ‘Hold hard, Bill,’ he

says. ‘Wot, ain't you come home yet, Tventy?' says the turnkey, ‘I

thought you wos in, long ago.’ ‘No, I wasn't,’ says the little man, with a

smile. ‘Well, then, I'll tell you wot it is, my friend,’ says the turnkey,

openin' the gate wery slow and sulky, ‘it's my 'pinion as you've got into

bad company o' late, which I'm wery sorry to see. Now, I don't wish to

do nothing harsh,’ he says, ‘but if you can't confine yourself to steady

circles, and find your vay back at reg'lar hours, as sure as you're a-

standin' there, I'll shut you out altogether!’ The little man was seized

vith a wiolent fit o' tremblin', and never vent outside the prison walls

artervards!'

As Sam concluded, Mr Pickwick slowly retraced his steps downstairs.

After a few thoughtful turns in the Painted Ground, which, as it was

now dark, was nearly deserted, he intimated to Mr Weller that he

thought it high time for him to withdraw for the night; requesting him

to seek a bed in some adjacent public- house, and return early in the

morning, to make arrangements for the removal of his master's

wardrobe from the George and Vulture. This request Mr Samuel

Weller prepared to obey, with as good a grace as he could assume, but

with a very considerable show of reluctance nevertheless. He even

went so far as to essay sundry ineffectual hints regarding the

expediency of stretching himself on the gravel for that night; but

finding Mr Pickwick obstinately deaf to any such suggestions, finally

withdrew.

There is no disguising the fact that Mr Pickwick felt very low-spirited

and uncomfortable - not for lack of society, for the prison was very

full, and a bottle of wine would at once have purchased the utmost

good-fellowship of a few choice spirits, without any more formal

ceremony of introduction; but he was alone in the coarse, vulgar

The Pickwick Papers