["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> That punctual servant of all work, the sun, had just risen, and begun to\nstrike a light on the morning of the thirteenth of May, one thousand\neight hundred and twenty-seven, when Mr. Samuel Pickwick burst like\nanother sun from his slumbers, threw open his chamber window, and looked\nout upon the world beneath. Goswell Street was at his feet, Goswell\nStreet was on his right hand--as far as the eye could reach, Goswell\nStreet extended on his left; and the opposite side of Goswell Street was\nover the way. 'Such,' thought Mr. Pickwick, 'are the narrow views of\nthose philosophers who, content with examining the things that lie\nbefore them, look not to the truths which are hidden beyond. As well\nmight I be content to gaze on Goswell Street for ever, without one\neffort to penetrate to the hidden countries which on every side surround\nit.' And having given vent to this beautiful reflection, Mr. Pickwick\nproceeded to put himself into his clothes, and his clothes into his\nportmanteau. Great men are seldom over scrupulous in the arrangement of\ntheir attire; the operation of shaving, dressing, and coffee-imbibing\nwas soon performed; and, in another hour, Mr. Pickwick, with his\nportmanteau in his hand, his telescope in his greatcoat pocket, and his\nnote-book in his waistcoat, ready for the reception of any discoveries\nworthy of being noted down, had arrived at the coach-stand in St.\nMartin's-le-Grand. 'Cab!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Here you are, sir,' shouted a strange specimen of the human race, in a\nsackcloth coat, and apron of the same, who, with a brass label and\nnumber round his neck, looked as if he were catalogued in some\ncollection of rarities. This was the waterman. 'Here you are, sir. Now,\nthen, fust cab!' And the first cab having been fetched from the public-\nhouse, where he had been smoking his first pipe, Mr. Pickwick and his\nportmanteau were thrown into the vehicle. 'Golden Cross,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Only a bob's vorth, Tommy,' cried the driver sulkily, for the\ninformation of his friend the waterman, as the cab drove off. 'How old is that horse, my friend?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his\nnose with the shilling he had reserved for the fare. 'Forty-two,' replied the driver, eyeing him askant. 'What!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, laying his hand upon his note-book. The\ndriver reiterated his former statement. Mr. Pickwick looked very hard at\nthe man's face, but his features were immovable, so he noted down the\nfact forthwith. 'And how long do you keep him out at a time?' inquired Mr. Pickwick,\nsearching for further information. 'Two or three veeks,' replied the man. 'Weeks!' said Mr. Pickwick in astonishment, and out came the note-book\nagain. 'He lives at Pentonwil when he's at home,' observed the driver coolly,\n'but we seldom takes him home, on account of his weakness.' 'On account of his weakness!' reiterated the perplexed Mr. Pickwick. 'He always falls down when he's took out o' the cab,' continued the\ndriver, 'but when he's in it, we bears him up werry tight, and takes him\nin werry short, so as he can't werry well fall down; and we've got a\npair o' precious large wheels on, so ven he does move, they run after\nhim, and he must go on--he can't help it.' Mr. Pickwick entered every word of this statement in his note-book, with\nthe view of communicating it to the club, as a singular instance of the\ntenacity of life in horses under trying circumstances. The entry was\nscarcely completed when they reached the Golden Cross. Down jumped the\ndriver, and out got Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, and Mr.\nWinkle, who had been anxiously waiting the arrival of their illustrious\nleader, crowded to welcome him. 'Here's your fare,' said Mr. Pickwick, holding out the shilling to the\ndriver. What was the learned man's astonishment, when that unaccountable person\nflung the money on the pavement, and requested in figurative terms to be\nallowed the pleasure of fighting him (Mr. Pickwick) for the amount! 'You are mad,' said Mr. Snodgrass. 'Or drunk,' said Mr. Winkle. 'Or both,' said Mr. Tupman. 'Come on!' said the cab-driver, sparring away like clockwork. 'Come on--\nall four on you.' 'Here's a lark!' shouted half a dozen hackney coachmen. 'Go to vork,\nSam!--and they crowded with great glee round the party. 'What's the row, Sam?' inquired one gentleman in black calico sleeves. 'Row!' replied the cabman, 'what did he want my number for?' 'I didn't want your number,' said the astonished Mr. Pickwick. 'What did you take it for, then?' inquired the cabman. 'I didn't take it,' said Mr. Pickwick indignantly. 'Would anybody believe,' continued the cab-driver, appealing to the\ncrowd, 'would anybody believe as an informer'ud go about in a man's cab,\nnot only takin' down his number, but ev'ry word he says into the\nbargain' (a light flashed upon Mr. Pickwick--it was the note-book). 'Did he though?' inquired another cabman. 'Yes, did he,' replied the first; 'and then arter aggerawatin' me to\nassault him, gets three witnesses here to prove it. But I'll give it\nhim, if I've six months for it. Come on!' and the cabman dashed his hat\nupon the ground, with a reckless disregard of his own private property,\nand knocked Mr. Pickwick's spectacles off, and followed up the attack\nwith a blow on Mr. Pickwick's nose, and another on Mr. Pickwick's chest,\nand a third in Mr. Snodgrass's eye, and a fourth, by way of variety, in\nMr. Tupman's waistcoat, and then danced into the road, and then back\nagain to the pavement, and finally dashed the whole temporary supply of\nbreath out of Mr. Winkle's body; and all in half a dozen seconds. 'Where's an officer?' said Mr. Snodgrass. 'Put 'em under the pump,' suggested a hot-pieman. 'You shall smart for this,' gasped Mr. Pickwick. 'Informers!' shouted the crowd. 'Come on,' cried the cabman, who had been sparring without cessation the\nwhole time. The mob hitherto had been passive spectators of the scene, but as the\nintelligence of the Pickwickians being informers was spread among them,\nthey began to canvass with considerable vivacity the propriety of\nenforcing the heated pastry-vendor's proposition: and there is no saying\nwhat acts of personal aggression they might have committed, had not the\naffray been unexpectedly terminated by the interposition of a new-comer. 'What's the fun?' said a rather tall, thin, young man, in a green coat,\nemerging suddenly from the coach-yard. 'Informers!' shouted the crowd again. 'We are not,' roared Mr. Pickwick, in a tone which, to any dispassionate\nlistener, carried conviction with it. 'Ain't you, though--ain't you?' said the young man, appealing to Mr.\nPickwick, and making his way through the crowd by the infallible process\nof elbowing the countenances of its component members. That learned man in a few hurried words explained the real state of the\ncase. 'Come along, then,' said he of the green coat, lugging Mr. Pickwick\nafter him by main force, and talking the whole way. Here, No. 924, take\nyour fare, and take yourself off--respectable gentleman--know him well--\nnone of your nonsense--this way, sir--where's your friends?--all a\nmistake, I see--never mind--accidents will happen--best regulated\nfamilies--never say die--down upon your luck--Pull him _up_--Put that in\nhis pipe--like the flavour--damned rascals.' And with a lengthened\nstring of similar broken sentences, delivered with extraordinary\nvolubility, the stranger led the way to the traveller's waiting-room,\nwhither he was closely followed by Mr. Pickwick and his disciples. 'Here, waiter!' shouted the stranger, ringing the bell with tremendous\nviolence, 'glasses round--brandy-and-water, hot and strong, and sweet,\nand plenty,--eye damaged, Sir? Waiter!