["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> That 'ere your governor's luggage, Sammy?' inquired Mr. Weller of his\naffectionate son, as he entered the yard of the Bull Inn, Whitechapel,\nwith a travelling-bag and a small portmanteau. 'You might ha' made a worser guess than that, old feller,' replied Mr.\nWeller the younger, setting down his burden in the yard, and sitting\nhimself down upon it afterwards. 'The governor hisself'll be down here\npresently.' 'He's a-cabbin' it, I suppose?' said the father. 'Yes, he's a havin' two mile o' danger at eight-pence,' responded the\nson. 'How's mother-in-law this mornin'?' 'Queer, Sammy, queer,' replied the elder Mr. Weller, with impressive\ngravity. 'She's been gettin' rayther in the Methodistical order lately,\nSammy; and she is uncommon pious, to be sure. She's too good a creetur\nfor me, Sammy. I feel I don't deserve her.' 'Ah,' said Mr. Samuel. 'that's wery self-denyin' o' you.' 'Wery,' replied his parent, with a sigh. 'She's got hold o' some\ninwention for grown-up people being born again, Sammy--the new birth, I\nthink they calls it. I should wery much like to see that system in\nhaction, Sammy. I should wery much like to see your mother-in-law born\nagain. Wouldn't I put her out to nurse!' 'What do you think them women does t'other day,' continued Mr. Weller,\nafter a short pause, during which he had significantly struck the side\nof his nose with his forefinger some half-dozen times. 'What do you\nthink they does, t'other day, Sammy?' 'Don't know,' replied Sam, 'what?' 'Goes and gets up a grand tea drinkin' for a feller they calls their\nshepherd,' said Mr. Weller. 'I was a-standing starin' in at the pictur\nshop down at our place, when I sees a little bill about it; \"tickets\nhalf-a-crown. All applications to be made to the committee. Secretary,\nMrs. Weller\"; and when I got home there was the committee a-sittin' in\nour back parlour. Fourteen women; I wish you could ha' heard 'em, Sammy. There they was, a-passin' resolutions, and wotin' supplies, and all\nsorts o' games. Well, what with your mother-in-law a-worrying me to go,\nand what with my looking for'ard to seein' some queer starts if I did, I\nput my name down for a ticket; at six o'clock on the Friday evenin' I\ndresses myself out wery smart, and off I goes with the old 'ooman, and\nup we walks into a fust-floor where there was tea-things for thirty, and\na whole lot o' women as begins whisperin' to one another, and lookin' at\nme, as if they'd never seen a rayther stout gen'l'm'n of eight-and-fifty\nafore. By and by, there comes a great bustle downstairs, and a lanky\nchap with a red nose and a white neckcloth rushes up, and sings out,\n\"Here's the shepherd a-coming to wisit his faithful flock;\" and in comes\na fat chap in black, vith a great white face, a-smilin' avay like\nclockwork. Such goin's on, Sammy! \"The kiss of peace,\" says the\nshepherd; and then he kissed the women all round, and ven he'd done, the\nman vith the red nose began. I was just a-thinkin' whether I hadn't\nbetter begin too--'specially as there was a wery nice lady a-sittin'\nnext me--ven in comes the tea, and your mother-in-law, as had been\nmakin' the kettle bile downstairs. At it they went, tooth and nail. Such\na precious loud hymn, Sammy, while the tea was a brewing; such a grace,\nsuch eatin' and drinkin'! I wish you could ha' seen the shepherd walkin'\ninto the ham and muffins. I never see such a chap to eat and drink--\nnever. The red-nosed man warn't by no means the sort of person you'd\nlike to grub by contract, but he was nothin' to the shepherd. Well;\narter the tea was over, they sang another hymn, and then the shepherd\nbegan to preach: and wery well he did it, considerin' how heavy them\nmuffins must have lied on his chest. Presently he pulls up, all of a\nsudden, and hollers out, \"Where is the sinner; where is the mis'rable\nsinner?\" Upon which, all the women looked at me, and began to groan as\nif they was a-dying. I thought it was rather sing'ler, but howsoever, I\nsays nothing. Presently he pulls up again, and lookin' wery hard at me,\nsays, \"Where is the sinner; where is the mis'rable sinner?\" and all the\nwomen groans again, ten times louder than afore. I got rather savage at\nthis, so I takes a step or two for'ard and says, \"My friend,\" says I,\n\"did you apply that 'ere obserwation to me?\" 'Stead of beggin' my pardon\nas any gen'l'm'n would ha' done, he got more abusive than ever:--called\nme a wessel, Sammy--a wessel of wrath--and all sorts o' names. So my\nblood being reg'larly up, I first gave him two or three for himself, and\nthen two or three more to hand over to the man with the red nose, and\nwalked off. I wish you could ha' heard how the women screamed, Sammy,\nven they picked up the shepherd from underneath the table--Hollo! here's\nthe governor, the size of life.' As Mr. Weller spoke, Mr. Pickwick dismounted from a cab, and entered the\nyard. 'Fine mornin', Sir,' said Mr. Weller, senior. 'Beautiful indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Beautiful indeed,' echoes a red-haired man with an inquisitive nose and\ngreen spectacles, who had unpacked himself from a cab at the same moment\nas Mr. Pickwick. 'Going to Ipswich, Sir?' 'I am,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Extraordinary coincidence. So am I.' Mr. Pickwick bowed. 'Going outside?' said the red-haired man. Mr. Pickwick bowed again. 'Bless my soul, how remarkable--I am going outside, too,' said the red-\nhaired man; 'we are positively going together.' And the red-haired man,\nwho was an important-looking, sharp-nosed, mysterious-spoken personage,\nwith a bird-like habit of giving his head a jerk every time he said\nanything, smiled as if he had made one of the strangest discoveries that\never fell to the lot of human wisdom. 'I am happy in the prospect of your company, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Ah,' said the new-comer, 'it's a good thing for both of us, isn't it? Company, you see--company--is--is--it's a very different thing from\nsolitude--ain't it?' 'There's no denying that 'ere,' said Mr. Weller, joining in the\nconversation, with an affable smile. 'That's what I call a self-evident\nproposition, as the dog's-meat man said, when the housemaid told him he\nwarn't a gentleman.' 'Ah,' said the red-haired man, surveying Mr. Weller from head to foot\nwith a supercilious look. 'Friend of yours, sir?' 'Not exactly a friend,' replied Mr. Pickwick, in a low tone. 'The fact\nis, he is my servant, but I allow him to take a good many liberties;\nfor, between ourselves, I flatter myself he is an original, and I am\nrather proud of him.' 'Ah,' said the red-haired man, 'that, you see, is a matter of taste. I\nam not fond of anything original; I don't like it; don't see the\nnecessity for it. What's your name, sir?' 'Here is my card, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, much amused by the\nabruptness of the question, and the singular manner of the stranger. 'Ah,' said the red-haired man, placing the card in his pocket-book,\n'Pickwick; very good. I like to know a man's name, it saves so much\ntrouble. That's my card, sir. Magnus, you will perceive, sir--Magnus is\nmy name. It's rather a good name, I think, sir.' 'A very good name, indeed,' said Mr. Pickwick, wholly unable to repress\na smile. 'Yes, I think it is,' resumed Mr. Magnus.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-04 The user is reading a book]\n<User> 'There's a good name before\nit, too, you will observe. Permit me, sir--if you hold the card a little\nslanting, this way, you catch the light upon the up-stroke. There--Peter\nMagnus--sounds well, I think, sir.' 'Very,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Curious circumstance about those initials, sir,' said Mr. Magnus. 'You\nwill observe--P.M.--post meridian. In hasty notes to intimate\nacquaintance, I sometimes sign myself \"Afternoon.\" It amuses my friends\nvery much, Mr. Pickwick.' 'It is calculated to afford them the highest gratification, I should\nconceive,' said Mr. Pickwick, rather envying the ease with which Mr.\nMagnus's friends were entertained. 'Now, gen'l'm'n,' said the hostler, 'coach is ready, if you please.' 'Is all my luggage in?' inquired Mr. Magnus. 'All right, sir.' 'Is the red bag in?' 'All right, Sir.' 'And the striped bag?' 'Fore boot, Sir.' 'And the brown-paper parcel?' 'Under the seat, Sir.' 'And the leather hat-box?' 'They're all in, Sir.' 'Now, will you get up?' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Excuse me,' replied Magnus, standing on the wheel. 'Excuse me, Mr.\nPickwick. I cannot consent to get up, in this state of uncertainty. I am\nquite satisfied from that man's manner, that the leather hat-box is not\nin.' The solemn protestations of the hostler being wholly unavailing, the\nleather hat-box was obliged to be raked up from the lowest depth of the\nboot, to satisfy him that it had been safely packed; and after he had\nbeen assured on this head, he felt a solemn presentiment, first, that\nthe red bag was mislaid, and next that the striped bag had been stolen,\nand then that the brown-paper parcel 'had come untied.' At length when\nhe had received ocular demonstration of the groundless nature of each\nand every of these suspicions, he consented to climb up to the roof of\nthe coach, observing that now he had taken everything off his mind, he\nfelt quite comfortable and happy. 'You're given to nervousness, ain't you, Sir?' inquired Mr. Weller,\nsenior, eyeing the stranger askance, as he mounted to his place. 'Yes; I always am rather about these little matters,' said the stranger,\n'but I am all right now--quite right.' 'Well, that's a blessin', said Mr. Weller. 'Sammy, help your master up\nto the box; t'other leg, Sir, that's it; give us your hand, Sir. Up with\nyou. You was a lighter weight when you was a boy, sir.' True enough, that, Mr. Weller,' said the breathless Mr. Pickwick good-\nhumouredly, as he took his seat on the box beside him. 'Jump up in front, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller. 'Now Villam, run 'em out. Take care o' the archvay, gen'l'm'n. \"Heads,\" as the pieman says. That'll do, Villam. Let 'em alone.' And away went the coach up\nWhitechapel, to the admiration of the whole population of that pretty\ndensely populated quarter. 'Not a wery nice neighbourhood, this, Sir,' said Sam, with a touch of\nthe hat, which always preceded his entering into conversation with his\nmaster. 'It is not indeed, Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick, surveying the crowded and\nfilthy street through which they were passing. 'It's a wery remarkable circumstance, Sir,' said Sam, 'that poverty and\noysters always seem to go together.' 'I don't understand you, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'What I mean, sir,' said Sam, 'is, that the poorer a place is, the\ngreater call there seems to be for oysters. Look here, sir; here's a\noyster-stall to every half-dozen houses. The street's lined vith 'em. Blessed if I don't think that ven a man's wery poor, he rushes out of\nhis lodgings, and eats oysters in reg'lar desperation.' 'To be sure he does,' said Mr. Weller, senior; 'and it's just the same\nvith pickled salmon!' 'Those are two very remarkable facts, which never occurred to me\nbefore,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'The very first place we stop at, I'll make\na note of them.' By this time they had reached the turnpike at Mile End; a profound\nsilence prevailed until they had got two or three miles farther on, when\nMr. Weller, senior, turning suddenly to Mr. Pickwick, said--\n\n'Wery queer life is a pike-keeper's, sir.' 'A what?' said Mr. Pickwick. 'A pike-keeper.' 'What do you mean by a pike-keeper?' inquired Mr. Peter Magnus. 'The old 'un means a turnpike-keeper, gen'l'm'n,' observed Mr. Samuel\nWeller, in explanation. 'Oh,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I see. Yes; very curious life. Very\nuncomfortable.' 'They're all on 'em men as has met vith some disappointment in life,'\nsaid Mr. Weller, senior. 'Ay, ay,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Yes. Consequence of vich, they retires from the world, and shuts\nthemselves up in pikes; partly with the view of being solitary, and\npartly to rewenge themselves on mankind by takin' tolls.' 'Dear me,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I never knew that before.' 'Fact, Sir,' said Mr. Weller; 'if they was gen'l'm'n, you'd call 'em\nmisanthropes, but as it is, they only takes to pike-keepin'.' With such conversation, possessing the inestimable charm of blending\namusement with instruction, did Mr. Weller beguile the tediousness of\nthe journey, during the greater part of the day. Topics of conversation\nwere never wanting, for even when any pause occurred in Mr. Weller's\nloquacity, it was abundantly supplied by the desire evinced by Mr.\nMagnus to make himself acquainted with the whole of the personal history\nof his fellow-travellers, and his loudly-expressed anxiety at every\nstage, respecting the safety and well-being of the two bags, the leather\nhat-box, and the brown-paper parcel. In the main street of Ipswich, on the left-hand side of the way, a short\ndistance after you have passed through the open space fronting the Town\nHall, stands an inn known far and wide by the appellation of the Great\nWhite Horse, rendered the more conspicuous by a stone statue of some\nrampacious animal with flowing mane and tail, distantly resembling an\ninsane cart-horse, which is elevated above the principal door. The Great\nWhite Horse is famous in the neighbourhood, in the same degree as a\nprize ox, or a county-paper-chronicled turnip, or unwieldy pig--for its\nenormous size. Never was such labyrinths of uncarpeted passages, such\nclusters of mouldy, ill-lighted rooms, such huge numbers of small dens\nfor eating or sleeping in, beneath any one roof, as are collected\ntogether between the four walls of the Great White Horse at Ipswich. It was at the door of this overgrown tavern that the London coach\nstopped, at the same hour every evening; and it was from this same\nLondon coach that Mr. Pickwick, Sam Weller, and Mr. Peter Magnus\ndismounted, on the particular evening to which this chapter of our\nhistory bears reference. 'Do you stop here, sir?' inquired Mr. Peter Magnus, when the striped\nbag, and the red bag, and the brown-paper parcel, and the leather hat-\nbox, had all been deposited in the passage. 'Do you stop here, sir?' 'I do,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Dear me,' said Mr. Magnus, 'I never knew anything like these\nextraordinary coincidences. Why, I stop here too. I hope we dine\ntogether?' 'With pleasure,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'I am not quite certain whether I\nhave any friends here or not, though. Is there any gentleman of the name\nof Tupman here, waiter?' A corpulent man, with a fortnight's napkin under his arm, and coeval\nstockings on his legs, slowly desisted from his occupation of staring\ndown the street, on this question being put to him by Mr. Pickwick; and,\nafter minutely inspecting that gentleman's appearance, from the crown of\nhis hat to the lowest button of his gaiters, replied emphatically--\n\n'No!' 'Nor any gentleman of the name of Snodgrass?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-04, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-07 The user is reading a book]\n<User> 'No!' 'Nor Winkle?' 'No!' 'My friends have not arrived to-day, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'We will\ndine alone, then. Show us a private room, waiter.' On this request being preferred, the corpulent man condescended to order\nthe boots to bring in the gentlemen's luggage; and preceding them down a\nlong, dark passage, ushered them into a large, badly-furnished\napartment, with a dirty grate, in which a small fire was making a\nwretched attempt to be cheerful, but was fast sinking beneath the\ndispiriting influence of the place. After the lapse of an hour, a bit of\nfish and a steak was served up to the travellers, and when the dinner\nwas cleared away, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Peter Magnus drew their chairs up\nto the fire, and having ordered a bottle of the worst possible port\nwine, at the highest possible price, for the good of the house, drank\nbrandy-and-water for their own. Mr. Peter Magnus was naturally of a very communicative disposition, and\nthe brandy-and-water operated with wonderful effect in warming into life\nthe deepest hidden secrets of his bosom. After sundry accounts of\nhimself, his family, his connections, his friends, his jokes, his\nbusiness, and his brothers (most talkative men have a great deal to say\nabout their brothers), Mr. Peter Magnus took a view of Mr. Pickwick\nthrough his coloured spectacles for several minutes, and then said, with\nan air of modesty--\n\n'And what do you think--what _do_ you think, Mr. Pickwick--I have come\ndown here for?' 