Mr.Winkle jumped out of bed, wondering very much what could possibly be the matter, and hastily putting on his stockings and slippers, folded his dressing gown round him, lighted a flat candle from the rush-light that was burning in the fire-place, and hurried down-stairs.
"Here's somebody comin' at last, ma'am," said the short chairman.
"I wish I wos behind him vith a bradawl," muttered the long one.
"Who's there?" cried Mr.Winkle, undoing the chain.
"Don't stop to ask questions, cast-iron head," replied the long man, with great disgust, taking it for granted that the inquirer was a footman;"but open the door."
"Come, look sharp, timber eye-lids," added the other encouragingly.
Mr.Winkle, being half asleep, obeyed the command mechanically, opened the door a little, and peeped out.The first thing he saw, was the red glare of the link-boy's torch.Startled by the sudden fear that the house might be on fire, he hastily threw the door wide open, and holding the candle above his head, stared eagerly before him, not quite certain whether what he saw was a sedan-chair or a fire-engine.At this instant there came a violent gust of wind; the light was blown out; Mr.Winkle felt himself irresistibly impelled on to the steps; and the door blew to, with a loud crash.
"Well, young man, now you have done it!" said the short chairman.
Mr.Winkle, catching sight of a lady's face at the window of the sedan, turned hastily round, plied the knocker with all his might and main, and called frantically upon the chairman to take the chair away again.
"Take it away, take it away," cried Mr.Winkle."Here's somebody coming out of another house; put me into the chair.Hide me! Do something with me!"All this time he was shivering with cold; and every time he raised his hand to the knocker, the wind took the dressing gown in a most unpleasant manner.
"The people are coming down the Crescent now.There are ladies with 'em; cover me up with something.Stand before me!" roared Mr.Winkle.But the chairmen were too much exhausted with laughing to afford him the slightest assistance, and the ladies were every moment approaching nearer and nearer.
Mr.Winkle gave a last hopeless knock; the ladies were only a few doors off.He threw away the extinguished candle, which, all this time, he had held above his head, and fairly bolted into the sedan-chair where Mrs.
Dowler was.
Now, Mrs.Craddock had heard the knocking and the voices at last; and, only waiting to put something smarter on her head than her night-cap, ran down into the front drawing-room to make sure that it was the right party.
Throwing up the window-sash as Mr.Winkle was rushing into the chair, she no sooner caught sight of what was going forward below, than she raised a vehement and dismal shriek, and implored Mr.Dowler to get up directly, for his wife was running away with another gentleman.
Upon this Mr.Dowler bounced off the bed as abruptly as an India-rubber ball, and rushing into the front room, arrived at one window just as Mr.
Pickwick threw up the other: when the first object that met the gaze of both, was Mr.Winkle bolting into the sedan-chair.
"Watchman," shouted Dowler furiously; "stop him--hold him--keep him tight--shut him in, till I come down.I'll cut his throat--give me a knife--from ear to ear, Mrs.Craddock--I will!" And breaking from the shrieking landlady, and from Mr.Pickwick the indignant husband seized a small supper-knife, and tore into the street.
But Mr.Winkle didn't wait for him.He no sooner heard the horrible threat of the valorous Dowler, than he bounced out of the sedan, quite as quickly as he had bounced in, and throwing off his slippers into the road, took to his heels and tore round the Crescent, hotly pursued by Dowler and the watchman.He kept ahead; the door was open as he came round the second time; he rushed in, slammed it in Dowler's face, mounted to his bed-room, locked the door, piled a wash-hand-stand, chest of drawers, and table against it, and packed up a few necessaries ready for flight with the first ray of morning.
Dowler came up to the outside of the door; avowed, through the keyhole, his steadfast determination of cutting Mr.Winkle's throat next day; and, after a great confusion of voices in the drawing-room, amidst which that of Mr.Pickwick was distinctly heard endeavouring to make peace, the inmates dispersed to their several bed-chambers, and all was quiet once more.
It is not unlikely that the inquiry may be made, where Mr.Weller was, all this time? We will state where he was in the next chapter.
[Next Chapter] [Table of Contents]The Pickwick Papers: Chapter 37[Previous Chapter] [Table of Contents]
