The Pickwick Papers. Чарльз Диккенс

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СКАЧАТЬ it’s not at all necessary for a crowd to know what they are cheering about), swelled into a tremendous roar of triumph, which stopped even the red-faced man in the balcony.

      ‘Hurrah!’ shouted the mob, in conclusion.

      ‘One cheer more,’ screamed the little fugleman in the balcony, and out shouted the mob again, as if lungs were cast-iron, with steel works.

      ‘Slumkey for ever!’ roared the honest and independent.

      ‘Slumkey for ever!’ echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat.

      ‘No Fizkin!’ roared the crowd.

      ‘Certainly not!’ shouted Mr. Pickwick. ‘Hurrah!’ And then there was another roaring, like that of a whole menagerie when the elephant has rung the bell for the cold meat.

      ‘Who is Slumkey?’ whispered Mr. Tupman.

      ‘I don’t know,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, in the same tone. ‘Hush. Don’t ask any questions. It’s always best on these occasions to do what the mob do.’

      ‘But suppose there are two mobs?’ suggested Mr. Snodgrass.

      ‘Shout with the largest,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.

      Volumes could not have said more.

      They entered the house, the crowd opening right and left to let them pass, and cheering vociferously. The first object of consideration was to secure quarters for the night.

      ‘Can we have beds here?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, summoning the waiter.

      ‘Don’t know, Sir,’ replied the man; ‘afraid we’re full, sir – I’ll inquire, Sir.’ Away he went for that purpose, and presently returned, to ask whether the gentleman were ‘Blue.’

      As neither Mr. Pickwick nor his companions took any vital interest in the cause of either candidate, the question was rather a difficult one to answer. In this dilemma Mr. Pickwick bethought himself of his new friend, Mr. Perker.

      ‘Do you know a gentleman of the name of Perker?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.

      ‘Certainly, Sir; Honourable Mr. Samuel Slumkey’s agent.’

      ‘He is Blue, I think?’

      ‘Oh, yes, Sir.’

      ‘Then we are Blue,’ said Mr. Pickwick; but observing that the man looked rather doubtful at this accommodating announcement, he gave him his card, and desired him to present it to Mr. Perker forthwith, if he should happen to be in the house. The waiter retired; and reappearing almost immediately with a request that Mr. Pickwick would follow him, led the way to a large room on the first floor, where, seated at a long table covered with books and papers, was Mr. Perker.

      ‘Ah – ah, my dear Sir,’ said the little man, advancing to meet him; ‘very happy to see you, my dear Sir, very. Pray sit down. So you have carried your intention into effect. You have come down here to see an election – eh?’

      Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative.

      ‘Spirited contest, my dear sir,’ said the little man.

      ‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ said Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his hands. ‘I like to see sturdy patriotism, on whatever side it is called forth – and so it’s a spirited contest?’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ said the little man, ‘very much so indeed. We have opened all the public-houses in the place, and left our adversary nothing but the beer-shops – masterly stroke of policy that, my dear Sir, eh?’ The little man smiled complacently, and took a large pinch of snuff.

      ‘And what are the probabilities as to the result of the contest?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.

      ‘Why, doubtful, my dear Sir; rather doubtful as yet,’ replied the little man. ‘Fizkin’s people have got three-and-thirty voters in the lock-up coach-house at the White Hart.’

      ‘In the coach-house!’ said Mr. Pickwick, considerably astonished by this second stroke of policy.

      ‘They keep ‘em locked up there till they want ‘em,’ resumed the little man. ‘The effect of that is, you see, to prevent our getting at them; and even if we could, it would be of no use, for they keep them very drunk on purpose. Smart fellow Fizkin’s agent – very smart fellow indeed.’

      Mr. Pickwick stared, but said nothing.

      ‘We are pretty confident, though,’ said Mr. Perker, sinking his voice almost to a whisper. ‘We had a little tea-party here, last night – five-and-forty women, my dear sir – and gave every one of ‘em a green parasol when she went away.’

      ‘A parasol!’ said Mr. Pickwick.

      ‘Fact, my dear Sir, fact. Five-and-forty green parasols, at seven and sixpence a-piece. All women like finery – extraordinary the effect of those parasols. Secured all their husbands, and half their brothers – beats stockings, and flannel, and all that sort of thing hollow. My idea, my dear Sir, entirely. Hail, rain, or sunshine, you can’t walk half a dozen yards up the street, without encountering half a dozen green parasols.’

      Here the little man indulged in a convulsion of mirth, which was only checked by the entrance of a third party.

      This was a tall, thin man, with a sandy-coloured head inclined to baldness, and a face in which solemn importance was blended with a look of unfathomable profundity. He was dressed in a long brown surtout, with a black cloth waistcoat, and drab trousers. A double eyeglass dangled at his waistcoat; and on his head he wore a very low-crowned hat with a broad brim. The new-comer was introduced to Mr. Pickwick as Mr. Pott, the editor of the Eatanswill Gazette. After a few preliminary remarks, Mr. Pott turned round to Mr. Pickwick, and said with solemnity —

      ‘This contest excites great interest in the metropolis, sir?’

      ‘I believe it does,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

      ‘To which I have reason to know,’ said Pott, looking towards Mr. Perker for corroboration – ‘to which I have reason to know that my article of last Saturday in some degree contributed.’

      ‘Not the least doubt of it,’ said the little man.

      ‘The press is a mighty engine, sir,’ said Pott.

      Mr. Pickwick yielded his fullest assent to the proposition.

      ‘But I trust, sir,’ said Pott, ‘that I have never abused the enormous power I wield. I trust, sir, that I have never pointed the noble instrument which is placed in my hands, against the sacred bosom of private life, or the tender breast of individual reputation; I trust, sir, that I have devoted my energies to – to endeavours – humble they may be, humble I know they are – to instil those principles of – which – are – ’

      Here the editor of the Eatanswill Gazette, appearing to ramble, Mr. Pickwick came to his relief, and said —

      ‘Certainly.’

      ‘And what, Sir,’ said Pott – ‘what, Sir, let me ask you as an impartial man, is the state of the public mind in London, with reference to my contest with the Independent?’

      ‘Greatly excited, no doubt,’ interposed Mr. Perker, with a look СКАЧАТЬ