'Upon my word,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'it is wholly impossible for me to\nguess; on business, perhaps.' 'Partly right, Sir,' replied Mr. Peter Magnus, 'but partly wrong at the\nsame time; try again, Mr. Pickwick.' 'Really,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I must throw myself on your mercy, to tell\nme or not, as you may think best; for I should never guess, if I were to\ntry all night.' 'Why, then, he-he-he!' said Mr. Peter Magnus, with a bashful titter,\n'what should you think, Mr. Pickwick, if I had come down here to make a\nproposal, Sir, eh? He, he, he!' 'Think! That you are very likely to succeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick, with\none of his beaming smiles. 'Ah!' said Mr. Magnus. 'But do you really think so, Mr. Pickwick? Do\nyou, though?' 'Certainly,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'No; but you're joking, though.' 'I am not, indeed.' 'Why, then,' said Mr. Magnus, 'to let you into a little secret, I think\nso too. I don't mind telling you, Mr. Pickwick, although I'm dreadful\njealous by nature--horrid--that the lady is in this house.' Here Mr.\nMagnus took off his spectacles, on purpose to wink, and then put them on\nagain. 'That's what you were running out of the room for, before dinner, then,\nso often,' said Mr. Pickwick archly. 'Hush! Yes, you're right, that was it; not such a fool as to see her,\nthough.' 'No!' 'No; wouldn't do, you know, after having just come off a journey. Wait\ntill to-morrow, sir; double the chance then. Mr. Pickwick, Sir, there is\na suit of clothes in that bag, and a hat in that box, which, I expect,\nin the effect they will produce, will be invaluable to me, sir.' 'Indeed!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Yes; you must have observed my anxiety about them to-day. I do not\nbelieve that such another suit of clothes, and such a hat, could be\nbought for money, Mr. Pickwick.' Mr. Pickwick congratulated the fortunate owner of the irresistible\ngarments on their acquisition; and Mr. Peter Magnus remained a few\nmoments apparently absorbed in contemplation. 'She's a fine creature,' said Mr. Magnus. 'Is she?' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Very,' said Mr. Magnus. 'Very. She lives about twenty miles from here,\nMr. Pickwick. I heard she would be here to-night and all to-morrow\nforenoon, and came down to seize the opportunity. I think an inn is a\ngood sort of a place to propose to a single woman in, Mr. Pickwick. She\nis more likely to feel the loneliness of her situation in travelling,\nperhaps, than she would be at home. What do you think, Mr. Pickwick?' 'I think it is very probable,' replied that gentleman. 'I beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick,' said Mr. Peter Magnus, 'but I am\nnaturally rather curious; what may you have come down here for?' 'On a far less pleasant errand, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, the colour\nmounting to his face at the recollection. 'I have come down here, Sir,\nto expose the treachery and falsehood of an individual, upon whose truth\nand honour I placed implicit reliance.' 'Dear me,' said Mr. Peter Magnus, 'that's very unpleasant. It is a lady,\nI presume? Eh? ah! Sly, Mr. Pickwick, sly. Well, Mr. Pickwick, sir, I\nwouldn't probe your feelings for the world. Painful subjects, these,\nsir, very painful. Don't mind me, Mr. Pickwick, if you wish to give vent\nto your feelings. I know what it is to be jilted, Sir; I have endured\nthat sort of thing three or four times.' 'I am much obliged to you, for your condolence on what you presume to be\nmy melancholy case,' said Mr. Pickwick, winding up his watch, and laying\nit on the table, 'but--'\n\n'No, no,' said Mr. Peter Magnus, 'not a word more; it's a painful\nsubject. I see, I see. What's the time, Mr. Pickwick?' Past twelve.' 'Dear me, it's time to go to bed. It will never do, sitting here. I\nshall be pale to-morrow, Mr. Pickwick.' At the bare notion of such a calamity, Mr. Peter Magnus rang the bell\nfor the chambermaid; and the striped bag, the red bag, the leathern hat-\nbox, and the brown-paper parcel, having been conveyed to his bedroom, he\nretired in company with a japanned candlestick, to one side of the\nhouse, while Mr. Pickwick, and another japanned candlestick, were\nconducted through a multitude of tortuous windings, to another. 'This is your room, sir,' said the chambermaid. 'Very well,' replied Mr. Pickwick, looking round him. It was a tolerably\nlarge double-bedded room, with a fire; upon the whole, a more\ncomfortable-looking apartment than Mr. Pickwick's short experience of\nthe accommodations of the Great White Horse had led him to expect. 'Nobody sleeps in the other bed, of course,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Oh, no, Sir.' 'Very good. Tell my servant to bring me up some hot water at half-past\neight in the morning, and that I shall not want him any more to-night.' 'Yes, Sir,' and bidding Mr. Pickwick good-night, the chambermaid\nretired, and left him alone. Mr. Pickwick sat himself down in a chair before the fire, and fell into\na train of rambling meditations. First he thought of his friends, and\nwondered when they would join him; then his mind reverted to Mrs. Martha\nBardell; and from that lady it wandered, by a natural process, to the\ndingy counting-house of Dodson & Fogg. From Dodson & Fogg's it flew off\nat a tangent, to the very centre of the history of the queer client; and\nthen it came back to the Great White Horse at Ipswich, with sufficient\nclearness to convince Mr. Pickwick that he was falling asleep. So he\nroused himself, and began to undress, when he recollected he had left\nhis watch on the table downstairs. Now this watch was a special favourite with Mr. Pickwick, having been\ncarried about, beneath the shadow of his waistcoat, for a greater number\nof years than we feel called upon to state at present. The possibility\nof going to sleep, unless it were ticking gently beneath his pillow, or\nin the watch-pocket over his head, had never entered Mr. Pickwick's\nbrain. So as it was pretty late now, and he was unwilling to ring his\nbell at that hour of the night, he slipped on his coat, of which he had\njust divested himself, and taking the japanned candlestick in his hand,\nwalked quietly downstairs.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-07, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-10 The user is reading a book]\n<User> The more stairs Mr. Pickwick went down, the more stairs there seemed to\nbe to descend, and again and again, when Mr. Pickwick got into some\nnarrow passage, and began to congratulate himself on having gained the\nground-floor, did another flight of stairs appear before his astonished\neyes. At last he reached a stone hall, which he remembered to have seen\nwhen he entered the house. Passage after passage did he explore; room\nafter room did he peep into; at length, as he was on the point of giving\nup the search in despair, he opened the door of the identical room in\nwhich he had spent the evening, and beheld his missing property on the\ntable. Mr. Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, and proceeded to retrace his\nsteps to his bedchamber. If his progress downward had been attended with\ndifficulties and uncertainty, his journey back was infinitely more\nperplexing. Rows of doors, garnished with boots of every shape, make,\nand size, branched off in every possible direction. A dozen times did he\nsoftly turn the handle of some bedroom door which resembled his own,\nwhen a gruff cry from within of 'Who the devil's that?' or 'What do you\nwant here?' caused him to steal away, on tiptoe, with a perfectly\nmarvellous celerity. He was reduced to the verge of despair, when an\nopen door attracted his attention. He peeped in. Right at last! There\nwere the two beds, whose situation he perfectly remembered, and the fire\nstill burning. His candle, not a long one when he first received it, had\nflickered away in the drafts of air through which he had passed and sank\ninto the socket as he closed the door after him. 'No matter,' said Mr.\nPickwick, 'I can undress myself just as well by the light of the fire.' The bedsteads stood one on each side of the door; and on the inner side\nof each was a little path, terminating in a rush-bottomed chair, just\nwide enough to admit of a person's getting into or out of bed, on that\nside, if he or she thought proper. Having carefully drawn the curtains\nof his bed on the outside, Mr. Pickwick sat down on the rush-bottomed\nchair, and leisurely divested himself of his shoes and gaiters. He then\ntook off and folded up his coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, and slowly\ndrawing on his tasselled nightcap, secured it firmly on his head, by\ntying beneath his chin the strings which he always had attached to that\narticle of dress. It was at this moment that the absurdity of his recent\nbewilderment struck upon his mind. Throwing himself back in the rush-\nbottomed chair, Mr. Pickwick laughed to himself so heartily, that it\nwould have been quite delightful to any man of well-constituted mind to\nhave watched the smiles that expanded his amiable features as they shone\nforth from beneath the nightcap. 'It is the best idea,' said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiling till he\nalmost cracked the nightcap strings--'it is the best idea, my losing\nmyself in this place, and wandering about these staircases, that I ever\nheard of. Droll, droll, very droll.' Here Mr. Pickwick smiled again, a\nbroader smile than before, and was about to continue the process of\nundressing, in the best possible humour, when he was suddenly stopped by\na most unexpected interruption: to wit, the entrance into the room of\nsome person with a candle, who, after locking the door, advanced to the\ndressing-table, and set down the light upon it. The smile that played on Mr. Pickwick's features was instantaneously\nlost in a look of the most unbounded and wonder-stricken surprise. The\nperson, whoever it was, had come in so suddenly and with so little\nnoise, that Mr. Pickwick had had no time to call out, or oppose their\nentrance. Who could it be? A robber? Some evil-minded person who had\nseen him come upstairs with a handsome watch in his hand, perhaps. What\nwas he to do? The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse of his\nmysterious visitor with the least danger of being seen himself, was by\ncreeping on to the bed, and peeping out from between the curtains on the\nopposite side. To this manoeuvre he accordingly resorted. Keeping the\ncurtains carefully closed with his hand, so that nothing more of him\ncould be seen than his face and nightcap, and putting on his spectacles,\nhe mustered up courage and looked out. Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standing before the\ndressing-glass was a middle-aged lady, in yellow curl-papers, busily\nengaged in brushing what ladies call their 'back-hair.' However the\nunconscious middle-aged lady came into that room, it was quite clear\nthat she contemplated remaining there for the night; for she had brought\na rushlight and shade with her, which, with praiseworthy precaution\nagainst fire, she had stationed in a basin on the floor, where it was\nglimmering away, like a gigantic lighthouse in a particularly small\npiece of water. 'Bless my soul!' thought Mr. Pickwick, 'what a dreadful thing!' 'Hem!' said the lady; and in went Mr. Pickwick's head with automaton-\nlike rapidity. 'I never met with anything so awful as this,' thought poor Mr. Pickwick,\nthe cold perspiration starting in drops upon his nightcap. 'Never. This\nis fearful.' It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see what was\ngoing forward. So out went Mr. Pickwick's head again. The prospect was\nworse than before. The middle-aged lady had finished arranging her hair;\nhad carefully enveloped it in a muslin nightcap with a small plaited\nborder; and was gazing pensively on the fire. 'This matter is growing alarming,' reasoned Mr. Pickwick with himself. 'I can't allow things to go on in this way. By the self-possession of\nthat lady, it is clear to me that I must have come into the wrong room. If I call out she'll alarm the house; but if I remain here the\nconsequences will be still more frightful.' Mr. Pickwick, it is quite unnecessary to say, was one of the most modest\nand delicate-minded of mortals. The very idea of exhibiting his nightcap\nto a lady overpowered him, but he had tied those confounded strings in a\nknot, and, do what he would, he couldn't get it off. The disclosure must\nbe made. There was only one other way of doing it. He shrunk behind the\ncurtains, and called out very loudly--\n\n'Ha-hum!' That the lady started at this unexpected sound was evident, by her\nfalling up against the rushlight shade; that she persuaded herself it\nmust have been the effect of imagination was equally clear, for when Mr.\nPickwick, under the impression that she had fainted away stone-dead with\nfright, ventured to peep out again, she was gazing pensively on the fire\nas before. 'Most extraordinary female this,' thought Mr. Pickwick, popping in\nagain. 'Ha-hum!' These last sounds, so like those in which, as legends inform us, the\nferocious giant Blunderbore was in the habit of expressing his opinion\nthat it was time to lay the cloth, were too distinctly audible to be\nagain mistaken for the workings of fancy. 'Gracious Heaven!' said the middle-aged lady, 'what's that?' 'It's--it's--only a gentleman, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, from behind\nthe curtains. 'A gentleman!' said the lady, with a terrific scream. 'It's all over!' thought Mr. Pickwick. 'A strange man!' shrieked the lady. Another instant and the house would\nbe alarmed. Her garments rustled as she rushed towards the door. 'Ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, thrusting out his head in the extremity of\nhis desperation, 'ma'am!' Now, although Mr. Pickwick was not actuated by any definite object in\nputting out his head, it was instantaneously productive of a good\neffect. The lady, as we have already stated, was near the door. She must\npass it, to reach the staircase, and she would most undoubtedly have\ndone so by this time, had not the sudden apparition of Mr. Pickwick's\nnightcap driven her back into the remotest corner of the apartment,\nwhere she stood staring wildly at Mr. Pickwick, while Mr. Pickwick in\nhis turn stared wildly at her. 'Wretch,' said the lady, covering her eyes with her hands, 'what do you\nwant here?' 'Nothing, ma'am; nothing whatever, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick earnestly. 'Nothing!' said the lady, looking up.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-10, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-11 The user is reading a book]\n<User> 'Nothing, ma'am, upon my honour,' said Mr. Pickwick, nodding his head so\nenergetically, that the tassel of his nightcap danced again. 'I am\nalmost ready to sink, ma'am, beneath the confusion of addressing a lady\nin my nightcap (here the lady hastily snatched off hers), but I can't\nget it off, ma'am (here Mr. Pickwick gave it a tremendous tug, in proof\nof the statement). It is evident to me, ma'am, now, that I have mistaken\nthis bedroom for my own. I had not been here five minutes, ma'am, when\nyou suddenly entered it.' 'If this improbable story be really true, Sir,' said the lady, sobbing\nviolently, 'you will leave it instantly.' 'I will, ma'am, with the greatest pleasure,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Instantly, sir,' said the lady. 'Certainly, ma'am,' interposed Mr. Pickwick, very quickly. 'Certainly,\nma'am. I--I--am very sorry, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, making his\nappearance at the bottom of the bed, 'to have been the innocent occasion\nof this alarm and emotion; deeply sorry, ma'am.' The lady pointed to the door. One excellent quality of Mr. Pickwick's\ncharacter was beautifully displayed at this moment, under the most\ntrying circumstances. Although he had hastily put on his hat over his\nnightcap, after the manner of the old patrol; although he carried his\nshoes and gaiters in his hand, and his coat and waistcoat over his arm;\nnothing could subdue his native politeness. 