\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> raw beef-steak for the\ngentleman's eye--nothing like raw beef-steak for a bruise, sir; cold\nlamp-post very good, but lamp-post inconvenient--damned odd standing in\nthe open street half an hour, with your eye against a lamp-post--eh,--\nvery good--ha! ha!' And the stranger, without stopping to take breath,\nswallowed at a draught full half a pint of the reeking brandy-and-water,\nand flung himself into a chair with as much ease as if nothing uncommon\nhad occurred. While his three companions were busily engaged in proffering their\nthanks to their new acquaintance, Mr. Pickwick had leisure to examine\nhis costume and appearance. He was about the middle height, but the thinness of his body, and the\nlength of his legs, gave him the appearance of being much taller. The\ngreen coat had been a smart dress garment in the days of swallow-tails,\nbut had evidently in those times adorned a much shorter man than the\nstranger, for the soiled and faded sleeves scarcely reached to his\nwrists. It was buttoned closely up to his chin, at the imminent hazard\nof splitting the back; and an old stock, without a vestige of shirt\ncollar, ornamented his neck. His scanty black trousers displayed here\nand there those shiny patches which bespeak long service, and were\nstrapped very tightly over a pair of patched and mended shoes, as if to\nconceal the dirty white stockings, which were nevertheless distinctly\nvisible. His long, black hair escaped in negligent waves from beneath\neach side of his old pinched-up hat; and glimpses of his bare wrists\nmight be observed between the tops of his gloves and the cuffs of his\ncoat sleeves. His face was thin and haggard; but an indescribable air of\njaunty impudence and perfect self-possession pervaded the whole man. Such was the individual on whom Mr. Pickwick gazed through his\nspectacles (which he had fortunately recovered), and to whom he\nproceeded, when his friends had exhausted themselves, to return in\nchosen terms his warmest thanks for his recent assistance. 'Never mind,' said the stranger, cutting the address very short, 'said\nenough--no more; smart chap that cabman--handled his fives well; but if\nI'd been your friend in the green jemmy--damn me--punch his head,--'cod\nI would,--pig's whisper--pieman too,--no gammon.' This coherent speech was interrupted by the entrance of the Rochester\ncoachman, to announce that 'the Commodore' was on the point of starting. 'Commodore!' said the stranger, starting up, 'my coach--place booked,--\none outside--leave you to pay for the brandy-and-water,--want change for\na five,--bad silver--Brummagem buttons--won't do--no go--eh?' and he\nshook his head most knowingly. Now it so happened that Mr. Pickwick and his three companions had\nresolved to make Rochester their first halting-place too; and having\nintimated to their new-found acquaintance that they were journeying to\nthe same city, they agreed to occupy the seat at the back of the coach,\nwhere they could all sit together. 'Up with you,' said the stranger, assisting Mr. Pickwick on to the roof\nwith so much precipitation as to impair the gravity of that gentleman's\ndeportment very materially. 'Any luggage, Sir?' inquired the coachman. 'Who--I? Brown paper parcel here, that's all--other luggage gone by\nwater--packing-cases, nailed up--big as houses--heavy, heavy, damned\nheavy,' replied the stranger, as he forced into his pocket as much as he\ncould of the brown paper parcel, which presented most suspicious\nindications of containing one shirt and a handkerchief. 'Heads, heads--take care of your heads!' cried the loquacious stranger,\nas they came out under the low archway, which in those days formed the\nentrance to the coach-yard. 'Terrible place--dangerous work--other day--\nfive children--mother--tall lady, eating sandwiches--forgot the arch--\ncrash--knock--children look round--mother's head off--sandwich in her\nhand--no mouth to put it in--head of a family off--shocking, shocking! Looking at Whitehall, sir?--fine place--little window--somebody else's\nhead off there, eh, sir?--he didn't keep a sharp look-out enough either-\n-eh, Sir, eh?' 'I am ruminating,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'on the strange mutability of\nhuman affairs.' 'Ah! I see--in at the palace door one day, out at the window the next. Philosopher, Sir?' 'An observer of human nature, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Ah, so am I. Most people are when they've little to do and less to get. Poet, Sir?' 'My friend Mr. Snodgrass has a strong poetic turn,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'So have I,' said the stranger. 'Epic poem--ten thousand lines--\nrevolution of July--composed it on the spot--Mars by day, Apollo by\nnight--bang the field-piece, twang the lyre.' 'You were present at that glorious scene, sir?' said Mr. Snodgrass. 'Present! think I was;* fired a musket--fired with an idea--rushed into\nwine shop--wrote it down--back again--whiz, bang--another idea--wine\nshop again--pen and ink--back again--cut and slash--noble time, Sir. Sportsman, sir? 'abruptly turning to Mr. Winkle. * A remarkable instance of the prophetic force of Mr. Jingle's\nimagination; this dialogue occurring in the year 1827, and the\nRevolution in 1830. 'A little, Sir,' replied that gentleman. 'Fine pursuit, sir--fine pursuit.--Dogs, Sir?' 'Not just now,' said Mr. Winkle. 'Ah! you should keep dogs--fine animals--sagacious creatures--dog of my\nown once--pointer--surprising instinct--out shooting one day--entering\ninclosure--whistled--dog stopped--whistled again--Ponto--no go; stock\nstill--called him--Ponto, Ponto--wouldn't move--dog transfixed--staring\nat a board--looked up, saw an inscription--\"Gamekeeper has orders to\nshoot all dogs found in this inclosure\"--wouldn't pass it--wonderful\ndog--valuable dog that--very.' 'Singular circumstance that,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Will you allow me to\nmake a note of it?' 'Certainly, Sir, certainly--hundred more anecdotes of the same animal.--\nFine girl, Sir' (to Mr. Tracy Tupman, who had been bestowing sundry\nanti-Pickwickian glances on a young lady by the roadside). 'Very!' said Mr. Tupman. 'English girls not so fine as Spanish--noble creatures--jet hair--black\neyes--lovely forms--sweet creatures--beautiful.' 'You have been in Spain, sir?' said Mr. Tracy Tupman. 'Lived there--ages.' 'Many conquests, sir?' inquired Mr. Tupman. 'Conquests! Thousands. Don Bolaro Fizzgig--grandee--only daughter--Donna\nChristina--splendid creature--loved me to distraction--jealous father--\nhigh-souled daughter--handsome Englishman--Donna Christina in despair--\nprussic acid--stomach pump in my portmanteau--operation performed--old\nBolaro in ecstasies--consent to our union--join hands and floods of\ntears--romantic story--very.' 'Is the lady in England now, sir?' inquired Mr. Tupman, on whom the\ndescription of her charms had produced a powerful impression. 'Dead, sir--dead,' said the stranger, applying to his right eye the\nbrief remnant of a very old cambric handkerchief. 'Never recovered the\nstomach pump--undermined constitution--fell a victim.' 'And her father?' inquired the poetic Snodgrass. 'Remorse and misery,' replied the stranger. 'Sudden disappearance--talk\nof the whole city--search made everywhere without success--public\nfountain in the great square suddenly ceased playing--weeks elapsed--\nstill a stoppage--workmen employed to clean it--water drawn off--father-\nin-law discovered sticking head first in the main pipe, with a full\nconfession in his right boot--took him out, and the fountain played away\nagain, as well as ever.' 'Will you allow me to note that little romance down, Sir?' said Mr.\nSnodgrass, deeply affected. 'Certainly, Sir, certainly--fifty more if you like to hear 'em--strange\nlife mine--rather curious history--not extraordinary, but singular.'\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> In this strain, with an occasional glass of ale, by way of parenthesis,\nwhen the coach changed horses, did the stranger proceed, until they\nreached Rochester bridge, by which time the note-books, both of Mr.\nPickwick and Mr. Snodgrass, were completely filled with selections from\nhis adventures. 'Magnificent ruin!' said Mr. Augustus Snodgrass, with all the poetic\nfervour that distinguished him, when they came in sight of the fine old\ncastle. 'What a study for an antiquarian!' were the very words which fell from\nMr. Pickwick's mouth, as he applied his telescope to his eye. 'Ah! fine place,' said the stranger, 'glorious pile--frowning walls--\ntottering arches--dark nooks--crumbling staircases--old cathedral too--\nearthy smell--pilgrims' feet wore away the old steps--little Saxon\ndoors--confessionals like money-takers' boxes at theatres--queer\ncustomers those monks--popes, and lord treasurers, and all sorts of old\nfellows, with great red faces, and broken noses, turning up every day--\nbuff jerkins too--match-locks--sarcophagus--fine place--old legends too-\n-strange stories: capital;' and the stranger continued to soliloquise\nuntil they reached the Bull Inn, in the High Street, where the coach\nstopped. 'Do you remain here, Sir?' inquired Mr. Nathaniel Winkle. 'Here--not I--but you'd better--good house--nice beds--Wright's next\nhouse, dear--very dear--half-a-crown in the bill if you look at the\nwaiter--charge you more if you dine at a friend's than they would if you\ndined in the coffee-room--rum fellows--very.' Mr. Winkle turned to Mr. Pickwick, and murmured a few words; a whisper\npassed from Mr. Pickwick to Mr. Snodgrass, from Mr. Snodgrass to Mr.\nTupman, and nods of assent were exchanged. Mr. Pickwick addressed the\nstranger. 