Chapter LI

In Which Mr Pickwick Encounters An Old Acquaintance - To

Which Fortunate Circumstance The Reader Is Mainly Indebted

For Matter Of Thrilling Interest Herein Set Down, Concerning Two

Great Public Men Of Might And Power

The morning which broke upon Mr Pickwick's sight at eight o'clock,

was not at all calculated to elevate his spirits, or to lessen the

depression which the unlooked-for result of his embassy inspired. The

sky was dark and gloomy, the air was damp and raw, the streets were

wet and sloppy. The smoke hung sluggishly above the chimney-tops

as if it lacked the courage to rise, and the rain came slowly and

doggedly down, as if it had not even the spirit to pour. A game-cock in

the stableyard, deprived of every spark of his accustomed animation,

balanced himself dismally on one leg in a corner; a donkey, moping

with drooping head under the narrow roof of an outhouse, appeared

from his meditative and miserable countenance to be contemplating

suicide. In the street, umbrellas were the only things to be seen, and

the clicking of pattens and splashing of rain-drops were the only

sounds to be heard.

The breakfast was interrupted by very little conversation; even Mr Bob

Sawyer felt the influence of the weather, and the previous day's

excitement. In his own expressive language he was 'floored.' So was

Mr Ben Allen. So was Mr Pickwick.

In protracted expectation of the weather clearing up, the last evening

paper from London was read and re-read with an intensity of interest

only known in cases of extreme destitution; every inch of the carpet

was walked over with similar perseverance; the windows were looked

out of, often enough to justify the imposition of an additional duty

upon them; all kinds of topics of conversation were started, and failed;

and at length Mr Pickwick, when noon had arrived, without a change

for the better, rang the bell resolutely, and ordered out the chaise.

Although the roads were miry, and the drizzling rain came down

harder than it had done yet, and although the mud and wet splashed

in at the open windows of the carriage to such an extent that the

discomfort was almost as great to the pair of insides as to the pair of

outsides, still there was something in the motion, and the sense of

being up and doing, which was so infinitely superior to being pent in a

dull room, looking at the dull rain dripping into a dull street, that they

all agreed, on starting, that the change was a great improvement, and

wondered how they could possibly have delayed making it as long as

they had done.

The Pickwick Papers