'I am exceedingly sorry, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, bowing very low. 'If you are, Sir, you will at once leave the room,' said the lady. 'Immediately, ma'am; this instant, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, opening\nthe door, and dropping both his shoes with a crash in so doing. 'I trust, ma'am,' resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering up his shoes, and\nturning round to bow again--'I trust, ma'am, that my unblemished\ncharacter, and the devoted respect I entertain for your sex, will plead\nas some slight excuse for this--' But before Mr. Pickwick could conclude\nthe sentence, the lady had thrust him into the passage, and locked and\nbolted the door behind him. Whatever grounds of self-congratulation Mr. Pickwick might have for\nhaving escaped so quietly from his late awkward situation, his present\nposition was by no means enviable. He was alone, in an open passage, in\na strange house in the middle of the night, half dressed; it was not to\nbe supposed that he could find his way in perfect darkness to a room\nwhich he had been wholly unable to discover with a light, and if he made\nthe slightest noise in his fruitless attempts to do so, he stood every\nchance of being shot at, and perhaps killed, by some wakeful traveller. He had no resource but to remain where he was until daylight appeared. So after groping his way a few paces down the passage, and, to his\ninfinite alarm, stumbling over several pairs of boots in so doing, Mr.\nPickwick crouched into a little recess in the wall, to wait for morning,\nas philosophically as he might. He was not destined, however, to undergo this additional trial of\npatience; for he had not been long ensconced in his present concealment\nwhen, to his unspeakable horror, a man, bearing a light, appeared at the\nend of the passage. His horror was suddenly converted into joy, however,\nwhen he recognised the form of his faithful attendant. It was indeed Mr.\nSamuel Weller, who after sitting up thus late, in conversation with the\nboots, who was sitting up for the mail, was now about to retire to rest. 'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly appearing before him, 'where's my\nbedroom?' Mr. Weller stared at his master with the most emphatic surprise; and it\nwas not until the question had been repeated three several times, that\nhe turned round, and led the way to the long-sought apartment. 'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, as he got into bed, 'I have made one of the\nmost extraordinary mistakes to-night, that ever were heard of.' 'Wery likely, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller drily. 'But of this I am determined, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'that if I were\nto stop in this house for six months, I would never trust myself about\nit, alone, again.' 'That's the wery prudentest resolution as you could come to, Sir,'\nreplied Mr. Weller. 'You rayther want somebody to look arter you, Sir,\nwhen your judgment goes out a wisitin'.' 'What do you mean by that, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick. He raised himself in\nbed, and extended his hand, as if he were about to say something more;\nbut suddenly checking himself, turned round, and bade his valet 'Good-\nnight.' 'Good-night, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller. He paused when he got outside the\ndoor--shook his head--walked on--stopped--snuffed the candle--shook his\nhead again--and finally proceeded slowly to his chamber, apparently\nburied in the profoundest meditation. In a small room in the vicinity of the stableyard, betimes in the\nmorning, which was ushered in by Mr. Pickwick's adventure with the\nmiddle--aged lady in the yellow curl-papers, sat Mr. Weller, senior,\npreparing himself for his journey to London. He was sitting in an\nexcellent attitude for having his portrait taken; and here it is. It is very possible that at some earlier period of his career, Mr.\nWeller's profile might have presented a bold and determined outline. His\nface, however, had expanded under the influence of good living, and a\ndisposition remarkable for resignation; and its bold, fleshy curves had\nso far extended beyond the limits originally assigned them, that unless\nyou took a full view of his countenance in front, it was difficult to\ndistinguish more than the extreme tip of a very rubicund nose. His chin,\nfrom the same cause, had acquired the grave and imposing form which is\ngenerally described by prefixing the word 'double' to that expressive\nfeature; and his complexion exhibited that peculiarly mottled\ncombination of colours which is only to be seen in gentlemen of his\nprofession, and in underdone roast beef. Round his neck he wore a\ncrimson travelling-shawl, which merged into his chin by such\nimperceptible gradations, that it was difficult to distinguish the folds\nof the one, from the folds of the other. Over this, he mounted a long\nwaistcoat of a broad pink-striped pattern, and over that again, a wide-\nskirted green coat, ornamented with large brass buttons, whereof the two\nwhich garnished the waist, were so far apart, that no man had ever\nbeheld them both at the same time. His hair, which was short, sleek, and\nblack, was just visible beneath the capacious brim of a low-crowned\nbrown hat. His legs were encased in knee-cord breeches, and painted top-\nboots; and a copper watch-chain, terminating in one seal, and a key of\nthe same material, dangled loosely from his capacious waistband. We have said that Mr. Weller was engaged in preparing for his journey to\nLondon--he was taking sustenance, in fact. On the table before him,\nstood a pot of ale, a cold round of beef, and a very respectable-looking\nloaf, to each of which he distributed his favours in turn, with the most\nrigid impartiality. He had just cut a mighty slice from the latter, when\nthe footsteps of somebody entering the room, caused him to raise his\nhead; and he beheld his son. 'Mornin', Sammy!' said the father. The son walked up to the pot of ale, and nodding significantly to his\nparent, took a long draught by way of reply. 'Wery good power o' suction, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller the elder, looking\ninto the pot, when his first-born had set it down half empty. 'You'd ha'\nmade an uncommon fine oyster, Sammy, if you'd been born in that station\no' life.' 'Yes, I des-say, I should ha' managed to pick up a respectable livin','\nreplied Sam applying himself to the cold beef, with considerable vigour. 'I'm wery sorry, Sammy,' said the elder Mr. Weller, shaking up the ale,\nby describing small circles with the pot, preparatory to drinking. 'I'm\nwery sorry, Sammy, to hear from your lips, as you let yourself be\ngammoned by that 'ere mulberry man. I always thought, up to three days\nago, that the names of Veller and gammon could never come into contract,\nSammy, never.' 'Always exceptin' the case of a widder, of course,' said Sam.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-11, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-13 The user is reading a book]\n<User> 'Widders, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, slightly changing colour. 'Widders\nare 'ceptions to ev'ry rule. I have heerd how many ordinary women one\nwidder's equal to in pint o' comin' over you. I think it's five-and-\ntwenty, but I don't rightly know vether it ain't more.' 'Well; that's pretty well,' said Sam. 'Besides,' continued Mr. Weller, not noticing the interruption, 'that's\na wery different thing. You know what the counsel said, Sammy, as\ndefended the gen'l'm'n as beat his wife with the poker, venever he got\njolly. \"And arter all, my Lord,\" says he, \"it's a amiable weakness.\" So\nI says respectin' widders, Sammy, and so you'll say, ven you gets as old\nas me.' 'I ought to ha' know'd better, I know,' said Sam. 'Ought to ha' know'd better!' repeated Mr. Weller, striking the table\nwith his fist. 'Ought to ha' know'd better! why, I know a young 'un as\nhasn't had half nor quarter your eddication--as hasn't slept about the\nmarkets, no, not six months--who'd ha' scorned to be let in, in such a\nvay; scorned it, Sammy.' In the excitement of feeling produced by this\nagonising reflection, Mr. Weller rang the bell, and ordered an\nadditional pint of ale. 'Well, it's no use talking about it now,' said Sam. 'It's over, and\ncan't be helped, and that's one consolation, as they always says in\nTurkey, ven they cuts the wrong man's head off. It's my innings now,\ngov'nor, and as soon as I catches hold o' this 'ere Trotter, I'll have a\ngood 'un.' 'I hope you will, Sammy. I hope you will,' returned Mr. Weller. 'Here's\nyour health, Sammy, and may you speedily vipe off the disgrace as you've\ninflicted on the family name.' In honour of this toast Mr. Weller\nimbibed at a draught, at least two-thirds of a newly-arrived pint, and\nhanded it over to his son, to dispose of the remainder, which he\ninstantaneously did. 'And now, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, consulting a large double-faced\nsilver watch that hung at the end of the copper chain. 'Now it's time I\nwas up at the office to get my vay-bill and see the coach loaded; for\ncoaches, Sammy, is like guns--they requires to be loaded with wery great\ncare, afore they go off.' At this parental and professional joke, Mr. Weller, junior, smiled a\nfilial smile. His revered parent continued in a solemn tone--\n\n'I'm a-goin' to leave you, Samivel, my boy, and there's no telling ven I\nshall see you again. Your mother-in-law may ha' been too much for me, or\na thousand things may have happened by the time you next hears any news\no' the celebrated Mr. Veller o' the Bell Savage. The family name depends\nwery much upon you, Samivel, and I hope you'll do wot's right by it. Upon all little pints o' breedin', I know I may trust you as vell as if\nit was my own self. So I've only this here one little bit of adwice to\ngive you. If ever you gets to up'ards o' fifty, and feels disposed to go\na-marryin' anybody--no matter who--jist you shut yourself up in your own\nroom, if you've got one, and pison yourself off hand. Hangin's wulgar,\nso don't you have nothin' to say to that. Pison yourself, Samivel, my\nboy, pison yourself, and you'll be glad on it arterwards.' With these\naffecting words, Mr. Weller looked steadfastly on his son, and turning\nslowly upon his heel, disappeared from his sight. In the contemplative mood which these words had awakened, Mr. Samuel\nWeller walked forth from the Great White Horse when his father had left\nhim; and bending his steps towards St. Clement's Church, endeavoured to\ndissipate his melancholy, by strolling among its ancient precincts. He\nhad loitered about, for some time, when he found himself in a retired\nspot--a kind of courtyard of venerable appearance--which he discovered\nhad no other outlet than the turning by which he had entered. He was\nabout retracing his steps, when he was suddenly transfixed to the spot\nby a sudden appearance; and the mode and manner of this appearance, we\nnow proceed to relate. Mr. Samuel Weller had been staring up at the old brick houses now and\nthen, in his deep abstraction, bestowing a wink upon some healthy-\nlooking servant girl as she drew up a blind, or threw open a bedroom\nwindow, when the green gate of a garden at the bottom of the yard\nopened, and a man having emerged therefrom, closed the green gate very\ncarefully after him, and walked briskly towards the very spot where Mr.\nWeller was standing. Now, taking this, as an isolated fact, unaccompanied by any attendant\ncircumstances, there was nothing very extraordinary in it; because in\nmany parts of the world men do come out of gardens, close green gates\nafter them, and even walk briskly away, without attracting any\nparticular share of public observation. It is clear, therefore, that\nthere must have been something in the man, or in his manner, or both, to\nattract Mr. Weller's particular notice. Whether there was, or not, we\nmust leave the reader to determine, when we have faithfully recorded the\nbehaviour of the individual in question. When the man had shut the green gate after him, he walked, as we have\nsaid twice already, with a brisk pace up the courtyard; but he no sooner\ncaught sight of Mr. Weller than he faltered, and stopped, as if\nuncertain, for the moment, what course to adopt. As the green gate was\nclosed behind him, and there was no other outlet but the one in front,\nhowever, he was not long in perceiving that he must pass Mr. Samuel\nWeller to get away. He therefore resumed his brisk pace, and advanced,\nstaring straight before him. The most extraordinary thing about the man\nwas, that he was contorting his face into the most fearful and\nastonishing grimaces that ever were beheld. Nature's handiwork never was\ndisguised with such extraordinary artificial carving, as the man had\noverlaid his countenance with in one moment. 'Well!' said Mr. Weller to himself, as the man approached. 'This is wery\nodd. I could ha' swore it was him.' Up came the man, and his face became more frightfully distorted than\never, as he drew nearer. 'I could take my oath to that 'ere black hair and mulberry suit,' said\nMr. Weller; 'only I never see such a face as that afore.' As Mr. Weller said this, the man's features assumed an unearthly twinge,\nperfectly hideous. He was obliged to pass very near Sam, however, and\nthe scrutinising glance of that gentleman enabled him to detect, under\nall these appalling twists of feature, something too like the small eyes\nof Mr. Job Trotter to be easily mistaken. 'Hollo, you Sir!' shouted Sam fiercely. The stranger stopped. 'Hollo!' repeated Sam, still more gruffly. The man with the horrible face looked, with the greatest surprise, up\nthe court, and down the court, and in at the windows of the houses--\neverywhere but at Sam Weller--and took another step forward, when he was\nbrought to again by another shout. 'Hollo, you sir!' said Sam, for the third time. There was no pretending to mistake where the voice came from now, so the\nstranger, having no other resource, at last looked Sam Weller full in\nthe face. 'It won't do, Job Trotter,' said Sam. 'Come! None o' that 'ere nonsense. You ain't so wery 'andsome that you can afford to throw avay many o'\nyour good looks. Bring them 'ere eyes o' yourn back into their proper\nplaces, or I'll knock 'em out of your head. D'ye hear?' As Mr. Weller appeared fully disposed to act up to the spirit of this\naddress, Mr. Trotter gradually allowed his face to resume its natural\nexpression; and then giving a start of joy, exclaimed, 'What do I see? Mr. Walker!' 'Ah,' replied Sam. 'You're wery glad to see me, ain't you?' 'Glad!' exclaimed Job Trotter; 'Oh, Mr. Walker, if you had but known how\nI have looked forward to this meeting! It is too much, Mr. Walker; I\ncannot bear it, indeed I cannot.'\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-13, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-14 The user is reading a book]\n<User> And with these words, Mr. Trotter\nburst into a regular inundation of tears, and, flinging his arms around\nthose of Mr. Weller, embraced him closely, in an ecstasy of joy. 'Get off!' cried Sam, indignant at this process, and vainly endeavouring\nto extricate himself from the grasp of his enthusiastic acquaintance. 'Get off, I tell you. What are you crying over me for, you portable\nengine?' 'Because I am so glad to see you,' replied Job Trotter, gradually\nreleasing Mr. Weller, as the first symptoms of his pugnacity\ndisappeared. 'Oh, Mr. Walker, this is too much.' 'Too much!' echoed Sam, 'I think it is too much--rayther! Now, what have\nyou got to say to me, eh?' Mr. Trotter made no reply; for the little pink pocket-handkerchief was\nin full force. 'What have you got to say to me, afore I knock your head off?' repeated\nMr. Weller, in a threatening manner. 'Eh!' said Mr. Trotter, with a look of virtuous surprise. 'What have you got to say to me?' 'I, Mr. Walker!' 'Don't call me Valker; my name's Veller; you know that vell enough. What\nhave you got to say to me?' 'Bless you, Mr. Walker--Weller, I mean--a great many things, if you will\ncome away somewhere, where we can talk comfortably. If you knew how I\nhave looked for you, Mr. Weller--'\n\n'Wery hard, indeed, I s'pose?' said Sam drily. 'Very, very, Sir,' replied Mr. Trotter, without moving a muscle of his\nface. 'But shake hands, Mr. Weller.' Sam eyed his companion for a few seconds, and then, as if actuated by a\nsudden impulse, complied with his request. 