'You rendered us a very important service this morning, sir,' said he,\n'will you allow us to offer a slight mark of our gratitude by begging\nthe favour of your company at dinner?' 'Great pleasure--not presume to dictate, but broiled fowl and mushrooms-\n-capital thing! What time?' 'Let me see,' replied Mr. Pickwick, referring to his watch, 'it is now\nnearly three. Shall we say five?' 'Suit me excellently,' said the stranger, 'five precisely--till then--\ncare of yourselves;' and lifting the pinched-up hat a few inches from\nhis head, and carelessly replacing it very much on one side, the\nstranger, with half the brown paper parcel sticking out of his pocket,\nwalked briskly up the yard, and turned into the High Street. 'Evidently a traveller in many countries, and a close observer of men\nand things,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'I should like to see his poem,' said Mr. Snodgrass. 'I should like to have seen that dog,' said Mr. Winkle. Mr. Tupman said nothing; but he thought of Donna Christina, the stomach\npump, and the fountain; and his eyes filled with tears. A private sitting-room having been engaged, bedrooms inspected, and\ndinner ordered, the party walked out to view the city and adjoining\nneighbourhood. We do not find, from a careful perusal of Mr. Pickwick's notes of the\nfour towns, Stroud, Rochester, Chatham, and Brompton, that his\nimpressions of their appearance differ in any material point from those\nof other travellers who have gone over the same ground. His general\ndescription is easily abridged. 'The principal productions of these towns,' says Mr. Pickwick, 'appear\nto be soldiers, sailors, Jews, chalk, shrimps, officers, and dockyard\nmen. The commodities chiefly exposed for sale in the public streets are\nmarine stores, hard-bake, apples, flat-fish, and oysters. The streets\npresent a lively and animated appearance, occasioned chiefly by the\nconviviality of the military. It is truly delightful to a philanthropic\nmind to see these gallant men staggering along under the influence of an\noverflow both of animal and ardent spirits; more especially when we\nremember that the following them about, and jesting with them, affords a\ncheap and innocent amusement for the boy population. Nothing,' adds Mr.\nPickwick, 'can exceed their good-humour. It was but the day before my\narrival that one of them had been most grossly insulted in the house of\na publican. The barmaid had positively refused to draw him any more\nliquor; in return for which he had (merely in playfulness) drawn his\nbayonet, and wounded the girl in the shoulder. And yet this fine fellow\nwas the very first to go down to the house next morning and express his\nreadiness to overlook the matter, and forget what had occurred! 'The consumption of tobacco in these towns,' continues Mr. Pickwick,\n'must be very great, and the smell which pervades the streets must be\nexceedingly delicious to those who are extremely fond of smoking. A\nsuperficial traveller might object to the dirt, which is their leading\ncharacteristic; but to those who view it as an indication of traffic and\ncommercial prosperity, it is truly gratifying.' Punctual to five o'clock came the stranger, and shortly afterwards the\ndinner. He had divested himself of his brown paper parcel, but had made\nno alteration in his attire, and was, if possible, more loquacious than\never. 'What's that?' he inquired, as the waiter removed one of the covers. 'Soles, Sir.' 'Soles--ah!--capital fish--all come from London-stage-coach proprietors\nget up political dinners--carriage of soles--dozens of baskets--cunning\nfellows. Glass of wine, Sir.' 'With pleasure,' said Mr. Pickwick; and the stranger took wine, first\nwith him, and then with Mr. Snodgrass, and then with Mr. Tupman, and\nthen with Mr. Winkle, and then with the whole party together, almost as\nrapidly as he talked. 'Devil of a mess on the staircase, waiter,' said the stranger. 'Forms\ngoing up--carpenters coming down--lamps, glasses, harps. What's going\nforward?' 'Ball, Sir,' said the waiter. 'Assembly, eh?' 'No, Sir, not assembly, Sir. Ball for the benefit of a charity, Sir.' 'Many fine women in this town, do you know, Sir?' inquired Mr. Tupman,\nwith great interest. 'Splendid--capital. Kent, sir--everybody knows Kent--apples, cherries,\nhops, and women. Glass of wine, Sir!' 'With great pleasure,' replied Mr. Tupman. The stranger filled, and\nemptied. 'I should very much like to go,' said Mr. Tupman, resuming the subject\nof the ball, 'very much.' 'Tickets at the bar, Sir,' interposed the waiter; 'half-a-guinea each,\nSir.' Mr. Tupman again expressed an earnest wish to be present at the\nfestivity; but meeting with no response in the darkened eye of Mr.\nSnodgrass, or the abstracted gaze of Mr. Pickwick, he applied himself\nwith great interest to the port wine and dessert, which had just been\nplaced on the table. The waiter withdrew, and the party were left to\nenjoy the cosy couple of hours succeeding dinner. 'Beg your pardon, sir,' said the stranger, 'bottle stands--pass it\nround--way of the sun--through the button-hole--no heeltaps,' and he\nemptied his glass, which he had filled about two minutes before, and\npoured out another, with the air of a man who was used to it. The wine was passed, and a fresh supply ordered. The visitor talked, the\nPickwickians listened. Mr. Tupman felt every moment more disposed for\nthe ball. Mr. Pickwick's countenance glowed with an expression of\nuniversal philanthropy, and Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass fell fast\nasleep. 'They're beginning upstairs,' said the stranger--'hear the company--\nfiddles tuning--now the harp--there they go.' The various sounds which\nfound their way downstairs announced the commencement of the first\nquadrille. 'How I should like to go,' said Mr. Tupman again. 'So should I,' said the stranger--'confounded luggage,--heavy smacks--\nnothing to go in--odd, ain't it?' Now general benevolence was one of the leading features of the\nPickwickian theory, and no one was more remarkable for the zealous\nmanner in which he observed so noble a principle than Mr. Tracy Tupman.\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 number of instances recorded on the Transactions of the Society, in\nwhich that excellent man referred objects of charity to the houses of\nother members for left-off garments or pecuniary relief is almost\nincredible. 'I should be very happy to lend you a change of apparel for the\npurpose,' said Mr. Tracy Tupman, 'but you are rather slim, and I am--'\n\n'Rather fat--grown-up Bacchus--cut the leaves--dismounted from the tub,\nand adopted kersey, eh?--not double distilled, but double milled--ha! ha! pass the wine.' Whether Mr. Tupman was somewhat indignant at the peremptory tone in\nwhich he was desired to pass the wine which the stranger passed so\nquickly away, or whether he felt very properly scandalised at an\ninfluential member of the Pickwick Club being ignominiously compared to\na dismounted Bacchus, is a fact not yet completely ascertained. He\npassed the wine, coughed twice, and looked at the stranger for several\nseconds with a stern intensity; as that individual, however, appeared\nperfectly collected, and quite calm under his searching glance, he\ngradually relaxed, and reverted to the subject of the ball. 'I was about to observe, Sir,' he said, 'that though my apparel would be\ntoo large, a suit of my friend Mr. Winkle's would, perhaps, fit you\nbetter.' The stranger took Mr. Winkle's measure with his eye, and that feature\nglistened with satisfaction as he said, 'Just the thing.' Mr. Tupman looked round him. The wine, which had exerted its somniferous\ninfluence over Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle, had stolen upon the senses\nof Mr. Pickwick. That gentleman had gradually passed through the various\nstages which precede the lethargy produced by dinner, and its\nconsequences. He had undergone the ordinary transitions from the height\nof conviviality to the depth of misery, and from the depth of misery to\nthe height of conviviality. Like a gas-lamp in the street, with the wind\nin the pipe, he had exhibited for a moment an unnatural brilliancy, then\nsank so low as to be scarcely discernible; after a short interval, he\nhad burst out again, to enlighten for a moment; then flickered with an\nuncertain, staggering sort of light, and then gone out altogether. His\nhead was sunk upon his bosom, and perpetual snoring, with a partial\nchoke occasionally, were the only audible indications of the great man's\npresence. The temptation to be present at the ball, and to form his first\nimpressions of the beauty of the Kentish ladies, was strong upon Mr.