'How,' said Job Trotter, as they walked away, 'how is your dear, good\nmaster? Oh, he is a worthy gentleman, Mr. Weller! I hope he didn't catch\ncold, that dreadful night, Sir.' There was a momentary look of deep slyness in Job Trotter's eye, as he\nsaid this, which ran a thrill through Mr. Weller's clenched fist, as he\nburned with a desire to make a demonstration on his ribs. Sam\nconstrained himself, however, and replied that his master was extremely\nwell. 'Oh, I am so glad,' replied Mr. Trotter; 'is he here?' 'Is yourn?' asked Sam, by way of reply. 'Oh, yes, he is here, and I grieve to say, Mr. Weller, he is going on\nworse than ever.' 'Ah, ah!' said Sam. 'Oh, shocking--terrible!' 'At a boarding-school?' said Sam. 'No, not at a boarding-school,' replied Job Trotter, with the same sly\nlook which Sam had noticed before; 'not at a boarding-school.' 'At the house with the green gate?' said Sam, eyeing his companion\nclosely. 'No, no--oh, not there,' replied Job, with a quickness very unusual to\nhim, 'not there.' 'What was you a-doin' there?' asked Sam, with a sharp glance. 'Got\ninside the gate by accident, perhaps?' 'Why, Mr. Weller,' replied Job, 'I don't mind telling you my little\nsecrets, because, you know, we took such a fancy for each other when we\nfirst met. You recollect how pleasant we were that morning?' 'Oh, yes,' said Sam, impatiently. 'I remember. Well?' 'Well,' replied Job, speaking with great precision, and in the low tone\nof a man who communicates an important secret; 'in that house with the\ngreen gate, Mr. Weller, they keep a good many servants.' 'So I should think, from the look on it,' interposed Sam. 'Yes,' continued Mr. Trotter, 'and one of them is a cook, who has saved\nup a little money, Mr. Weller, and is desirous, if she can establish\nherself in life, to open a little shop in the chandlery way, you see.' Yes.' 'Yes, Mr. Weller. Well, Sir, I met her at a chapel that I go to; a very\nneat little chapel in this town, Mr. Weller, where they sing the number\nfour collection of hymns, which I generally carry about with me, in a\nlittle book, which you may perhaps have seen in my hand--and I got a\nlittle intimate with her, Mr. Weller, and from that, an acquaintance\nsprung up between us, and I may venture to say, Mr. Weller, that I am to\nbe the chandler.' 'Ah, and a wery amiable chandler you'll make,' replied Sam, eyeing Job\nwith a side look of intense dislike. 'The great advantage of this, Mr. Weller,' continued Job, his eyes\nfilling with tears as he spoke, 'will be, that I shall be able to leave\nmy present disgraceful service with that bad man, and to devote myself\nto a better and more virtuous life; more like the way in which I was\nbrought up, Mr. Weller.' 'You must ha' been wery nicely brought up,' said Sam. 'Oh, very, Mr. Weller, very,' replied Job. At the recollection of the\npurity of his youthful days, Mr. Trotter pulled forth the pink\nhandkerchief, and wept copiously. 'You must ha' been an uncommon nice boy, to go to school vith,' said\nSam. 'I was, sir,' replied Job, heaving a deep sigh; 'I was the idol of the\nplace.' 'Ah,' said Sam, 'I don't wonder at it. What a comfort you must ha' been\nto your blessed mother.' At these words, Mr. Job Trotter inserted an end of the pink handkerchief\ninto the corner of each eye, one after the other, and began to weep\ncopiously. 'Wot's the matter with the man,' said Sam, indignantly. 'Chelsea water-\nworks is nothin' to you. What are you melting vith now? The\nconsciousness o' willainy?' 'I cannot keep my feelings down, Mr. Weller,' said Job, after a short\npause. 'To think that my master should have suspected the conversation I\nhad with yours, and so dragged me away in a post-chaise, and after\npersuading the sweet young lady to say she knew nothing of him, and\nbribing the school-mistress to do the same, deserted her for a better\nspeculation! Oh! Mr. Weller, it makes me shudder.' 'Oh, that was the vay, was it?' said Mr. Weller. 'To be sure it was,' replied Job. 'Vell,' said Sam, as they had now arrived near the hotel, 'I vant to\nhave a little bit o' talk with you, Job; so if you're not partickler\nengaged, I should like to see you at the Great White Horse to-night,\nsomewheres about eight o'clock.' 'I shall be sure to come,' said Job. 'Yes, you'd better,' replied Sam, with a very meaning look, 'or else I\nshall perhaps be askin' arter you, at the other side of the green gate,\nand then I might cut you out, you know.' 'I shall be sure to be with you, sir,' said Mr. Trotter; and wringing\nSam's hand with the utmost fervour, he walked away. 'Take care, Job Trotter, take care,' said Sam, looking after him, 'or I\nshall be one too many for you this time. I shall, indeed.' Having\nuttered this soliloquy, and looked after Job till he was to be seen no\nmore, Mr. Weller made the best of his way to his master's bedroom. 'It's all in training, Sir,' said Sam. 'What's in training, Sam?' inquired Mr. Pickwick. 'I've found 'em out, Sir,' said Sam. 'Found out who?' 'That 'ere queer customer, and the melan-cholly chap with the black\nhair.' 'Impossible, Sam!' said Mr. Pickwick, with the greatest energy. 'Where\nare they, Sam: where are they?' 'Hush, hush!' replied Mr. Weller; and as he assisted Mr. Pickwick to\ndress, he detailed the plan of action on which he proposed to enter. 'But when is this to be done, Sam?' inquired Mr. Pickwick. 'All in good time, Sir,' replied Sam. Whether it was done in good time, or not, will be seen hereafter.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-14, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-15 The user is reading a book]\n<User> When Mr. Pickwick descended to the room in which he and Mr. Peter Magnus\nhad spent the preceding evening, he found that gentleman with the major\npart of the contents of the two bags, the leathern hat-box, and the\nbrown-paper parcel, displaying to all possible advantage on his person,\nwhile he himself was pacing up and down the room in a state of the\nutmost excitement and agitation. 'Good-morning, Sir,' said Mr. Peter Magnus. 'What do you think of this,\nSir?' 'Very effective indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick, surveying the garments of\nMr. Peter Magnus with a good-natured smile. 'Yes, I think it'll do,' said Mr. Magnus. 'Mr. Pickwick, Sir, I have\nsent up my card.' 'Have you?' said Mr. Pickwick. 'And the waiter brought back word, that she would see me at eleven--at\neleven, Sir; it only wants a quarter now.' 'Very near the time,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Yes, it is rather near,' replied Mr. Magnus, 'rather too near to be\npleasant--eh! Mr. Pickwick, sir?' 'Confidence is a great thing in these cases,' observed Mr. Pickwick. 'I believe it is, Sir,' said Mr. Peter Magnus. 'I am very confident,\nSir. Really, Mr. Pickwick, I do not see why a man should feel any fear\nin such a case as this, sir. What is it, Sir? There's nothing to be\nashamed of; it's a matter of mutual accommodation, nothing more. Husband\non one side, wife on the other. That's my view of the matter, Mr. Pickwick.' 'It is a very philosophical one,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'But breakfast\nis waiting, Mr. Magnus. Come.' Down they sat to breakfast, but it was evident, notwithstanding the\nboasting of Mr. Peter Magnus, that he laboured under a very considerable\ndegree of nervousness, of which loss of appetite, a propensity to upset\nthe tea-things, a spectral attempt at drollery, and an irresistible\ninclination to look at the clock, every other second, were among the\nprincipal symptoms. 'He-he-he,' tittered Mr. Magnus, affecting cheerfulness, and gasping\nwith agitation. 'It only wants two minutes, Mr. Pickwick. Am I pale,\nSir?' 'Not very,' replied Mr. Pickwick. There was a brief pause. 'I beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick; but have you ever done this sort of\nthing in your time?' said Mr. Magnus. 'You mean proposing?' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Yes.' 'Never,' said Mr. Pickwick, with great energy, 'never.' 'You have no idea, then, how it's best to begin?' said Mr. Magnus. 'Why,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I may have formed some ideas upon the\nsubject, but, as I have never submitted them to the test of experience,\nI should be sorry if you were induced to regulate your proceedings by\nthem.' 'I should feel very much obliged to you, for any advice, Sir,' said Mr.\nMagnus, taking another look at the clock, the hand of which was verging\non the five minutes past. 'Well, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, with the profound solemnity with which\nthat great man could, when he pleased, render his remarks so deeply\nimpressive. 'I should commence, sir, with a tribute to the lady's beauty\nand excellent qualities; from them, Sir, I should diverge to my own\nunworthiness.' 'Very good,' said Mr. Magnus. 'Unworthiness for _her _only, mind, sir,' resumed Mr. Pickwick; 'for to\nshow that I was not wholly unworthy, sir, I should take a brief review\nof my past life, and present condition. I should argue, by analogy, that\nto anybody else, I must be a very desirable object. I should then\nexpatiate on the warmth of my love, and the depth of my devotion. Perhaps I might then be tempted to seize her hand.' 'Yes, I see,' said Mr. Magnus; 'that would be a very great point.' 'I should then, Sir,' continued Mr. Pickwick, growing warmer as the\nsubject presented itself in more glowing colours before him--'I should\nthen, Sir, come to the plain and simple question, \"Will you have me?\" I\nthink I am justified in assuming that upon this, she would turn away her\nhead.' 'You think that may be taken for granted?' said Mr. Magnus; 'because, if\nshe did not do that at the right place, it would be embarrassing.' 'I think she would,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Upon this, sir, I should\nsqueeze her hand, and I think--I think, Mr. Magnus--that after I had\ndone that, supposing there was no refusal, I should gently draw away the\nhandkerchief, which my slight knowledge of human nature leads me to\nsuppose the lady would be applying to her eyes at the moment, and steal\na respectful kiss. I think I should kiss her, Mr. Magnus; and at this\nparticular point, I am decidedly of opinion that if the lady were going\nto take me at all, she would murmur into my ears a bashful acceptance.' Mr. Magnus started; gazed on Mr. Pickwick's intelligent face, for a\nshort time in silence; and then (the dial pointing to the ten minutes\npast) shook him warmly by the hand, and rushed desperately from the\nroom. Mr. Pickwick had taken a few strides to and fro; and the small hand of\nthe clock following the latter part of his example, had arrived at the\nfigure which indicates the half-hour, when the door suddenly opened. He\nturned round to meet Mr. Peter Magnus, and encountered, in his stead,\nthe joyous face of Mr. Tupman, the serene countenance of Mr. Winkle, and\nthe intellectual lineaments of Mr. Snodgrass. As Mr. Pickwick greeted them, Mr. Peter Magnus tripped into the room. 'My friends, the gentleman I was speaking of--Mr. Magnus,' said Mr.\nPickwick. 'Your servant, gentlemen,' said Mr. Magnus, evidently in a high state of\nexcitement; 'Mr. Pickwick, allow me to speak to you one moment, sir.' As he said this, Mr. Magnus harnessed his forefinger to Mr. Pickwick's\nbuttonhole, and, drawing him to a window recess, said--\n\n'Congratulate me, Mr. Pickwick; I followed your advice to the very\nletter.' 'And it was all correct, was it?' inquired Mr. Pickwick. 'It was, Sir. Could not possibly have been better,' replied Mr. Magnus. 'Mr. Pickwick, she is mine.' 'I congratulate you, with all my heart,' replied Mr. Pickwick, warmly\nshaking his new friend by the hand. 'You must see her. Sir,' said Mr. Magnus; 'this way, if you please. Excuse us for one instant, gentlemen.' Hurrying on in this way, Mr.\nPeter Magnus drew Mr. Pickwick from the room. He paused at the next door\nin the passage, and tapped gently thereat. 'Come in,' said a female voice. And in they went. 'Miss Witherfield,' said Mr. Magnus, 'allow me to introduce my very\nparticular friend, Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick, I beg to make you known\nto Miss Witherfield.' The lady was at the upper end of the room. As Mr. Pickwick bowed, he\ntook his spectacles from his waistcoat pocket, and put them on; a\nprocess which he had no sooner gone through, than, uttering an\nexclamation of surprise, Mr. Pickwick retreated several paces, and the\nlady, with a half-suppressed scream, hid her face in her hands, and\ndropped into a chair; whereupon Mr. Peter Magnus was stricken motionless\non the spot, and gazed from one to the other, with a countenance\nexpressive of the extremities of horror and surprise. This certainly was, to all appearance, very unaccountable behaviour; but\nthe fact is, that Mr. Pickwick no sooner put on his spectacles, than he\nat once recognised in the future Mrs. Magnus the lady into whose room he\nhad so unwarrantably intruded on the previous night; and the spectacles\nhad no sooner crossed Mr. Pickwick's nose, than the lady at once\nidentified the countenance which she had seen surrounded by all the\nhorrors of a nightcap. So the lady screamed, and Mr. Pickwick started. 'Mr. Pickwick!' exclaimed Mr. Magnus, lost in astonishment, 'what is the\nmeaning of this, Sir? What is the meaning of it, Sir?' added Mr. Magnus,\nin a threatening, and a louder tone.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-15, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-18 The user is reading a book]\n<User> 'Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, somewhat indignant at the very sudden manner\nin which Mr. Peter Magnus had conjugated himself into the imperative\nmood, 'I decline answering that question.' 'You decline it, Sir?' said Mr. Magnus. 'I do, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick; 'I object to say anything which may\ncompromise that lady, or awaken unpleasant recollections in her breast,\nwithout her consent and permission.' 'Miss Witherfield,' said Mr. Peter Magnus, 'do you know this person?' 'Know him!' repeated the middle-aged lady, hesitating. 'Yes, know him, ma'am; I said know him,' replied Mr. Magnus, with\nferocity. 'I have seen him,' replied the middle-aged lady. 'Where?' inquired Mr. Magnus, 'where?' 'That,' said the middle-aged lady, rising from her seat, and averting\nher head--'that I would not reveal for worlds.' 'I understand you, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'and respect your\ndelicacy; it shall never be revealed by _me_ depend upon it.' 'Upon my word, ma'am,' said Mr. Magnus, 'considering the situation in\nwhich I am placed with regard to yourself, you carry this matter off\nwith tolerable coolness--tolerable coolness, ma'am.' 'Cruel Mr. Magnus!' said the middle-aged lady; here she wept very\ncopiously indeed. 'Address your observations to me, sir,' interposed Mr. Pickwick; 'I\nalone am to blame, if anybody be.' 'Oh! you alone are to blame, are you, sir?' said Mr. Magnus; 'I--I--see\nthrough this, sir. You repent of your determination now, do you?' 'My determination!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Your determination, Sir. Oh! don't stare at me, Sir,' said Mr. Magnus;\n'I recollect your words last night, Sir. You came down here, sir, to\nexpose the treachery and falsehood of an individual on whose truth and\nhonour you had placed implicit reliance--eh?' Here Mr. Peter Magnus\nindulged in a prolonged sneer; and taking off his green spectacles--\nwhich he probably found superfluous in his fit of jealousy--rolled his\nlittle eyes about, in a manner frightful to behold. 'Eh?' said Mr. Magnus; and then he repeated the sneer with increased\neffect. 'But you shall answer it, Sir.' 'Answer what?' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Never mind, sir,' replied Mr. Magnus, striding up and down the room. 'Never mind.' There must be something very comprehensive in this phrase of 'Never\nmind,' for we do not recollect to have ever witnessed a quarrel in the\nstreet, at a theatre, public room, or elsewhere, in which it has not\nbeen the standard reply to all belligerent inquiries. 'Do you call\nyourself a gentleman, sir?' --'Never mind, sir.' Did I offer to say anything to the young woman, sir?' --'Never mind,\nsir.' Do you want your head knocked up against that wall, sir?' --'Never mind,\nsir.' It is observable, too, that there would appear to be some hidden\ntaunt in this universal 'Never mind,' which rouses more indignation in\nthe bosom of the individual addressed, than the most lavish abuse could\npossibly awaken. We do not mean to assert that the application of this brevity to\nhimself, struck exactly that indignation to Mr. Pickwick's soul, which\nit would infallibly have roused in a vulgar breast. We merely record the\nfact that Mr. Pickwick opened the room door, and abruptly called out,\n'Tupman, come here!' Mr. Tupman immediately presented himself, with a look of very\nconsiderable surprise. 'Tupman,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'a secret of some delicacy, in which that\nlady is concerned, is the cause of a difference which has just arisen\nbetween this gentleman and myself. When I assure him, in your presence,\nthat it has no relation to himself, and is not in any way connected with\nhis affairs, I need hardly beg you to take notice that if he continue to\ndispute it, he expresses a doubt of my veracity, which I shall consider\nextremely insulting.' As Mr. Pickwick said this, he looked encyclopedias\nat Mr. Peter Magnus. Mr. Pickwick's upright and honourable bearing, coupled with that force\nand energy of speech which so eminently distinguished him, would have\ncarried conviction to any reasonable mind; but, unfortunately, at that\nparticular moment, the mind of Mr. Peter Magnus was in anything but\nreasonable order. Consequently, instead of receiving Mr. Pickwick's\nexplanation as he ought to have done, he forthwith proceeded to work\nhimself into a red-hot, scorching, consuming passion, and to talk about\nwhat was due to his own feelings, and all that sort of thing; adding\nforce to his declamation by striding to and fro, and pulling his hair--\namusements which he would vary occasionally, by shaking his fist in Mr.\nPickwick's philanthropic countenance. Mr. Pickwick, in his turn, conscious of his own innocence and rectitude,\nand irritated by having unfortunately involved the middle-aged lady in\nsuch an unpleasant affair, was not so quietly disposed as was his wont. The consequence was, that words ran high, and voices higher; and at\nlength Mr. Magnus told Mr. Pickwick he should hear from him; to which\nMr. Pickwick replied, with laudable politeness, that the sooner he heard\nfrom him the better; whereupon the middle-aged lady rushed in terror\nfrom the room, out of which Mr. Tupman dragged Mr. Pickwick, leaving Mr.\nPeter Magnus to himself and meditation. If the middle-aged lady had mingled much with the busy world, or had\nprofited at all by the manners and customs of those who make the laws\nand set the fashions, she would have known that this sort of ferocity is\nthe most harmless thing in nature; but as she had lived for the most\npart in the country, and never read the parliamentary debates, she was\nlittle versed in these particular refinements of civilised life. Accordingly, when she had gained her bedchamber, bolted herself in, and\nbegan to meditate on the scene she had just witnessed, the most terrific\npictures of slaughter and destruction presented themselves to her\nimagination; among which, a full-length portrait of Mr. Peter Magnus\nborne home by four men, with the embellishment of a whole barrelful of\nbullets in his left side, was among the very least. The more the middle-\naged lady meditated, the more terrified she became; and at length she\ndetermined to repair to the house of the principal magistrate of the\ntown, and request him to secure the persons of Mr. Pickwick and Mr.\nTupman without delay. To this decision the middle-aged lady was impelled by a variety of\nconsiderations, the chief of which was the incontestable proof it would\nafford of her devotion to Mr. Peter Magnus, and her anxiety for his\nsafety. She was too well acquainted with his jealous temperament to\nventure the slightest allusion to the real cause of her agitation on\nbeholding Mr. Pickwick; and she trusted to her own influence and power\nof persuasion with the little man, to quell his boisterous jealousy,\nsupposing that Mr. Pickwick were removed, and no fresh quarrel could\narise. Filled with these reflections, the middle-aged lady arrayed\nherself in her bonnet and shawl, and repaired to the mayor's dwelling\nstraightway. Now George Nupkins, Esquire, the principal magistrate aforesaid, was as\ngrand a personage as the fastest walker would find out, between sunrise\nand sunset, on the twenty-first of June, which being, according to the\nalmanacs, the longest day in the whole year, would naturally afford him\nthe longest period for his search. On this particular morning, Mr.\nNupkins was in a state of the utmost excitement and irritation, for\nthere had been a rebellion in the town; all the day-scholars at the\nlargest day-school had conspired to break the windows of an obnoxious\napple-seller, and had hooted the beadle and pelted the constabulary--an\nelderly gentleman in top-boots, who had been called out to repress the\ntumult, and who had been a peace-officer, man and boy, for half a\ncentury at least. And Mr. Nupkins was sitting in his easy-chair,\nfrowning with majesty, and boiling with rage, when a lady was announced\non pressing, private, and particular business. Mr. Nupkins looked calmly\nterrible, and commanded that the lady should be shown in; which command,\nlike all the mandates of emperors, and magistrates, and other great\npotentates of the earth, was forthwith obeyed; and Miss Witherfield,\ninterestingly agitated, was ushered in accordingly. 'Muzzle!' said the magistrate.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-18, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-21 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Muzzle was an undersized footman, with a long body and short legs. 'Muzzle!' Yes, your Worship.' 'Place a chair, and leave the room.' 'Yes, your Worship.' 'Now, ma'am, will you state your business?' said the magistrate. 'It is of a very painful kind, Sir,' said Miss Witherfield. 'Very likely, ma'am,' said the magistrate. 'Compose your feelings,\nma'am.' Here Mr. Nupkins looked benignant. 'And then tell me what legal\nbusiness brings you here, ma'am.' Here the magistrate triumphed over the\nman; and he looked stern again. 'It is very distressing to me, Sir, to give this information,' said Miss\nWitherfield, 'but I fear a duel is going to be fought here.' 'Here, ma'am?' said the magistrate. 'Where, ma'am?' 'In Ipswich.' In Ipswich, ma'am! A duel in Ipswich!' said the magistrate, perfectly\naghast at the notion. 'Impossible, ma'am; nothing of the kind can be\ncontemplated in this town, I am persuaded. Bless my soul, ma'am, are you\naware of the activity of our local magistracy? Do you happen to have\nheard, ma'am, that I rushed into a prize-ring on the fourth of May last,\nattended by only sixty special constables; and, at the hazard of falling\na sacrifice to the angry passions of an infuriated multitude, prohibited\na pugilistic contest between the Middlesex Dumpling and the Suffolk\nBantam? A duel in Ipswich, ma'am? I don't think--I do not think,' said\nthe magistrate, reasoning with himself, 'that any two men can have had\nthe hardihood to plan such a breach of the peace, in this town.' 'My information is, unfortunately, but too correct,' said the middle-\naged lady; 'I was present at the quarrel.' 'It's a most extraordinary thing,' said the astounded magistrate. 'Muzzle!' 'Yes, your Worship.' 'Send Mr. Jinks here, directly! Instantly.' 'Yes, your Worship.' Muzzle retired; and a pale, sharp-nosed, half-fed, shabbily-clad clerk,\nof middle age, entered the room. 'Mr. Jinks,' said the magistrate. 'Mr. Jinks.' 'Sir,' said Mr. Jinks. 'This lady, Mr. Jinks, has come here, to give information of an intended\nduel in this town.' Mr. Jinks, not knowing exactly what to do, smiled a dependent's smile. 'What are you laughing at, Mr. Jinks?' said the magistrate. Mr. Jinks looked serious instantly. 'Mr. Jinks,' said the magistrate, 'you're a fool.' Mr. Jinks looked humbly at the great man, and bit the top of his pen. 'You may see something very comical in this information, Sir--but I can\ntell you this, Mr. Jinks, that you have very little to laugh at,' said\nthe magistrate. The hungry-looking Jinks sighed, as if he were quite aware of the fact\nof his having very little indeed to be merry about; and, being ordered\nto take the lady's information, shambled to a seat, and proceeded to\nwrite it down. 'This man, Pickwick, is the principal, I understand?' said the\nmagistrate, when the statement was finished. 'He is,' said the middle-aged lady. 'And the other rioter--what's his name, Mr. Jinks?' 'Tupman, Sir.' Tupman is the second?' 'Yes.' 'The other principal, you say, has absconded, ma'am?' 'Yes,' replied Miss Witherfield, with a short cough. 'Very well,' said the magistrate. 'These are two cut-throats from\nLondon, who have come down here to destroy his Majesty's population,\nthinking that at this distance from the capital, the arm of the law is\nweak and paralysed. They shall be made an example of. Draw up the\nwarrants, Mr. Jinks. Muzzle!' 'Yes, your Worship.' 'Is Grummer downstairs?' 'Yes, your Worship.' 'Send him up.' The obsequious Muzzle retired, and presently returned, introducing the\nelderly gentleman in the top-boots, who was chiefly remarkable for a\nbottle-nose, a hoarse voice, a snuff-coloured surtout, and a wandering\neye. 'Grummer,' said the magistrate. 'Your Wash-up.' 'Is the town quiet now?' 'Pretty well, your Wash-up,' replied Grummer. 'Pop'lar feeling has in a\nmeasure subsided, consekens o' the boys having dispersed to cricket.' 'Nothing but vigorous measures will do in these times, Grummer,' said\nthe magistrate, in a determined manner. 'If the authority of the king's\nofficers is set at naught, we must have the riot act read. If the civil\npower cannot protect these windows, Grummer, the military must protect\nthe civil power, and the windows too. I believe that is a maxim of the\nconstitution, Mr. Jinks?' Certainly, sir,' said Jinks. 'Very good,' said the magistrate, signing the warrants. 'Grummer, you\nwill bring these persons before me, this afternoon. You will find them\nat the Great White Horse. You recollect the case of the Middlesex\nDumpling and the Suffolk Bantam, Grummer?' Mr. Grummer intimated, by a retrospective shake of the head, that he\nshould never forget it--as indeed it was not likely he would, so long as\nit continued to be cited daily. 'This is even more unconstitutional,' said the magistrate; 'this is even\na greater breach of the peace, and a grosser infringement of his\nMajesty's prerogative. I believe duelling is one of his Majesty's most\nundoubted prerogatives, Mr. Jinks?' 'Expressly stipulated in Magna Charta, sir,' said Mr. Jinks. 'One of the brightest jewels in the British crown, wrung from his\nMajesty by the barons, I believe, Mr. Jinks?' said the magistrate. 'Just so, Sir,' replied Mr. Jinks. 'Very well,' said the magistrate, drawing himself up proudly, 'it shall\nnot be violated in this portion of his dominions. Grummer, procure\nassistance, and execute these warrants with as little delay as possible. Muzzle!' 'Yes, your Worship.' 'Show the lady out.' Miss Witherfield retired, deeply impressed with the magistrate's\nlearning and research; Mr. Nupkins retired to lunch; Mr. Jinks retired\nwithin himself--that being the only retirement he had, except the sofa-\nbedstead in the small parlour which was occupied by his landlady's\nfamily in the daytime--and Mr. Grummer retired, to wipe out, by his mode\nof discharging his present commission, the insult which had been\nfastened upon himself, and the other representative of his Majesty--the\nbeadle--in the course of the morning. While these resolute and determined preparations for the conservation of\nthe king's peace were pending, Mr. Pickwick and his friends, wholly\nunconscious of the mighty events in progress, had sat quietly down to\ndinner; and very talkative and companionable they all were. Mr. Pickwick\nwas in the very act of relating his adventure of the preceding night, to\nthe great amusement of his followers, Mr. Tupman especially, when the\ndoor opened, and a somewhat forbidding countenance peeped into the room. The eyes in the forbidding countenance looked very earnestly at Mr.\nPickwick, for several seconds, and were to all appearance satisfied with\ntheir investigation; for the body to which the forbidding countenance\nbelonged, slowly brought itself into the apartment, and presented the\nform of an elderly individual in top-boots--not to keep the reader any\nlonger in suspense, in short, the eyes were the wandering eyes of Mr.\nGrummer, and the body was the body of the same gentleman. Mr. Grummer's mode of proceeding was professional, but peculiar. His\nfirst act was to bolt the door on the inside; his second, to polish his\nhead and countenance very carefully with a cotton handkerchief; his\nthird, to place his hat, with the cotton handkerchief in it, on the\nnearest chair; and his fourth, to produce from the breast-pocket of his\ncoat a short truncheon, surmounted by a brazen crown, with which he\nbeckoned to Mr. Pickwick with a grave and ghost-like air. Mr. Snodgrass was the first to break the astonished silence. He looked\nsteadily at Mr. Grummer for a brief space, and then said emphatically,\n'This is a private room, Sir. A private room.'\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-21, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-23 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Mr. Grummer shook his head, and replied, 'No room's private to his\nMajesty when the street door's once passed. That's law. Some people\nmaintains that an Englishman's house is his castle. That's gammon.' The Pickwickians gazed on each other with wondering eyes. 'Which is Mr. Tupman?' inquired Mr. Grummer. He had an intuitive\nperception of Mr. Pickwick; he knew him at once. 'My name's Tupman,' said that gentleman. 'My name's Law,' said Mr. Grummer. 'What?' said Mr. Tupman. 'Law,' replied Mr. Grummer--'Law, civil power, and exekative; them's my\ntitles; here's my authority. Blank Tupman, blank Pickwick--against the\npeace of our sufferin' lord the king--stattit in the case made and\npurwided--and all regular. I apprehend you Pickwick! Tupman--the\naforesaid.' 'What do you mean by this insolence?' said Mr. Tupman, starting up;\n'leave the room!' 'Hollo,' said Mr. Grummer, retreating very expeditiously to the door,\nand opening it an inch or two, 'Dubbley.' 'Well,' said a deep voice from the passage. 'Come for'ard, Dubbley.' At the word of command, a dirty-faced man, something over six feet high,\nand stout in proportion, squeezed himself through the half-open door\n(making his face very red in the process), and entered the room. 'Is the other specials outside, Dubbley?' inquired Mr. Grummer. Mr. Dubbley, who was a man of few words, nodded assent. 'Order in the diwision under your charge, Dubbley,' said Mr. Grummer. Mr. Dubbley did as he was desired; and half a dozen men, each with a\nshort truncheon and a brass crown, flocked into the room. Mr. Grummer\npocketed his staff, and looked at Mr. Dubbley; Mr. Dubbley pocketed his\nstaff and looked at the division; the division pocketed their staves and\nlooked at Messrs. Tupman and Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick and his followers rose as one man. 'What is the meaning of this atrocious intrusion upon my privacy?' said\nMr. Pickwick. 'Who dares apprehend me?' said Mr. Tupman. 