\nTupman. The temptation to take the stranger with him was equally great. He was wholly unacquainted with the place and its inhabitants, and the\nstranger seemed to possess as great a knowledge of both as if he had\nlived there from his infancy. Mr. Winkle was asleep, and Mr. Tupman had\nhad sufficient experience in such matters to know that the moment he\nawoke he would, in the ordinary course of nature, roll heavily to bed. He was undecided. 'Fill your glass, and pass the wine,' said the\nindefatigable visitor. Mr. Tupman did as he was requested; and the additional stimulus of the\nlast glass settled his determination. 'Winkle's bedroom is inside mine,' said Mr. Tupman; 'I couldn't make him\nunderstand what I wanted, if I woke him now, but I know he has a dress-\nsuit in a carpet bag; and supposing you wore it to the ball, and took it\noff when we returned, I could replace it without troubling him at all\nabout the matter.' 'Capital,' said the stranger, 'famous plan--damned odd situation--\nfourteen coats in the packing-cases, and obliged to wear another man's--\nvery good notion, that--very.' 'We must purchase our tickets,' said Mr. Tupman. 'Not worth while splitting a guinea,' said the stranger, 'toss who shall\npay for both--I call; you spin--first time--woman--woman--bewitching\nwoman,' and down came the sovereign with the dragon (called by courtesy\na woman) uppermost. Mr. Tupman rang the bell, purchased the tickets, and ordered chamber\ncandlesticks. In another quarter of an hour the stranger was completely\narrayed in a full suit of Mr. Nathaniel Winkle's. 'It's a new coat,' said Mr. Tupman, as the stranger surveyed himself\nwith great complacency in a cheval glass; 'the first that's been made\nwith our club button,' and he called his companions' attention to the\nlarge gilt button which displayed a bust of Mr. Pickwick in the centre,\nand the letters 'P. C.' on either side. '\"P. C.\"' said the stranger--'queer set out--old fellow's likeness, and\n\"P. C.\"--What does \"P. C.\" stand for--Peculiar Coat, eh?' Mr. Tupman,\nwith rising indignation and great importance, explained the mystic\ndevice. 'Rather short in the waist, ain't it?' said the stranger, screwing\nhimself round to catch a glimpse in the glass of the waist buttons,\nwhich were half-way up his back. 'Like a general postman's coat--queer\ncoats those--made by contract--no measuring--mysterious dispensations of\nProvidence--all the short men get long coats--all the long men short\nones.' Running on in this way, Mr. Tupman's new companion adjusted his\ndress, or rather the dress of Mr. Winkle; and, accompanied by Mr.\nTupman, ascended the staircase leading to the ballroom. 'What names, sir?' said the man at the door. Mr. Tracy Tupman was\nstepping forward to announce his own titles, when the stranger prevented\nhim. 'No names at all;' and then he whispered Mr. Tupman, 'names won't do--\nnot known--very good names in their way, but not great ones--capital\nnames for a small party, but won't make an impression in public\nassemblies--incog. the thing--gentlemen from London--distinguished\nforeigners--anything.' The door was thrown open, and Mr. Tracy Tupman\nand the stranger entered the ballroom. It was a long room, with crimson-covered benches, and wax candles in\nglass chandeliers. The musicians were securely confined in an elevated\nden, and quadrilles were being systematically got through by two or\nthree sets of dancers. Two card-tables were made up in the adjoining\ncard-room, and two pair of old ladies, and a corresponding number of\nstout gentlemen, were executing whist therein. The finale concluded, the dancers promenaded the room, and Mr. Tupman\nand his companion stationed themselves in a corner to observe the\ncompany. 'Charming women,' said Mr. Tupman. 'Wait a minute,' said the stranger, 'fun presently--nobs not come yet--\nqueer place--dockyard people of upper rank don't know dockyard people of\nlower rank--dockyard people of lower rank don't know small gentry--small\ngentry don't know tradespeople--commissioner don't know anybody.' 'Who's that little boy with the light hair and pink eyes, in a fancy\ndress? 'inquired Mr. Tupman. 'Hush, pray--pink eyes--fancy dress--little boy--nonsense--ensign 97th--\nHonourable Wilmot Snipe--great family--Snipes--very.' 'Sir Thomas Clubber, Lady Clubber, and the Misses Clubber!' shouted the\nman at the door in a stentorian voice. A great sensation was created\nthroughout the room by the entrance of a tall gentleman in a blue coat\nand bright buttons, a large lady in blue satin, and two young ladies, on\na similar scale, in fashionably-made dresses of the same hue. 'Commissioner--head of the yard--great man--remarkably great man,'\nwhispered the stranger in Mr. Tupman's ear, as the charitable committee\nushered Sir Thomas Clubber and family to the top of the room. The\nHonourable Wilmot Snipe, and other distinguished gentlemen crowded to\nrender homage to the Misses Clubber; and Sir Thomas Clubber stood bolt\nupright, and looked majestically over his black kerchief at the\nassembled company. 'Mr. Smithie, Mrs. Smithie, and the Misses Smithie,' was the next\nannouncement. 'What's Mr. Smithie?' inquired Mr. Tracy Tupman. 'Something in the yard,' replied the stranger. Mr. Smithie bowed\ndeferentially to Sir Thomas Clubber; and Sir Thomas Clubber acknowledged\nthe salute with conscious condescension. Lady Clubber took a telescopic\nview of Mrs. Smithie and family through her eye-glass and Mrs. Smithie\nstared in her turn at Mrs. Somebody-else, whose husband was not in the\ndockyard at all. 'Colonel Bulder, Mrs.\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> Colonel Bulder, and Miss Bulder,' were the next\narrivals. 'Head of the garrison,' said the stranger, in reply to Mr. Tupman's\ninquiring look. Miss Bulder was warmly welcomed by the Misses Clubber; the greeting\nbetween Mrs. Colonel Bulder and Lady Clubber was of the most\naffectionate description; Colonel Bulder and Sir Thomas Clubber\nexchanged snuff-boxes, and looked very much like a pair of Alexander\nSelkirks--'Monarchs of all they surveyed.' While the aristocracy of the place--the Bulders, and Clubbers, and\nSnipes--were thus preserving their dignity at the upper end of the room,\nthe other classes of society were imitating their example in other parts\nof it. The less aristocratic officers of the 97th devoted themselves to\nthe families of the less important functionaries from the dockyard. The\nsolicitors' wives, and the wine-merchant's wife, headed another grade\n(the brewer's wife visited the Bulders); and Mrs. Tomlinson, the post-\noffice keeper, seemed by mutual consent to have been chosen the leader\nof the trade party. One of the most popular personages, in his own circle, present, was a\nlittle fat man, with a ring of upright black hair round his head, and an\nextensive bald plain on the top of it--Doctor Slammer, surgeon to the\n97th. The doctor took snuff with everybody, chatted with everybody,\nlaughed, danced, made jokes, played whist, did everything, and was\neverywhere. To these pursuits, multifarious as they were, the little\ndoctor added a more important one than any--he was indefatigable in\npaying the most unremitting and devoted attention to a little old widow,\nwhose rich dress and profusion of ornament bespoke her a most desirable\naddition to a limited income. Upon the doctor, and the widow, the eyes of both Mr. Tupman and his\ncompanion had been fixed for some time, when the stranger broke silence. 'Lots of money--old girl--pompous doctor--not a bad idea--good fun,'\nwere the intelligible sentences which issued from his lips. Mr. Tupman\nlooked inquisitively in his face. 'I'll dance with the widow,' said the stranger. 'Who is she?' inquired Mr. Tupman. 'Don't know--never saw her in all my life--cut out the doctor--here\ngoes.' And the stranger forthwith crossed the room; and, leaning against\na mantel-piece, commenced gazing with an air of respectful and\nmelancholy admiration on the fat countenance of the little old lady. Mr.