'What do you want here, scoundrels?' said Mr. Snodgrass. Mr. Winkle said nothing, but he fixed his eyes on Grummer, and bestowed\na look upon him, which, if he had had any feeling, must have pierced his\nbrain. As it was, however, it had no visible effect on him whatever. When the executive perceived that Mr. Pickwick and his friends were\ndisposed to resist the authority of the law, they very significantly\nturned up their coat sleeves, as if knocking them down in the first\ninstance, and taking them up afterwards, were a mere professional act\nwhich had only to be thought of to be done, as a matter of course. This\ndemonstration was not lost upon Mr. Pickwick. He conferred a few moments\nwith Mr. Tupman apart, and then signified his readiness to proceed to\nthe mayor's residence, merely begging the parties then and there\nassembled, to take notice, that it was his firm intention to resent this\nmonstrous invasion of his privileges as an Englishman, the instant he\nwas at liberty; whereat the parties then and there assembled laughed\nvery heartily, with the single exception of Mr. Grummer, who seemed to\nconsider that any slight cast upon the divine right of magistrates was a\nspecies of blasphemy not to be tolerated. But when Mr. Pickwick had signified his readiness to bow to the laws of\nhis country, and just when the waiters, and hostlers, and chambermaids,\nand post-boys, who had anticipated a delightful commotion from his\nthreatened obstinacy, began to turn away, disappointed and disgusted, a\ndifficulty arose which had not been foreseen. With every sentiment of\nveneration for the constituted authorities, Mr. Pickwick resolutely\nprotested against making his appearance in the public streets,\nsurrounded and guarded by the officers of justice, like a common\ncriminal. Mr. Grummer, in the then disturbed state of public feeling\n(for it was half-holiday, and the boys had not yet gone home), as\nresolutely protested against walking on the opposite side of the way,\nand taking Mr. Pickwick's parole that he would go straight to the\nmagistrate's; and both Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman as strenuously\nobjected to the expense of a post-coach, which was the only respectable\nconveyance that could be obtained. The dispute ran high, and the dilemma\nlasted long; and just as the executive were on the point of overcoming\nMr. Pickwick's objection to walking to the magistrate's, by the trite\nexpedient of carrying him thither, it was recollected that there stood\nin the inn yard, an old sedan-chair, which, having been originally built\nfor a gouty gentleman with funded property, would hold Mr. Pickwick and\nMr. Tupman, at least as conveniently as a modern post-chaise. The chair\nwas hired, and brought into the hall; Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman\nsqueezed themselves inside, and pulled down the blinds; a couple of\nchairmen were speedily found; and the procession started in grand order. The specials surrounded the body of the vehicle; Mr. Grummer and Mr.\nDubbley marched triumphantly in front; Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle\nwalked arm-in-arm behind; and the unsoaped of Ipswich brought up the\nrear. The shopkeepers of the town, although they had a very indistinct notion\nof the nature of the offence, could not but be much edified and\ngratified by this spectacle. Here was the strong arm of the law, coming\ndown with twenty gold-beater force, upon two offenders from the\nmetropolis itself; the mighty engine was directed by their own\nmagistrate, and worked by their own officers; and both the criminals, by\ntheir united efforts, were securely shut up, in the narrow compass of\none sedan-chair. Many were the expressions of approval and admiration\nwhich greeted Mr. Grummer, as he headed the cavalcade, staff in hand;\nloud and long were the shouts raised by the unsoaped; and amidst these\nunited testimonials of public approbation, the procession moved slowly\nand majestically along. Mr. Weller, habited in his morning jacket, with the black calico\nsleeves, was returning in a rather desponding state from an unsuccessful\nsurvey of the mysterious house with the green gate, when, raising his\neyes, he beheld a crowd pouring down the street, surrounding an object\nwhich had very much the appearance of a sedan-chair. Willing to divert\nhis thoughts from the failure of his enterprise, he stepped aside to see\nthe crowd pass; and finding that they were cheering away, very much to\ntheir own satisfaction, forthwith began (by way of raising his spirits)\nto cheer too, with all his might and main. Mr. Grummer passed, and Mr. Dubbley passed, and the sedan passed, and\nthe bodyguard of specials passed, and Sam was still responding to the\nenthusiastic cheers of the mob, and waving his hat about as if he were\nin the very last extreme of the wildest joy (though, of course, he had\nnot the faintest idea of the matter in hand), when he was suddenly\nstopped by the unexpected appearance of Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass. 'What's the row, gen'l'm'n? 'cried Sam. 'Who have they got in this here\nwatch-box in mournin'?' Both gentlemen replied together, but their words were lost in the\ntumult. 'Who is it?' cried Sam again. Once more was a joint reply returned; and, though the words were\ninaudible, Sam saw by the motion of the two pairs of lips that they had\nuttered the magic word 'Pickwick.' This was enough. In another minute Mr. Weller had made his way through\nthe crowd, stopped the chairmen, and confronted the portly Grummer. 'Hollo, old gen'l'm'n!' said Sam. 'Who have you got in this here\nconweyance?' 'Stand back,' said Mr. Grummer, whose dignity, like the dignity of a\ngreat many other men, had been wondrously augmented by a little\npopularity. 'Knock him down, if he don't,' said Mr. Dubbley.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-23, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-25 The user is reading a book]\n<User> 'I'm wery much obliged to you, old gen'l'm'n,' replied Sam, 'for\nconsulting my conwenience, and I'm still more obliged to the other\ngen'l'm'n, who looks as if he'd just escaped from a giant's carrywan,\nfor his wery 'andsome suggestion; but I should prefer your givin' me a\nanswer to my question, if it's all the same to you.--How are you, Sir?' This last observation was addressed with a patronising air to Mr.\nPickwick, who was peeping through the front window. Mr. Grummer, perfectly speechless with indignation, dragged the\ntruncheon with the brass crown from its particular pocket, and\nflourished it before Sam's eyes. 'Ah,' said Sam, 'it's wery pretty, 'specially the crown, which is\nuncommon like the real one.' 'Stand back!' said the outraged Mr. Grummer. By way of adding force to\nthe command, he thrust the brass emblem of royalty into Sam's neckcloth\nwith one hand, and seized Sam's collar with the other--a compliment\nwhich Mr. Weller returned by knocking him down out of hand, having\npreviously with the utmost consideration, knocked down a chairman for\nhim to lie upon. Whether Mr. Winkle was seized with a temporary attack of that species of\ninsanity which originates in a sense of injury, or animated by this\ndisplay of Mr. Weller's valour, is uncertain; but certain it is, that he\nno sooner saw Mr. Grummer fall than he made a terrific onslaught on a\nsmall boy who stood next him; whereupon Mr. Snodgrass, in a truly\nChristian spirit, and in order that he might take no one unawares,\nannounced in a very loud tone that he was going to begin, and proceeded\nto take off his coat with the utmost deliberation. He was immediately\nsurrounded and secured; and it is but common justice both to him and Mr.\nWinkle to say, that they did not make the slightest attempt to rescue\neither themselves or Mr. Weller; who, after a most vigorous resistance,\nwas overpowered by numbers and taken prisoner. The procession then\nreformed; the chairmen resumed their stations; and the march was re-\ncommenced. Mr. Pickwick's indignation during the whole of this proceeding was\nbeyond all bounds. He could just see Sam upsetting the specials, and\nflying about in every direction; and that was all he could see, for the\nsedan doors wouldn't open, and the blinds wouldn't pull up. At length,\nwith the assistance of Mr. Tupman, he managed to push open the roof; and\nmounting on the seat, and steadying himself as well as he could, by\nplacing his hand on that gentleman's shoulder, Mr. Pickwick proceeded to\naddress the multitude; to dwell upon the unjustifiable manner in which\nhe had been treated; and to call upon them to take notice that his\nservant had been first assaulted. In this order they reached the\nmagistrate's house; the chairmen trotting, the prisoners following, Mr.\nPickwick oratorising, and the crowd shouting. Violent was Mr. Weller's indignation as he was borne along; numerous\nwere the allusions to the personal appearance and demeanour of Mr.\nGrummer and his companion; and valorous were the defiances to any six of\nthe gentlemen present, in which he vented his dissatisfaction. Mr.\nSnodgrass and Mr. Winkle listened with gloomy respect to the torrent of\neloquence which their leader poured forth from the sedan-chair, and the\nrapid course of which not all Mr. Tupman's earnest entreaties to have\nthe lid of the vehicle closed, were able to check for an instant. But\nMr. Weller's anger quickly gave way to curiosity when the procession\nturned down the identical courtyard in which he had met with the runaway\nJob Trotter; and curiosity was exchanged for a feeling of the most\ngleeful astonishment, when the all-important Mr. Grummer, commanding the\nsedan-bearers to halt, advanced with dignified and portentous steps to\nthe very green gate from which Job Trotter had emerged, and gave a\nmighty pull at the bell-handle which hung at the side thereof. The ring\nwas answered by a very smart and pretty-faced servant-girl, who, after\nholding up her hands in astonishment at the rebellious appearance of the\nprisoners, and the impassioned language of Mr. Pickwick, summoned Mr.\nMuzzle. Mr. Muzzle opened one half of the carriage gate, to admit the\nsedan, the captured ones, and the specials; and immediately slammed it\nin the faces of the mob, who, indignant at being excluded, and anxious\nto see what followed, relieved their feelings by kicking at the gate and\nringing the bell, for an hour or two afterwards. In this amusement they\nall took part by turns, except three or four fortunate individuals, who,\nhaving discovered a grating in the gate, which commanded a view of\nnothing, stared through it with the indefatigable perseverance with\nwhich people will flatten their noses against the front windows of a\nchemist's shop, when a drunken man, who has been run over by a dog-cart\nin the street, is undergoing a surgical inspection in the back-parlour. At the foot of a flight of steps, leading to the house door, which was\nguarded on either side by an American aloe in a green tub, the sedan-\nchair stopped. Mr. Pickwick and his friends were conducted into the\nhall, whence, having been previously announced by Muzzle, and ordered in\nby Mr. Nupkins, they were ushered into the worshipful presence of that\npublic-spirited officer. The scene was an impressive one, well calculated to strike terror to the\nhearts of culprits, and to impress them with an adequate idea of the\nstern majesty of the law. In front of a big book-case, in a big chair,\nbehind a big table, and before a big volume, sat Mr. Nupkins, looking a\nfull size larger than any one of them, big as they were. The table was\nadorned with piles of papers; and above the farther end of it, appeared\nthe head and shoulders of Mr. Jinks, who was busily engaged in looking\nas busy as possible. The party having all entered, Muzzle carefully\nclosed the door, and placed himself behind his master's chair to await\nhis orders. Mr. Nupkins threw himself back with thrilling solemnity, and\nscrutinised the faces of his unwilling visitors. 'Now, Grummer, who is that person?' said Mr. Nupkins, pointing to Mr.\nPickwick, who, as the spokesman of his friends, stood hat in hand,\nbowing with the utmost politeness and respect. 'This here's Pickvick, your Wash-up,' said Grummer. 'Come, none o' that 'ere, old Strike-a-light,' interposed Mr. Weller,\nelbowing himself into the front rank. 'Beg your pardon, sir, but this\nhere officer o' yourn in the gambooge tops, 'ull never earn a decent\nlivin' as a master o' the ceremonies any vere. This here, sir' continued\nMr. Weller, thrusting Grummer aside, and addressing the magistrate with\npleasant familiarity, 'this here is S. Pickvick, Esquire; this here's\nMr. Tupman; that 'ere's Mr. Snodgrass; and farder on, next him on the\nt'other side, Mr. Winkle--all wery nice gen'l'm'n, Sir, as you'll be\nwery happy to have the acquaintance on; so the sooner you commits these\nhere officers o' yourn to the tread-mill for a month or two, the sooner\nwe shall begin to be on a pleasant understanding. Business first,\npleasure arterwards, as King Richard the Third said when he stabbed the\nt'other king in the Tower, afore he smothered the babbies.' At the conclusion of this address, Mr. Weller brushed his hat with his\nright elbow, and nodded benignly to Jinks, who had heard him throughout\nwith unspeakable awe. 'Who is this man, Grummer?' said the magistrate. 'Wery desp'rate ch'racter, your Wash-up,' replied Grummer. 'He attempted\nto rescue the prisoners, and assaulted the officers; so we took him into\ncustody, and brought him here.' 'You did quite right,' replied the magistrate. 'He is evidently a\ndesperate ruffian.' 'He is my servant, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick angrily. 'Oh! he is your servant, is he?' said Mr. Nupkins. 'A conspiracy to\ndefeat the ends of justice, and murder its officers. Pickwick's servant. Put that down, Mr. Jinks.' Mr. Jinks did so. 'What's your name, fellow?' thundered Mr. Nupkins. 'Veller,' replied Sam. 'A very good name for the Newgate Calendar,' said Mr. Nupkins.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-25, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-26 The user is reading a book]\n<User> This was a joke; so Jinks, Grummer, Dubbley, all the specials, and\nMuzzle, went into fits of laughter of five minutes' duration. 'Put down his name, Mr. Jinks,' said the magistrate. 'Two L's, old feller,' said Sam. Here an unfortunate special laughed again, whereupon the magistrate\nthreatened to commit him instantly. It is a dangerous thing to laugh at\nthe wrong man, in these cases. 'Where do you live?' said the magistrate. 'Vere ever I can,' replied Sam. 'Put down that, Mr. Jinks,' said the magistrate, who was fast rising\ninto a rage. 'Score it under,' said Sam. 'He is a vagabond, Mr. Jinks,' said the magistrate. 'He is a vagabond on\nhis own statement,--is he not, Mr. Jinks?' 'Certainly, Sir.' 'Then I'll commit him--I'll commit him as such,' said Mr. Nupkins. 'This is a wery impartial country for justice, 'said Sam.' There ain't a\nmagistrate goin' as don't commit himself twice as he commits other\npeople.' At this sally another special laughed, and then tried to look so\nsupernaturally solemn, that the magistrate detected him immediately. 'Grummer,' said Mr. Nupkins, reddening with passion, 'how dare you\nselect such an inefficient and disreputable person for a special\nconstable, as that man? How dare you do it, Sir?' 'I am very sorry, your Wash-up,' stammered Grummer. 'Very sorry!' said the furious magistrate. 'You shall repent of this\nneglect of duty, Mr. Grummer; you shall be made an example of. Take that\nfellow's staff away. He's drunk. You're drunk, fellow.' 'I am not drunk, your Worship,' said the man. 'You _are _drunk,' returned the magistrate. 'How dare you say you are\nnot drunk, Sir, when I say you are? Doesn't he smell of spirits,\nGrummer?' 'Horrid, your Wash-up,' replied Grummer, who had a vague impression that\nthere was a smell of rum somewhere. 'I knew he did,' said Mr. Nupkins. 'I saw he was drunk when he first\ncame into the room, by his excited eye. Did you observe his excited eye,\nMr. Jinks?' 'Certainly, Sir.' 'I haven't touched a drop of spirits this morning,' said the man, who\nwas as sober a fellow as need be. 'How dare you tell me a falsehood?' said Mr. Nupkins. 'Isn't he drunk at\nthis moment, Mr. Jinks?' 'Certainly, Sir,' replied Jinks. 'Mr. Jinks,' said the magistrate, 'I shall commit that man for contempt. Make out his committal, Mr. Jinks.' And committed the special would have been, only Jinks, who was the\nmagistrate's adviser (having had a legal education of three years in a\ncountry attorney's office), whispered the magistrate that he thought it\nwouldn't do; so the magistrate made a speech, and said, that in\nconsideration of the special's family, he would merely reprimand and\ndischarge him. Accordingly, the special was abused, vehemently, for a\nquarter of an hour, and sent about his business; and Grummer, Dubbley,\nMuzzle, and all the other specials, murmured their admiration of the\nmagnanimity of Mr. Nupkins. 'Now, Mr. Jinks,' said the magistrate, 'swear Grummer.' Grummer was sworn directly; but as Grummer wandered, and Mr. Nupkins's\ndinner was nearly ready, Mr. Nupkins cut the matter short, by putting\nleading questions to Grummer, which Grummer answered as nearly in the\naffirmative as he could. So the examination went off, all very smooth\nand comfortable, and two assaults were proved against Mr. Weller, and a\nthreat against Mr. Winkle, and a push against Mr. Snodgrass. When all\nthis was done to the magistrate's satisfaction, the magistrate and Mr.\nJinks consulted in whispers. The consultation having lasted about ten minutes, Mr. Jinks retired to\nhis end of the table; and the magistrate, with a preparatory cough, drew\nhimself up in his chair, and was proceeding to commence his address,\nwhen Mr. Pickwick interposed. 'I beg your pardon, sir, for interrupting you,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but\nbefore you proceed to express, and act upon, any opinion you may have\nformed on the statements which have been made here, I must claim my\nright to be heard so far as I am personally concerned.' 'Hold your tongue, Sir,' said the magistrate peremptorily. 'I must submit to you, Sir--' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Hold your tongue, sir,' interposed the magistrate, 'or I shall order an\nofficer to remove you.' 'You may order your officers to do whatever you please, Sir,' said Mr.\nPickwick; 'and I have no doubt, from the specimen I have had of the\nsubordination preserved amongst them, that whatever you order, they will\nexecute, Sir; but I shall take the liberty, Sir, of claiming my right to\nbe heard, until I am removed by force.' 'Pickvick and principle!' exclaimed Mr. Weller, in a very audible voice. 'Sam, be quiet,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Dumb as a drum vith a hole in it, Sir,' replied Sam. Mr. Nupkins looked at Mr. Pickwick with a gaze of intense astonishment,\nat his displaying such unwonted temerity; and was apparently about to\nreturn a very angry reply, when Mr. Jinks pulled him by the sleeve, and\nwhispered something in his ear. To this, the magistrate returned a half-\naudible answer, and then the whispering was renewed. Jinks was evidently\nremonstrating. At length the magistrate, gulping down, with a very bad grace, his\ndisinclination to hear anything more, turned to Mr. Pickwick, and said\nsharply, 'What do you want to say?' 'First,' said Mr. Pickwick, sending a look through his spectacles, under\nwhich even Nupkins quailed, 'first, I wish to know what I and my friend\nhave been brought here for?' 'Must I tell him?' whispered the magistrate to Jinks. 'I think you had better, sir,' whispered Jinks to the magistrate. 'An information has been sworn before me,' said the magistrate, 'that it\nis apprehended you are going to fight a duel, and that the other man,\nTupman, is your aider and abettor in it. Therefore--eh, Mr. Jinks?' 'Certainly, sir.' 'Therefore, I call upon you both, to--I think that's the course, Mr. Jinks?' 'Certainly, Sir.' 'To--to--what, Mr. Jinks?' said the magistrate pettishly. 'To find bail, sir.' 'Yes. Therefore, I call upon you both--as I was about to say when I was\ninterrupted by my clerk--to find bail.' Good bail,' whispered Mr. Jinks. 'I shall require good bail,' said the magistrate. 'Town's-people,' whispered Jinks. 'They must be townspeople,' said the magistrate. 'Fifty pounds each,' whispered Jinks, 'and householders, of course.' 'I shall require two sureties of fifty pounds each,' said the magistrate\naloud, with great dignity, 'and they must be householders, of course.' 'But bless my heart, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, who, together with Mr.\nTupman, was all amazement and indignation; 'we are perfect strangers in\nthis town. I have as little knowledge of any householders here, as I\nhave intention of fighting a duel with anybody.' 'I dare say,' replied the magistrate, 'I dare say--don't you, Mr. Jinks?' 'Certainly, Sir.' 'Have you anything more to say?' inquired the magistrate. Mr. Pickwick had a great deal more to say, which he would no doubt have\nsaid, very little to his own advantage, or the magistrate's\nsatisfaction, if he had not, the moment he ceased speaking, been pulled\nby the sleeve by Mr. Weller, with whom he was immediately engaged in so\nearnest a conversation, that he suffered the magistrate's inquiry to\npass wholly unnoticed. Mr. Nupkins was not the man to ask a question of\nthe kind twice over; and so, with another preparatory cough, he\nproceeded, amidst the reverential and admiring silence of the\nconstables, to pronounce his decision.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-26, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-29 The user is reading a book]\n<User> He should fine Weller two pounds for the first assault, and three pounds\nfor the second. He should fine Winkle two pounds, and Snodgrass one\npound, besides requiring them to enter into their own recognisances to\nkeep the peace towards all his Majesty's subjects, and especially\ntowards his liege servant, Daniel Grummer. Pickwick and Tupman he had\nalready held to bail. Immediately on the magistrate ceasing to speak, Mr. Pickwick, with a\nsmile mantling on his again good-humoured countenance, stepped forward,\nand said--\n\n'I beg the magistrate's pardon, but may I request a few minutes' private\nconversation with him, on a matter of deep importance to himself?' 'What?' said the magistrate. Mr. Pickwick repeated his request. 'This is a most extraordinary request,' said the magistrate. 'A private\ninterview?' 'A private interview,' replied Mr. Pickwick firmly; 'only, as a part of\nthe information which I wish to communicate is derived from my servant,\nI should wish him to be present.' The magistrate looked at Mr. Jinks; Mr. Jinks looked at the magistrate;\nthe officers looked at each other in amazement. Mr. Nupkins turned\nsuddenly pale. Could the man Weller, in a moment of remorse, have\ndivulged some secret conspiracy for his assassination? It was a dreadful\nthought. He was a public man; and he turned paler, as he thought of\nJulius Caesar and Mr. Perceval. The magistrate looked at Mr. Pickwick again, and beckoned Mr. Jinks. 'What do you think of this request, Mr. Jinks?' murmured Mr. Nupkins. Mr. Jinks, who didn't exactly know what to think of it, and was afraid\nhe might offend, smiled feebly, after a dubious fashion, and, screwing\nup the corners of his mouth, shook his head slowly from side to side. 'Mr. Jinks,' said the magistrate gravely, 'you are an ass.' At this little expression of opinion, Mr. Jinks smiled again--rather\nmore feebly than before--and edged himself, by degrees, back into his\nown corner. Mr. Nupkins debated the matter within himself for a few seconds, and\nthen, rising from his chair, and requesting Mr. Pickwick and Sam to\nfollow him, led the way into a small room which opened into the justice-\nparlour. Desiring Mr. Pickwick to walk to the upper end of the little\napartment, and holding his hand upon the half-closed door, that he might\nbe able to effect an immediate escape, in case there was the least\ntendency to a display of hostilities, Mr. Nupkins expressed his\nreadiness to hear the communication, whatever it might be. 'I will come to the point at once, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'it affects\nyourself and your credit materially. I have every reason to believe,\nSir, that you are harbouring in your house a gross impostor!' 'Two,' interrupted Sam. 'Mulberry agin all natur, for tears and\nwillainny!' 'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'if I am to render myself intelligible to this\ngentleman, I must beg you to control your feelings.' 'Wery sorry, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller; 'but when I think o' that 'ere\nJob, I can't help opening the walve a inch or two.' 'In one word, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'is my servant right in\nsuspecting that a certain Captain Fitz-Marshall is in the habit of\nvisiting here? Because,' added Mr. Pickwick, as he saw that Mr. Nupkins\nwas about to offer a very indignant interruption, 'because if he be, I\nknow that person to be a--'\n\n'Hush, hush,' said Mr. Nupkins, closing the door. 'Know him to be what,\nSir?' 'An unprincipled adventurer--a dishonourable character--a man who preys\nupon society, and makes easily-deceived people his dupes, Sir; his\nabsurd, his foolish, his wretched dupes, Sir,' said the excited Mr.\nPickwick. 'Dear me,' said Mr. Nupkins, turning very red, and altering his whole\nmanner directly. 'Dear me, Mr.--'\n\n'Pickvick,' said Sam. 'Pickwick,' said the magistrate, 'dear me, Mr. Pickwick--pray take a\nseat--you cannot mean this? Captain Fitz-Marshall!' 'Don't call him a cap'en,' said Sam, 'nor Fitz-Marshall neither; he\nain't neither one nor t'other. He's a strolling actor, he is, and his\nname's Jingle; and if ever there was a wolf in a mulberry suit, that\n'ere Job Trotter's him.' 'It is very true, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, replying to the magistrate's\nlook of amazement; 'my only business in this town, is to expose the\nperson of whom we now speak.' Mr. Pickwick proceeded to pour into the horror-stricken ear of Mr.\nNupkins, an abridged account of all Mr. Jingle's atrocities. He related\nhow he had first met him; how he had eloped with Miss Wardle; how he had\ncheerfully resigned the lady for a pecuniary consideration; how he had\nentrapped himself into a lady's boarding-school at midnight; and how he\n(Mr. Pickwick) now felt it his duty to expose his assumption of his\npresent name and rank. As the narrative proceeded, all the warm blood in the body of Mr.\nNupkins tingled up into the very tips of his ears. He had picked up the\ncaptain at a neighbouring race-course. Charmed with his long list of\naristocratic acquaintance, his extensive travel, and his fashionable\ndemeanour, Mrs. Nupkins and Miss Nupkins had exhibited Captain Fitz-\nMarshall, and quoted Captain Fitz-Marshall, and hurled Captain Fitz-\nMarshall at the devoted heads of their select circle of acquaintance,\nuntil their bosom friends, Mrs. Porkenham and the Misses Porkenhams, and\nMr. Sidney Porkenham, were ready to burst with jealousy and despair. And\nnow, to hear, after all, that he was a needy adventurer, a strolling\nplayer, and if not a swindler, something so very like it, that it was\nhard to tell the difference! Heavens! what would the Porkenhams say! What would be the triumph of Mr. Sidney Porkenham when he found that his\naddresses had been slighted for such a rival! How should he, Nupkins,\nmeet the eye of old Porkenham at the next quarter-sessions! And what a\nhandle would it be for the opposition magisterial party if the story got\nabroad! 'But after all,' said Mr. Nupkins, brightening for a moment, after a\nlong pause; 'after all, this is a mere statement. Captain Fitz-Marshall\nis a man of very engaging manners, and, I dare say, has many enemies. What proof have you of the truth of these representations?' 'Confront me with him,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that is all I ask, and all I\nrequire. Confront him with me and my friends here; you will want no\nfurther proof.' 'Why,' said Mr. Nupkins, 'that might be very easily done, for he will be\nhere to-night, and then there would be no occasion to make the matter\npublic, just--just--for the young man's own sake, you know. I--I--should\nlike to consult Mrs. Nupkins on the propriety of the step, in the first\ninstance, though. At all events, Mr. Pickwick, we must despatch this\nlegal business before we can do anything else. Pray step back into the\nnext room.' Into the next room they went. 'Grummer,' said the magistrate, in an awful voice. 'Your Wash-up,' replied Grummer, with the smile of a favourite. 'Come, come, Sir,' said the magistrate sternly, 'don't let me see any of\nthis levity here. It is very unbecoming, and I can assure you that you\nhave very little to smile at. Was the account you gave me just now\nstrictly true? Now be careful, sir!' Your Wash-up,' stammered Grummer, 'I-'\n\n'Oh, you are confused, are you?' said the magistrate. 'Mr. Jinks, you\nobserve this confusion?' 'Certainly, Sir,' replied Jinks. 'Now,' said the magistrate, 'repeat your statement, Grummer, and again I\nwarn you to be careful. Mr. Jinks, take his words down.'\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-29, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-02-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> The unfortunate Grummer proceeded to re-state his complaint, but, what\nbetween Mr. Jinks's taking down his words, and the magistrate's taking\nthem up, his natural tendency to rambling, and his extreme confusion, he\nmanaged to get involved, in something under three minutes, in such a\nmass of entanglement and contradiction, that Mr. Nupkins at once\ndeclared he didn't believe him. So the fines were remitted, and Mr.\nJinks found a couple of bail in no time. And all these solemn\nproceedings having been satisfactorily concluded, Mr. Grummer was\nignominiously ordered out--an awful instance of the instability of human\ngreatness, and the uncertain tenure of great men's favour. Mrs. Nupkins was a majestic female in a pink gauze turban and a light\nbrown wig. Miss Nupkins possessed all her mamma's haughtiness without\nthe turban, and all her ill-nature without the wig; and whenever the\nexercise of these two amiable qualities involved mother and daughter in\nsome unpleasant dilemma, as they not infrequently did, they both\nconcurred in laying the blame on the shoulders of Mr. Nupkins. Accordingly, when Mr. Nupkins sought Mrs. Nupkins, and detailed the\ncommunication which had been made by Mr. Pickwick, Mrs. Nupkins suddenly\nrecollected that she had always expected something of the kind; that she\nhad always said it would be so; that her advice was never taken; that\nshe really did not know what Mr. Nupkins supposed she was; and so forth. 'The idea!' said Miss Nupkins, forcing a tear of very scanty proportions\ninto the corner of each eye; 'the idea of my being made such a fool of!' 'Ah! you may thank your papa, my dear,' said Mrs. Nupkins; 'how I have\nimplored and begged that man to inquire into the captain's family\nconnections; how I have urged and entreated him to take some decisive\nstep! I am quite certain nobody would believe it--quite.' 'But, my dear,' said Mr. Nupkins. 'Don't talk to me, you aggravating thing, don't!' said Mrs. Nupkins. 'My love,' said Mr. Nupkins, 'you professed yourself very fond of\nCaptain Fitz-Marshall. You have constantly asked him here, my dear, and\nyou have lost no opportunity of introducing him elsewhere.' 'Didn't I say so, Henrietta?' cried Mrs. Nupkins, appealing to her\ndaughter with the air of a much-injured female. 'Didn't I say that your\npapa would turn round and lay all this at my door? Didn't I say so?' Here Mrs. Nupkins sobbed. 'Oh, pa!' remonstrated Miss Nupkins. And here she sobbed too. 'Isn't it too much, when he has brought all this disgrace and ridicule\nupon us, to taunt me with being the cause of it?' exclaimed Mrs.\nNupkins. 'How can we ever show ourselves in society!' said Miss Nupkins. 'How can we face the Porkenhams?' cried Mrs. Nupkins. 'Or the Griggs!' cried Miss Nupkins. 'Or the Slummintowkens!' cried Mrs. Nupkins. 'But what does your papa\ncare! What is it to _him_!' At this dreadful reflection, Mrs. Nupkins\nwept mental anguish, and Miss Nupkins followed on the same side. Mrs. Nupkins's tears continued to gush forth, with great velocity, until\nshe had gained a little time to think the matter over; when she decided,\nin her own mind, that the best thing to do would be to ask Mr. Pickwick\nand his friends to remain until the captain's arrival, and then to give\nMr. Pickwick the opportunity he sought. If it appeared that he had\nspoken truly, the captain could be turned out of the house without\nnoising the matter abroad, and they could easily account to the\nPorkenhams for his disappearance, by saying that he had been appointed,\nthrough the Court influence of his family, to the governor-generalship\nof Sierra Leone, of Saugur Point, or any other of those salubrious\nclimates which enchant Europeans so much, that when they once get there,\nthey can hardly ever prevail upon themselves to come back again. When Mrs. Nupkins dried up her tears, Miss Nupkins dried up hers, and\nMr. Nupkins was very glad to settle the matter as Mrs. Nupkins had\nproposed. So Mr. Pickwick and his friends, having washed off all marks\nof their late encounter, were introduced to the ladies, and soon\nafterwards to their dinner; and Mr. Weller, whom the magistrate, with\nhis peculiar sagacity, had discovered in half an hour to be one of the\nfinest fellows alive, was consigned to the care and guardianship of Mr.\nMuzzle, who was specially enjoined to take him below, and make much of\nhim. 'How de do, sir?' said Mr. Muzzle, as he conducted Mr. Weller down the\nkitchen stairs. 'Why, no considerable change has taken place in the state of my system,\nsince I see you cocked up behind your governor's chair in the parlour, a\nlittle vile ago,' replied Sam. 'You will excuse my not taking more notice of you then,' said Mr.\nMuzzle. 'You see, master hadn't introduced us, then. Lord, how fond he\nis of you, Mr. Weller, to be sure!' 'Ah!' said Sam, 'what a pleasant chap he is!' 'Ain't he? 'replied Mr. Muzzle. 'So much humour,' said Sam. 'And such a man to speak,' said Mr. Muzzle. 'How his ideas flow, don't\nthey?' 