\nTupman looked on, in mute astonishment. The stranger progressed rapidly;\nthe little doctor danced with another lady; the widow dropped her fan;\nthe stranger picked it up, and presented it--a smile--a bow--a curtsey--\na few words of conversation. The stranger walked boldly up to, and\nreturned with, the master of the ceremonies; a little introductory\npantomime; and the stranger and Mrs. Budger took their places in a\nquadrille. The surprise of Mr. Tupman at this summary proceeding, great as it was,\nwas immeasurably exceeded by the astonishment of the doctor. The\nstranger was young, and the widow was flattered. The doctor's attentions\nwere unheeded by the widow; and the doctor's indignation was wholly lost\non his imperturbable rival. Doctor Slammer was paralysed. He, Doctor\nSlammer, of the 97th, to be extinguished in a moment, by a man whom\nnobody had ever seen before, and whom nobody knew even now! Doctor\nSlammer--Doctor Slammer of the 97th rejected! Impossible! It could not\nbe! Yes, it was; there they were. What! introducing his friend! Could he\nbelieve his eyes! He looked again, and was under the painful necessity\nof admitting the veracity of his optics; Mrs. Budger was dancing with\nMr. Tracy Tupman; there was no mistaking the fact. There was the widow\nbefore him, bouncing bodily here and there, with unwonted vigour; and\nMr. Tracy Tupman hopping about, with a face expressive of the most\nintense solemnity, dancing (as a good many people do) as if a quadrille\nwere not a thing to be laughed at, but a severe trial to the feelings,\nwhich it requires inflexible resolution to encounter. Silently and patiently did the doctor bear all this, and all the\nhandings of negus, and watching for glasses, and darting for biscuits,\nand coquetting, that ensued; but, a few seconds after the stranger had\ndisappeared to lead Mrs. Budger to her carriage, he darted swiftly from\nthe room with every particle of his hitherto-bottled-up indignation\neffervescing, from all parts of his countenance, in a perspiration of\npassion. The stranger was returning, and Mr. Tupman was beside him. He spoke in a\nlow tone, and laughed. The little doctor thirsted for his life. He was\nexulting. He had triumphed. 'Sir!' said the doctor, in an awful voice, producing a card, and\nretiring into an angle of the passage, 'my name is Slammer, Doctor\nSlammer, sir--97th Regiment--Chatham Barracks--my card, Sir, my card.' He would have added more, but his indignation choked him. 'Ah!' replied the stranger coolly, 'Slammer--much obliged--polite\nattention--not ill now, Slammer--but when I am--knock you up.' 'You--you're a shuffler, sir,' gasped the furious doctor, 'a poltroon--a\ncoward--a liar--a--a--will nothing induce you to give me your card,\nsir!' 'Oh! I see,' said the stranger, half aside, 'negus too strong here--\nliberal landlord--very foolish--very--lemonade much better--hot rooms--\nelderly gentlemen--suffer for it in the morning--cruel--cruel;' and he\nmoved on a step or two. 'You are stopping in this house, Sir,' said the indignant little man;\n'you are intoxicated now, Sir; you shall hear from me in the morning,\nsir. I shall find you out, sir; I shall find you out.' 'Rather you found me out than found me at home,' replied the unmoved\nstranger. Doctor Slammer looked unutterable ferocity, as he fixed his hat on his\nhead with an indignant knock; and the stranger and Mr. Tupman ascended\nto the bedroom of the latter to restore the borrowed plumage to the\nunconscious Winkle. That gentleman was fast asleep; the restoration was soon made. The\nstranger was extremely jocose; and Mr. Tracy Tupman, being quite\nbewildered with wine, negus, lights, and ladies, thought the whole\naffair was an exquisite joke. His new friend departed; and, after\nexperiencing some slight difficulty in finding the orifice in his\nnightcap, originally intended for the reception of his head, and finally\noverturning his candlestick in his struggles to put it on, Mr. Tracy\nTupman managed to get into bed by a series of complicated evolutions,\nand shortly afterwards sank into repose. Seven o'clock had hardly ceased striking on the following morning, when\nMr. Pickwick's comprehensive mind was aroused from the state of\nunconsciousness, in which slumber had plunged it, by a loud knocking at\nhis chamber door. 'Who's there?' said Mr. Pickwick, starting up in bed. 'Boots, sir.' 'What do you want?' 'Please, sir, can you tell me which gentleman of your party wears a\nbright blue dress-coat, with a gilt button with \"P. C.\" on it?' 'It's been given out to brush,' thought Mr. Pickwick, 'and the man has\nforgotten whom it belongs to.' Mr. Winkle,' he called out, 'next room but two, on the right hand.' 'Thank'ee, sir,' said the Boots, and away he went. 'What's the matter?' cried Mr. Tupman, as a loud knocking at his door\nroused him from his oblivious repose. 'Can I speak to Mr. Winkle, sir?' replied Boots from the outside. 'Winkle--Winkle!' shouted Mr. Tupman, calling into the inner room. 'Hollo!' replied a faint voice from within the bed-clothes. 'You're wanted--some one at the door;' and, having exerted himself to\narticulate thus much, Mr. Tracy Tupman turned round and fell fast asleep\nagain. 'Wanted!' said Mr. Winkle, hastily jumping out of bed, and putting on a\nfew articles of clothing; 'wanted! at this distance from town--who on\nearth can want me?'\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> 'Gentleman in the coffee-room, sir,' replied the Boots, as Mr. Winkle\nopened the door and confronted him; 'gentleman says he'll not detain you\na moment, Sir, but he can take no denial.' 'Very odd!' said Mr. Winkle; 'I'll be down directly.' He hurriedly wrapped himself in a travelling-shawl and dressing-gown,\nand proceeded downstairs. An old woman and a couple of waiters were\ncleaning the coffee-room, and an officer in undress uniform was looking\nout of the window. He turned round as Mr. Winkle entered, and made a\nstiff inclination of the head. Having ordered the attendants to retire,\nand closed the door very carefully, he said, 'Mr. Winkle, I presume?' 'My name is Winkle, sir.' 'You will not be surprised, sir, when I inform you that I have called\nhere this morning on behalf of my friend, Doctor Slammer, of the 97th.' 'Doctor Slammer!' said Mr. Winkle. 'Doctor Slammer. He begged me to express his opinion that your conduct\nof last evening was of a description which no gentleman could endure;\nand' (he added) 'which no one gentleman would pursue towards another.' Mr. Winkle's astonishment was too real, and too evident, to escape the\nobservation of Doctor Slammer's friend; he therefore proceeded--\n\n'My friend, Doctor Slammer, requested me to add, that he was firmly\npersuaded you were intoxicated during a portion of the evening, and\npossibly unconscious of the extent of the insult you were guilty of. He\ncommissioned me to say, that should this be pleaded as an excuse for\nyour behaviour, he will consent to accept a written apology, to be\npenned by you, from my dictation.' 'A written apology!' repeated Mr. Winkle, in the most emphatic tone of\namazement possible. 'Of course you know the alternative,' replied the visitor coolly. 'Were you intrusted with this message to me by name?' inquired Mr.\nWinkle, whose intellects were hopelessly confused by this extraordinary\nconversation. 'I was not present myself,' replied the visitor, 'and in consequence of\nyour firm refusal to give your card to Doctor Slammer, I was desired by\nthat gentleman to identify the wearer of a very uncommon coat--a bright\nblue dress-coat, with a gilt button displaying a bust, and the letters\n\"P. C.\"'\n\nMr. Winkle actually staggered with astonishment as he heard his own\ncostume thus minutely described. Doctor Slammer's friend proceeded:--\n'From the inquiries I made at the bar, just now, I was convinced that\nthe owner of the coat in question arrived here, with three gentlemen,\nyesterday afternoon. I immediately sent up to the gentleman who was\ndescribed as appearing the head of the party, and he at once referred me\nto you.' If the principal tower of Rochester Castle had suddenly walked from its\nfoundation, and stationed itself opposite the coffee-room window, Mr.\nWinkle's surprise would have been as nothing compared with the profound\nastonishment with which he had heard this address. His first impression\nwas that his coat had been stolen. 'Will you allow me to detain you one\nmoment?' said he. 'Certainly,' replied the unwelcome visitor. Mr. Winkle ran hastily upstairs, and with a trembling hand opened the\nbag. There was the coat in its usual place, but exhibiting, on a close\ninspection, evident tokens of having been worn on the preceding night. 'It must be so,' said Mr. Winkle, letting the coat fall from his hands. 'I took too much wine after dinner, and have a very vague recollection\nof walking about the streets, and smoking a cigar afterwards. The fact\nis, I was very drunk;--I must have changed my coat--gone somewhere--and\ninsulted somebody--I have no doubt of it; and this message is the\nterrible consequence.' Saying which, Mr. Winkle retraced his steps in\nthe direction of the coffee-room, with the gloomy and dreadful resolve\nof accepting the challenge of the warlike Doctor Slammer, and abiding by\nthe worst consequences that might ensue. To this determination Mr. Winkle was urged by a variety of\nconsiderations, the first of which was his reputation with the club. He\nhad always been looked up to as a high authority on all matters of\namusement and dexterity, whether offensive, defensive, or inoffensive;\nand if, on this very first occasion of being put to the test, he shrunk\nback from the trial, beneath his leader's eye, his name and standing\nwere lost for ever. Besides, he remembered to have heard it frequently\nsurmised by the uninitiated in such matters that by an understood\narrangement between the seconds, the pistols were seldom loaded with\nball; and, furthermore, he reflected that if he applied to Mr. Snodgrass\nto act as his second, and depicted the danger in glowing terms, that\ngentleman might possibly communicate the intelligence to Mr. Pickwick,\nwho would certainly lose no time in transmitting it to the local\nauthorities, and thus prevent the killing or maiming of his follower. Such were his thoughts when he returned to the coffee-room, and\nintimated his intention of accepting the doctor's challenge. 'Will you refer me to a friend, to arrange the time and place of\nmeeting?' said the officer. 'Quite unnecessary,' replied Mr. Winkle; 'name them to me, and I can\nprocure the attendance of a friend afterwards.' 'Shall we say--sunset this evening?' inquired the officer, in a careless\ntone. 'Very good,' replied Mr. Winkle, thinking in his heart it was very bad. 'You know Fort Pitt?' 'Yes; I saw it yesterday.' 'If you will take the trouble to turn into the field which borders the\ntrench, take the foot-path to the left when you arrive at an angle of\nthe fortification, and keep straight on, till you see me, I will precede\nyou to a secluded place, where the affair can be conducted without fear\nof interruption.' 'Fear of interruption!' thought Mr. Winkle. 'Nothing more to arrange, I think,' said the officer. 'I am not aware of anything more,' replied Mr. Winkle. 'Good-morning.' 'Good-morning;' and the officer whistled a lively air as he strode away. That morning's breakfast passed heavily off. Mr. Tupman was not in a\ncondition to rise, after the unwonted dissipation of the previous night;\nMr. Snodgrass appeared to labour under a poetical depression of spirits;\nand even Mr. Pickwick evinced an unusual attachment to silence and soda-\nwater. Mr. Winkle eagerly watched his opportunity: it was not long\nwanting. Mr. Snodgrass proposed a visit to the castle, and as Mr. Winkle\nwas the only other member of the party disposed to walk, they went out\ntogether. 'Snodgrass,' said Mr. Winkle, when they had turned out of the public\nstreet. 'Snodgrass, my dear fellow, can I rely upon your secrecy?' As he\nsaid this, he most devoutly and earnestly hoped he could not. 'You can,' replied Mr. Snodgrass. 'Hear me swear--'\n\n'No, no,' interrupted Winkle, terrified at the idea of his companion's\nunconsciously pledging himself not to give information; 'don't swear,\ndon't swear; it's quite unnecessary.' Mr. Snodgrass dropped the hand which he had, in the spirit of poesy,\nraised towards the clouds as he made the above appeal, and assumed an\nattitude of attention. 'I want your assistance, my dear fellow, in an affair of honour,' said\nMr. Winkle. 'You shall have it,' replied Mr. Snodgrass, clasping his friend's hand. 'With a doctor--Doctor Slammer, of the 97th,' said Mr. Winkle, wishing\nto make the matter appear as solemn as possible; 'an affair with an\nofficer, seconded by another officer, at sunset this evening, in a\nlonely field beyond Fort Pitt.' 'I will attend you,' said Mr. Snodgrass. He was astonished, but by no means dismayed. It is extraordinary how\ncool any party but the principal can be in such cases. Mr. Winkle had\nforgotten this. He had judged of his friend's feelings by his own. 'The consequences may be dreadful,' said Mr. Winkle. 'I hope not,' said Mr. Snodgrass. 'The doctor, I believe, is a very good shot,' said Mr. Winkle. 'Most of these military men are,' observed Mr. Snodgrass calmly; 'but so\nare you, ain't you?' Mr. Winkle replied in the affirmative; and perceiving that he had not\nalarmed his companion sufficiently, changed his ground.\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 2024-01-16 The user is reading a book]\n<User> 'Snodgrass,' he said, in a voice tremulous with emotion, 'if I fall, you\nwill find in a packet which I shall place in your hands a note for my--\nfor my father.' This attack was a failure also. Mr. Snodgrass was affected, but he\nundertook the delivery of the note as readily as if he had been a\ntwopenny postman. 'If I fall,' said Mr. Winkle, 'or if the doctor falls, you, my dear\nfriend, will be tried as an accessory before the fact. Shall I involve\nmy friend in transportation--possibly for life!' Mr. Snodgrass winced a little at this, but his heroism was invincible. 'In the cause of friendship,' he fervently exclaimed, 'I would brave all\ndangers.' How Mr. Winkle cursed his companion's devoted friendship internally, as\nthey walked silently along, side by side, for some minutes, each\nimmersed in his own meditations! The morning was wearing away; he grew\ndesperate. 'Snodgrass,' he said, stopping suddenly, 'do not let me be balked in\nthis matter--do not give information to the local authorities--do not\nobtain the assistance of several peace officers, to take either me or\nDoctor Slammer, of the 97th Regiment, at present quartered in Chatham\nBarracks, into custody, and thus prevent this duel!--I say, do not.' Mr. Snodgrass seized his friend's hand warmly, as he enthusiastically\nreplied, 'Not for worlds!' A thrill passed over Mr. Winkle's frame as the conviction that he had\nnothing to hope from his friend's fears, and that he was destined to\nbecome an animated target, rushed forcibly upon him. The state of the case having been formally explained to Mr. Snodgrass,\nand a case of satisfactory pistols, with the satisfactory accompaniments\nof powder, ball, and caps, having been hired from a manufacturer in\nRochester, the two friends returned to their inn; Mr. Winkle to ruminate\non the approaching struggle, and Mr. Snodgrass to arrange the weapons of\nwar, and put them into proper order for immediate use. It was a dull and heavy evening when they again sallied forth on their\nawkward errand. Mr. Winkle was muffled up in a huge cloak to escape\nobservation, and Mr. Snodgrass bore under his the instruments of\ndestruction. 'Have you got everything?' said Mr. Winkle, in an agitated tone. 'Everything,' replied Mr. Snodgrass; 'plenty of ammunition, in case the\nshots don't take effect. There's a quarter of a pound of powder in the\ncase, and I have got two newspapers in my pocket for the loadings.' These were instances of friendship for which any man might reasonably\nfeel most grateful. The presumption is, that the gratitude of Mr. Winkle\nwas too powerful for utterance, as he said nothing, but continued to\nwalk on--rather slowly. 'We are in excellent time,' said Mr. Snodgrass, as they climbed the\nfence of the first field; 'the sun is just going down.' Mr. Winkle\nlooked up at the declining orb and painfully thought of the probability\nof his 'going down' himself, before long. 'There's the officer,' exclaimed Mr. Winkle, after a few minutes\nwalking. 'Where?' said Mr. Snodgrass. 'There--the gentleman in the blue cloak.' Mr. Snodgrass looked in the\ndirection indicated by the forefinger of his friend, and observed a\nfigure, muffled up, as he had described. The officer evinced his\nconsciousness of their presence by slightly beckoning with his hand; and\nthe two friends followed him at a little distance, as he walked away. The evening grew more dull every moment, and a melancholy wind sounded\nthrough the deserted fields, like a distant giant whistling for his\nhouse-dog. The sadness of the scene imparted a sombre tinge to the\nfeelings of Mr. Winkle. He started as they passed the angle of the\ntrench--it looked like a colossal grave. The officer turned suddenly from the path, and after climbing a paling,\nand scaling a hedge, entered a secluded field. Two gentlemen were\nwaiting in it; one was a little, fat man, with black hair; and the\nother--a portly personage in a braided surtout--was sitting with perfect\nequanimity on a camp-stool. 'The other party, and a surgeon, I suppose,' said Mr. Snodgrass; 'take a\ndrop of brandy.' Mr. Winkle seized the wicker bottle which his friend\nproffered, and took a lengthened pull at the exhilarating liquid. 'My friend, Sir, Mr. Snodgrass,' said Mr. Winkle, as the officer\napproached. Doctor Slammer's friend bowed, and produced a case similar\nto that which Mr. Snodgrass carried. 'We have nothing further to say, Sir, I think,' he coldly remarked, as\nhe opened the case; 'an apology has been resolutely declined.' 'Nothing, Sir,' said Mr. Snodgrass, who began to feel rather\nuncomfortable himself. 'Will you step forward?' said the officer. 'Certainly,' replied Mr. Snodgrass. The ground was measured, and\npreliminaries arranged. 'You will find these better than your own,' said the opposite second,\nproducing his pistols. 