'Wonderful,' replied Sam; 'they comes a-pouring out, knocking each\nother's heads so fast, that they seems to stun one another; you hardly\nknow what he's arter, do you?' That's the great merit of his style of speaking,' rejoined Mr. Muzzle. 'Take care of the last step, Mr. Weller. Would you like to wash your\nhands, sir, before we join the ladies? Here's a sink, with the water\nlaid on, Sir, and a clean jack towel behind the door.' 'Ah! perhaps I may as well have a rinse,' replied Mr. Weller, applying\nplenty of yellow soap to the towel, and rubbing away till his face shone\nagain. 'How many ladies are there?' 'Only two in our kitchen,' said Mr. Muzzle; 'cook and 'ouse-maid. We\nkeep a boy to do the dirty work, and a gal besides, but they dine in the\nwash'us.' 'Oh, they dines in the wash'us, do they?' said Mr. Weller. 'Yes,' replied Mr. Muzzle, 'we tried 'em at our table when they first\ncome, but we couldn't keep 'em. The gal's manners is dreadful vulgar;\nand the boy breathes so very hard while he's eating, that we found it\nimpossible to sit at table with him.' 'Young grampus!' said Mr. Weller. 'Oh, dreadful,' rejoined Mr. Muzzle; 'but that is the worst of country\nservice, Mr. Weller; the juniors is always so very savage. This way,\nsir, if you please, this way.' Preceding Mr. Weller, with the utmost politeness, Mr. Muzzle conducted\nhim into the kitchen. 'Mary,' said Mr. Muzzle to the pretty servant-girl, 'this is Mr. Weller;\na gentleman as master has sent down, to be made as comfortable as\npossible.' 'And your master's a knowin' hand, and has just sent me to the right\nplace,' said Mr. Weller, with a glance of admiration at Mary. 'If I wos\nmaster o' this here house, I should alvays find the materials for\ncomfort vere Mary wos.' Lor, Mr. Weller!' said Mary blushing. 'Well, I never!' ejaculated the cook. 'Bless me, cook, I forgot you,' said Mr. Muzzle. 'Mr. Weller, let me\nintroduce you.' 'How are you, ma'am?' said Mr. Weller. 'Wery glad to see you, indeed,\nand hope our acquaintance may be a long 'un, as the gen'l'm'n said to\nthe fi' pun' note.' When this ceremony of introduction had been gone through, the cook and\nMary retired into the back kitchen to titter, for ten minutes; then\nreturning, all giggles and blushes, they sat down to dinner. Mr. Weller's easy manners and conversational powers had such\nirresistible influence with his new friends, that before the dinner was\nhalf over, they were on a footing of perfect intimacy, and in possession\nof a full account of the delinquency of Job Trotter.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-02-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-02-02 The user is reading a book]\n<User> 'I never could a-bear that Job,' said Mary. 'No more you never ought to, my dear,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Why not?' inquired Mary. ''Cos ugliness and svindlin' never ought to be formiliar with elegance\nand wirtew,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Ought they, Mr. Muzzle?' 'Not by no means,' replied that gentleman. Here Mary laughed, and said the cook had made her; and the cook laughed,\nand said she hadn't. 'I ha'n't got a glass,' said Mary. 'Drink with me, my dear,' said Mr. Weller. 'Put your lips to this here\ntumbler, and then I can kiss you by deputy.' 'For shame, Mr. Weller!' said Mary. 'What's a shame, my dear?' 'Talkin' in that way.' 'Nonsense; it ain't no harm. It's natur; ain't it, cook?' 'Don't ask me, imperence,' replied the cook, in a high state of delight;\nand hereupon the cook and Mary laughed again, till what between the\nbeer, and the cold meat, and the laughter combined, the latter young\nlady was brought to the verge of choking--an alarming crisis from which\nshe was only recovered by sundry pats on the back, and other necessary\nattentions, most delicately administered by Mr. Samuel Weller. In the midst of all this jollity and conviviality, a loud ring was heard\nat the garden gate, to which the young gentleman who took his meals in\nthe wash-house, immediately responded. Mr. Weller was in the height of\nhis attentions to the pretty house-maid; Mr. Muzzle was busy doing the\nhonours of the table; and the cook had just paused to laugh, in the very\nact of raising a huge morsel to her lips; when the kitchen door opened,\nand in walked Mr. Job Trotter. We have said in walked Mr. Job Trotter, but the statement is not\ndistinguished by our usual scrupulous adherence to fact. The door opened\nand Mr. Trotter appeared. He would have walked in, and was in the very\nact of doing so, indeed, when catching sight of Mr. Weller, he\ninvoluntarily shrank back a pace or two, and stood gazing on the\nunexpected scene before him, perfectly motionless with amazement and\nterror. 'Here he is!' said Sam, rising with great glee. 'Why we were that wery\nmoment a-speaking o' you. How are you? Where have you been? Come in.' Laying his hand on the mulberry collar of the unresisting Job, Mr.\nWeller dragged him into the kitchen; and, locking the door, handed the\nkey to Mr. Muzzle, who very coolly buttoned it up in a side pocket. 'Well, here's a game!' cried Sam. 'Only think o' my master havin' the\npleasure o' meeting yourn upstairs, and me havin' the joy o' meetin' you\ndown here. How are you gettin' on, and how is the chandlery bis'ness\nlikely to do? Well, I am so glad to see you. How happy you look. It's\nquite a treat to see you; ain't it, Mr. Muzzle?' 'Quite,' said Mr. Muzzle. 'So cheerful he is!' said Sam. 'In such good spirits!' said Muzzle. 'And so glad to see us--that makes it so much more comfortable,' said\nSam. 'Sit down; sit down.' Mr. Trotter suffered himself to be forced into a chair by the fireside. He cast his small eyes, first on Mr. Weller, and then on Mr. Muzzle, but\nsaid nothing. 'Well, now,' said Sam, 'afore these here ladies, I should jest like to\nask you, as a sort of curiosity, whether you don't consider yourself as\nnice and well-behaved a young gen'l'm'n, as ever used a pink check\npocket-handkerchief, and the number four collection?' 'And as was ever a-going to be married to a cook,' said that lady\nindignantly. 'The willin!' 'And leave off his evil ways, and set up in the chandlery line\narterwards,' said the housemaid. 'Now, I'll tell you what it is, young man,' said Mr. Muzzle solemnly,\nenraged at the last two allusions, 'this here lady (pointing to the\ncook) keeps company with me; and when you presume, Sir, to talk of\nkeeping chandlers' shops with her, you injure me in one of the most\ndelicatest points in which one man can injure another. Do you understand\nthat, Sir?' Here Mr. Muzzle, who had a great notion of his eloquence, in which he\nimitated his master, paused for a reply. But Mr. Trotter made no reply. So Mr. Muzzle proceeded in a solemn\nmanner--\n\n'It's very probable, sir, that you won't be wanted upstairs for several\nminutes, Sir, because _my_ master is at this moment particularly engaged\nin settling the hash of _your _master, Sir; and therefore you'll have\nleisure, Sir, for a little private talk with me, Sir. Do you understand\nthat, Sir?' Mr. Muzzle again paused for a reply; and again Mr. Trotter disappointed\nhim. 'Well, then,' said Mr. Muzzle, 'I'm very sorry to have to explain myself\nbefore ladies, but the urgency of the case will be my excuse. The back\nkitchen's empty, Sir. If you will step in there, Sir, Mr. Weller will\nsee fair, and we can have mutual satisfaction till the bell rings. Follow me, Sir!' As Mr. Muzzle uttered these words, he took a step or two towards the\ndoor; and, by way of saving time, began to pull off his coat as he\nwalked along. Now, the cook no sooner heard the concluding words of this desperate\nchallenge, and saw Mr. Muzzle about to put it into execution, than she\nuttered a loud and piercing shriek; and rushing on Mr. Job Trotter, who\nrose from his chair on the instant, tore and buffeted his large flat\nface, with an energy peculiar to excited females, and twining her hands\nin his long black hair, tore therefrom about enough to make five or six\ndozen of the very largest-sized mourning-rings. Having accomplished this\nfeat with all the ardour which her devoted love for Mr. Muzzle inspired,\nshe staggered back; and being a lady of very excitable and delicate\nfeelings, she instantly fell under the dresser, and fainted away. At this moment, the bell rang. 'That's for you, Job Trotter,' said Sam; and before Mr. Trotter could\noffer remonstrance or reply--even before he had time to stanch the\nwounds inflicted by the insensible lady--Sam seized one arm and Mr.\nMuzzle the other, and one pulling before, and the other pushing behind,\nthey conveyed him upstairs, and into the parlour. It was an impressive tableau. Alfred Jingle, Esquire, alias Captain\nFitz-Marshall, was standing near the door with his hat in his hand, and\na smile on his face, wholly unmoved by his very unpleasant situation. Confronting him, stood Mr. Pickwick, who had evidently been inculcating\nsome high moral lesson; for his left hand was beneath his coat tail, and\nhis right extended in air, as was his wont when delivering himself of an\nimpressive address. At a little distance, stood Mr. Tupman with\nindignant countenance, carefully held back by his two younger friends;\nat the farther end of the room were Mr. Nupkins, Mrs. Nupkins, and Miss\nNupkins, gloomily grand and savagely vexed. 'What prevents me,' said Mr. Nupkins, with magisterial dignity, as Job\nwas brought in--'what prevents me from detaining these men as rogues and\nimpostors? It is a foolish mercy. What prevents me?' 'Pride, old fellow, pride,' replied Jingle, quite at his ease. 'Wouldn't\ndo--no go--caught a captain, eh?--ha! ha! very good--husband for\ndaughter--biter bit--make it public--not for worlds--look stupid--very!' 'Wretch,' said Mr. Nupkins, 'we scorn your base insinuations.' 'I always hated him,' added Henrietta. 'Oh, of course,' said Jingle. 'Tall young man--old lover--Sidney\nPorkenham--rich--fine fellow--not so rich as captain, though, eh?--turn\nhim away--off with him--anything for captain--nothing like captain\nanywhere--all the girls--raving mad--eh, Job, eh?'\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-02-02, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-02-04 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Here Mr. Jingle laughed very heartily; and Job, rubbing his hands with\ndelight, uttered the first sound he had given vent to since he entered\nthe house--a low, noiseless chuckle, which seemed to intimate that he\nenjoyed his laugh too much, to let any of it escape in sound. 'Mr. Nupkins,' said the elder lady,' this is not a fit conversation for\nthe servants to overhear. Let these wretches be removed.' 'Certainly, my dear,' Said Mr. Nupkins. 'Muzzle!' 'Your Worship.' 'Open the front door.' 'Yes, your Worship.' 'Leave the house!' said Mr. Nupkins, waving his hand emphatically. Jingle smiled, and moved towards the door. 'Stay!' said Mr. Pickwick. Jingle stopped. 'I might,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'have taken a much greater revenge for the\ntreatment I have experienced at your hands, and that of your\nhypocritical friend there.' Job Trotter bowed with great politeness, and laid his hand upon his\nheart. 'I say,' said Mr. Pickwick, growing gradually angry, 'that I might have\ntaken a greater revenge, but I content myself with exposing you, which I\nconsider a duty I owe to society. This is a leniency, Sir, which I hope\nyou will remember.' When Mr. Pickwick arrived at this point, Job Trotter, with facetious\ngravity, applied his hand to his ear, as if desirous not to lose a\nsyllable he uttered. 'And I have only to add, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, now thoroughly angry,\n'that I consider you a rascal, and a--a--ruffian--and--and worse than\nany man I ever saw, or heard of, except that pious and sanctified\nvagabond in the mulberry livery.' 'Ha! ha!' said Jingle, 'good fellow, Pickwick--fine heart--stout old\nboy--but must _not _be passionate--bad thing, very--bye, bye--see you\nagain some day--keep up your spirits--now, Job--trot!' With these words, Mr. Jingle stuck on his hat in his old fashion, and\nstrode out of the room. Job Trotter paused, looked round, smiled and\nthen with a bow of mock solemnity to Mr. Pickwick, and a wink to Mr.\nWeller, the audacious slyness of which baffles all description, followed\nthe footsteps of his hopeful master. 'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, as Mr. Weller was following. 'Sir.' Stay here.' Mr. Weller seemed uncertain. 'Stay here,' repeated Mr. Pickwick. 'Mayn't I polish that 'ere Job off, in the front garden?' said Mr.\nWeller. 'Certainly not,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Mayn't I kick him out o' the gate, Sir?' said Mr. Weller. 'Not on any account,' replied his master. For the first time since his engagement, Mr. Weller looked, for a\nmoment, discontented and unhappy. But his countenance immediately\ncleared up; for the wily Mr. Muzzle, by concealing himself behind the\nstreet door, and rushing violently out, at the right instant, contrived\nwith great dexterity to overturn both Mr. Jingle and his attendant, down\nthe flight of steps, into the American aloe tubs that stood beneath. 'Having discharged my duty, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick to Mr. Nupkins, 'I\nwill, with my friends, bid you farewell. While we thank you for such\nhospitality as we have received, permit me to assure you, in our joint\nnames, that we should not have accepted it, or have consented to\nextricate ourselves in this way, from our previous dilemma, had we not\nbeen impelled by a strong sense of duty. We return to London to-morrow. Your secret is safe with us.' Having thus entered his protest against their treatment of the morning,\nMr. Pickwick bowed low to the ladies, and notwithstanding the\nsolicitations of the family, left the room with his friends. 'Get your hat, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'It's below stairs, Sir,' said Sam, and he ran down after it. Now, there was nobody in the kitchen, but the pretty housemaid; and as\nSam's hat was mislaid, he had to look for it, and the pretty housemaid\nlighted him. They had to look all over the place for the hat. The pretty\nhousemaid, in her anxiety to find it, went down on her knees, and turned\nover all the things that were heaped together in a little corner by the\ndoor. It was an awkward corner. You couldn't get at it without shutting\nthe door first. 'Here it is,' said the pretty housemaid. 'This is it, ain't it?' 'Let me look,' said Sam. The pretty housemaid had stood the candle on the floor; and, as it gave\na very dim light, Sam was obliged to go down on _his _knees before he\ncould see whether it really was his own hat or not. It was a remarkably\nsmall corner, and so--it was nobody's fault but the man's who built the\nhouse--Sam and the pretty housemaid were necessarily very close\ntogether. 'Yes, this is it,' said Sam. 'Good-bye!' 'Good-bye!' said the pretty housemaid. 'Good-bye!' said Sam; and as he said it, he dropped the hat that had\ncost so much trouble in looking for. 'How awkward you are,' said the pretty housemaid. 'You'll lose it again,\nif you don't take care.' So just to prevent his losing it again, she put it on for him. Whether it was that the pretty housemaid's face looked prettier still,\nwhen it was raised towards Sam's, or whether it was the accidental\nconsequence of their being so near to each other, is matter of\nuncertainty to this day; but Sam kissed her. 'You don't mean to say you did that on purpose,' said the pretty\nhousemaid, blushing. 'No, I didn't then,' said Sam; 'but I will now.' So he kissed her again. 'Sam!' said Mr. Pickwick, calling over the banisters. 'Coming, Sir,' replied Sam, running upstairs. 'How long you have been!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'There was something behind the door, Sir, which perwented our getting\nit open, for ever so long, Sir,' replied Sam. And this was the first passage of Mr. Weller's first love.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-02-04, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-02-04", "answer": "Mr. Pickwick, Sam Weller, Tony Weller, Peter Magnus, Job Trotter, Jingle, Tupman, Snodgrass, Winkle, Miss Witherfield, Mr. Nupkins, Mrs. Nupkins, Mary, Ipswich, coach journey, large inn, mistaken bedroom entry, proposal advice, Magnus's fiancee, embarrassment, duel threat, local justice, arrest, trial, bail, private conference, impostor Jingle, social embarrassment, servants' dinner, romance with Mary, cook's savings, butler, return to London"}]