'You saw me load them. Do you object to use\nthem?' 'Certainly not,' replied Mr. Snodgrass. The offer relieved him from\nconsiderable embarrassment, for his previous notions of loading a pistol\nwere rather vague and undefined. 'We may place our men, then, I think,' observed the officer, with as\nmuch indifference as if the principals were chess-men, and the seconds\nplayers. 'I think we may,' replied Mr. Snodgrass; who would have assented to any\nproposition, because he knew nothing about the matter. The officer\ncrossed to Doctor Slammer, and Mr. Snodgrass went up to Mr. Winkle. 'It's all ready,' said he, offering the pistol. 'Give me your cloak.' 'You have got the packet, my dear fellow,' said poor Winkle. 'All right,' said Mr. Snodgrass. 'Be steady, and wing him.' It occurred to Mr. Winkle that this advice was very like that which\nbystanders invariably give to the smallest boy in a street fight,\nnamely, 'Go in, and win'--an admirable thing to recommend, if you only\nknow how to do it. He took off his cloak, however, in silence--it always\ntook a long time to undo that cloak--and accepted the pistol. The\nseconds retired, the gentleman on the camp-stool did the same, and the\nbelligerents approached each other. Mr. Winkle was always remarkable for extreme humanity. It is conjectured\nthat his unwillingness to hurt a fellow-creature intentionally was the\ncause of his shutting his eyes when he arrived at the fatal spot; and\nthat the circumstance of his eyes being closed, prevented his observing\nthe very extraordinary and unaccountable demeanour of Doctor Slammer. That gentleman started, stared, retreated, rubbed his eyes, stared\nagain, and, finally, shouted, 'Stop, stop!' 'What's all this?' said Doctor Slammer, as his friend and Mr. Snodgrass\ncame running up; 'that's not the man.' 'Not the man!' said Doctor Slammer's second. 'Not the man!' said Mr. Snodgrass. 'Not the man!' said the gentleman with the camp-stool in his hand. 'Certainly not,' replied the little doctor. 'That's not the person who\ninsulted me last night.' 'Very extraordinary!' exclaimed the officer. 'Very,' said the gentleman with the camp-stool. 'The only question is,\nwhether the gentleman, being on the ground, must not be considered, as a\nmatter of form, to be the individual who insulted our friend, Doctor\nSlammer, yesterday evening, whether he is really that individual or\nnot;' and having delivered this suggestion, with a very sage and\nmysterious air, the man with the camp-stool took a large pinch of snuff,\nand looked profoundly round, with the air of an authority in such\nmatters. Now Mr. Winkle had opened his eyes, and his ears too, when he heard his\nadversary call out for a cessation of hostilities; and perceiving by\nwhat he had afterwards said that there was, beyond all question, some\nmistake in the matter, he at once foresaw the increase of reputation he\nshould inevitably acquire by concealing the real motive of his coming\nout; he therefore stepped boldly forward, and said--\n\n'I am not the person. I know it.' 'Then, that,' said the man with the camp-stool, 'is an affront to Doctor\nSlammer, and a sufficient reason for proceeding immediately.' 'Pray be quiet, Payne,' said the doctor's second.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-16, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-17 The user is reading a book]\n<User> 'Why did you not\ncommunicate this fact to me this morning, Sir?' 'To be sure--to be sure,' said the man with the camp-stool indignantly. 'I entreat you to be quiet, Payne,' said the other. 'May I repeat my\nquestion, Sir?' 'Because, Sir,' replied Mr. Winkle, who had had time to deliberate upon\nhis answer, 'because, Sir, you described an intoxicated and\nungentlemanly person as wearing a coat which I have the honour, not only\nto wear but to have invented--the proposed uniform, Sir, of the Pickwick\nClub in London. The honour of that uniform I feel bound to maintain, and\nI therefore, without inquiry, accepted the challenge which you offered\nme.' 'My dear Sir,' said the good-humoured little doctor advancing with\nextended hand, 'I honour your gallantry. Permit me to say, Sir, that I\nhighly admire your conduct, and extremely regret having caused you the\ninconvenience of this meeting, to no purpose.' 'I beg you won't mention it, Sir,' said Mr. Winkle. 'I shall feel proud of your acquaintance, Sir,' said the little doctor. 'It will afford me the greatest pleasure to know you, sir,' replied Mr.\nWinkle. Thereupon the doctor and Mr. Winkle shook hands, and then Mr.\nWinkle and Lieutenant Tappleton (the doctor's second), and then Mr.\nWinkle and the man with the camp-stool, and, finally, Mr. Winkle and Mr.\nSnodgrass--the last-named gentleman in an excess of admiration at the\nnoble conduct of his heroic friend. 'I think we may adjourn,' said Lieutenant Tappleton. 'Certainly,' added the doctor. 'Unless,' interposed the man with the camp-stool, 'unless Mr. Winkle\nfeels himself aggrieved by the challenge; in which case, I submit, he\nhas a right to satisfaction.' Mr. Winkle, with great self-denial, expressed himself quite satisfied\nalready. 'Or possibly,' said the man with the camp-stool, 'the gentleman's second\nmay feel himself affronted with some observations which fell from me at\nan early period of this meeting; if so, I shall be happy to give him\nsatisfaction immediately.' Mr. Snodgrass hastily professed himself very much obliged with the\nhandsome offer of the gentleman who had spoken last, which he was only\ninduced to decline by his entire contentment with the whole proceedings. The two seconds adjusted the cases, and the whole party left the ground\nin a much more lively manner than they had proceeded to it. 'Do you remain long here?' inquired Doctor Slammer of Mr. Winkle, as\nthey walked on most amicably together. 'I think we shall leave here the day after to-morrow,' was the reply. 'I trust I shall have the pleasure of seeing you and your friend at my\nrooms, and of spending a pleasant evening with you, after this awkward\nmistake,' said the little doctor; 'are you disengaged this evening?' 'We have some friends here,' replied Mr. Winkle, 'and I should not like\nto leave them to-night. Perhaps you and your friend will join us at the\nBull.' 'With great pleasure,' said the little doctor; 'will ten o'clock be too\nlate to look in for half an hour?' 'Oh dear, no,' said Mr. Winkle. 'I shall be most happy to introduce you\nto my friends, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman.' 'It will give me great pleasure, I am sure,' replied Doctor Slammer,\nlittle suspecting who Mr. Tupman was. 'You will be sure to come?' said Mr. Snodgrass. 'Oh, certainly.' By this time they had reached the road. Cordial farewells were\nexchanged, and the party separated. Doctor Slammer and his friends\nrepaired to the barracks, and Mr. Winkle, accompanied by Mr. Snodgrass,\nreturned to their inn. Mr. Pickwick had felt some apprehensions in consequence of the unusual\nabsence of his two friends, which their mysterious behaviour during the\nwhole morning had by no means tended to diminish. It was, therefore,\nwith more than ordinary pleasure that he rose to greet them when they\nagain entered; and with more than ordinary interest that he inquired\nwhat had occurred to detain them from his society. In reply to his\nquestions on this point, Mr. Snodgrass was about to offer an historical\naccount of the circumstances just now detailed, when he was suddenly\nchecked by observing that there were present, not only Mr. Tupman and\ntheir stage-coach companion of the preceding day, but another stranger\nof equally singular appearance. It was a careworn-looking man, whose\nsallow face, and deeply-sunken eyes, were rendered still more striking\nthan Nature had made them, by the straight black hair which hung in\nmatted disorder half-way down his face. His eyes were almost unnaturally\nbright and piercing; his cheek-bones were high and prominent; and his\njaws were so long and lank, that an observer would have supposed that he\nwas drawing the flesh of his face in, for a moment, by some contraction\nof the muscles, if his half-opened mouth and immovable expression had\nnot announced that it was his ordinary appearance. Round his neck he\nwore a green shawl, with the large ends straggling over his chest, and\nmaking their appearance occasionally beneath the worn button-holes of\nhis old waistcoat. His upper garment was a long black surtout; and below\nit he wore wide drab trousers, and large boots, running rapidly to seed. It was on this uncouth-looking person that Mr. Winkle's eye rested, and\nit was towards him that Mr. Pickwick extended his hand when he said, 'A\nfriend of our friend's here. We discovered this morning that our friend\nwas connected with the theatre in this place, though he is not desirous\nto have it generally known, and this gentleman is a member of the same\nprofession. He was about to favour us with a little anecdote connected\nwith it, when you entered.' 'Lots of anecdote,' said the green-coated stranger of the day before,\nadvancing to Mr. Winkle and speaking in a low and confidential tone. 'Rum fellow--does the heavy business--no actor--strange man--all sorts\nof miseries--Dismal Jemmy, we call him on the circuit.' Mr. Winkle and\nMr. Snodgrass politely welcomed the gentleman, elegantly designated as\n'Dismal Jemmy'; and calling for brandy-and-water, in imitation of the\nremainder of the company, seated themselves at the table. 'Now sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'will you oblige us by proceeding with\nwhat you were going to relate?' The dismal individual took a dirty roll of paper from his pocket, and\nturning to Mr. Snodgrass, who had just taken out his note-book, said in\na hollow voice, perfectly in keeping with his outward man--'Are you the\npoet?' 'I--I do a little in that way,' replied Mr. Snodgrass, rather taken\naback by the abruptness of the question. 'Ah! poetry makes life what light and music do the stage--strip the one\nof the false embellishments, and the other of its illusions, and what is\nthere real in either to live or care for?' 'Very true, Sir,' replied Mr. Snodgrass. 'To be before the footlights,' continued the dismal man, 'is like\nsitting at a grand court show, and admiring the silken dresses of the\ngaudy throng; to be behind them is to be the people who make that\nfinery, uncared for and unknown, and left to sink or swim, to starve or\nlive, as fortune wills it.' 'Certainly,' said Mr. Snodgrass: for the sunken eye of the dismal man\nrested on him, and he felt it necessary to say something. 'Go on, Jemmy,' said the Spanish traveller, 'like black-eyed Susan--all\nin the Downs--no croaking--speak out--look lively.' 'Will you make another glass before you begin, Sir?' said Mr. Pickwick. The dismal man took the hint, and having mixed a glass of brandy-and-\nwater, and slowly swallowed half of it, opened the roll of paper and\nproceeded, partly to read, and partly to relate, the following incident,\nwhich we find recorded on the Transactions of the Club as 'The\nStroller's Tale.' THE STROLLER'S TALE\n\n'There is nothing of the marvellous in what I am going to relate,' said\nthe dismal man; 'there is nothing even uncommon in it. Want and sickness\nare too common in many stations of life to deserve more notice than is\nusually bestowed on the most ordinary vicissitudes of human nature. I\nhave thrown these few notes together, because the subject of them was\nwell known to me for many years. I traced his progress downwards, step\nby step, until at last he reached that excess of destitution from which\nhe never rose again.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-17, 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> 'The man of whom I speak was a low pantomime actor; and, like many\npeople of his class, an habitual drunkard. In his better days, before he\nhad become enfeebled by dissipation and emaciated by disease, he had\nbeen in the receipt of a good salary, which, if he had been careful and\nprudent, he might have continued to receive for some years--not many;\nbecause these men either die early, or by unnaturally taxing their\nbodily energies, lose, prematurely, those physical powers on which alone\nthey can depend for subsistence. His besetting sin gained so fast upon\nhim, however, that it was found impossible to employ him in the\nsituations in which he really was useful to the theatre. The public-\nhouse had a fascination for him which he could not resist. Neglected\ndisease and hopeless poverty were as certain to be his portion as death\nitself, if he persevered in the same course; yet he did persevere, and\nthe result may be guessed. He could obtain no engagement, and he wanted\nbread. 'Everybody who is at all acquainted with theatrical matters knows what a\nhost of shabby, poverty-stricken men hang about the stage of a large\nestablishment--not regularly engaged actors, but ballet people,\nprocession men, tumblers, and so forth, who are taken on during the run\nof a pantomime, or an Easter piece, and are then discharged, until the\nproduction of some heavy spectacle occasions a new demand for their\nservices. To this mode of life the man was compelled to resort; and\ntaking the chair every night, at some low theatrical house, at once put\nhim in possession of a few more shillings weekly, and enabled him to\ngratify his old propensity. Even this resource shortly failed him; his\nirregularities were too great to admit of his earning the wretched\npittance he might thus have procured, and he was actually reduced to a\nstate bordering on starvation, only procuring a trifle occasionally by\nborrowing it of some old companion, or by obtaining an appearance at one\nor other of the commonest of the minor theatres; and when he did earn\nanything it was spent in the old way. 'About this time, and when he had been existing for upwards of a year no\none knew how, I had a short engagement at one of the theatres on the\nSurrey side of the water, and here I saw this man, whom I had lost sight\nof for some time; for I had been travelling in the provinces, and he had\nbeen skulking in the lanes and alleys of London. I was dressed to leave\nthe house, and was crossing the stage on my way out, when he tapped me\non the shoulder. Never shall I forget the repulsive sight that met my\neye when I turned round. He was dressed for the pantomimes in all the\nabsurdity of a clown's costume. The spectral figures in the Dance of\nDeath, the most frightful shapes that the ablest painter ever portrayed\non canvas, never presented an appearance half so ghastly. His bloated\nbody and shrunken legs--their deformity enhanced a hundredfold by the\nfantastic dress--the glassy eyes, contrasting fearfully with the thick\nwhite paint with which the face was besmeared; the grotesquely-\nornamented head, trembling with paralysis, and the long skinny hands,\nrubbed with white chalk--all gave him a hideous and unnatural\nappearance, of which no description could convey an adequate idea, and\nwhich, to this day, I shudder to think of. His voice was hollow and\ntremulous as he took me aside, and in broken words recounted a long\ncatalogue of sickness and privations, terminating as usual with an\nurgent request for the loan of a trifling sum of money. I put a few\nshillings in his hand, and as I turned away I heard the roar of laughter\nwhich followed his first tumble on the stage. 'A few nights afterwards, a boy put a dirty scrap of paper in my hand,\non which were scrawled a few words in pencil, intimating that the man\nwas dangerously ill, and begging me, after the performance, to see him\nat his lodgings in some street--I forget the name of it now--at no great\ndistance from the theatre. I promised to comply, as soon as I could get\naway; and after the curtain fell, sallied forth on my melancholy errand. 'It was late, for I had been playing in the last piece; and, as it was a\nbenefit night, the performances had been protracted to an unusual\nlength. It was a dark, cold night, with a chill, damp wind, which blew\nthe rain heavily against the windows and house-fronts. Pools of water\nhad collected in the narrow and little-frequented streets, and as many\nof the thinly-scattered oil-lamps had been blown out by the violence of\nthe wind, the walk was not only a comfortless, but most uncertain one. I\nhad fortunately taken the right course, however, and succeeded, after a\nlittle difficulty, in finding the house to which I had been directed--a\ncoal-shed, with one storey above it, in the back room of which lay the\nobject of my search. 'A wretched-looking woman, the man's wife, met me on the stairs, and,\ntelling me that he had just fallen into a kind of doze, led me softly\nin, and placed a chair for me at the bedside. The sick man was lying\nwith his face turned towards the wall; and as he took no heed of my\npresence, I had leisure to observe the place in which I found myself. 'He was lying on an old bedstead, which turned up during the day. The\ntattered remains of a checked curtain were drawn round the bed's head,\nto exclude the wind, which, however, made its way into the comfortless\nroom through the numerous chinks in the door, and blew it to and fro\nevery instant. There was a low cinder fire in a rusty, unfixed grate;\nand an old three-cornered stained table, with some medicine bottles, a\nbroken glass, and a few other domestic articles, was drawn out before\nit. A little child was sleeping on a temporary bed which had been made\nfor it on the floor, and the woman sat on a chair by its side. There\nwere a couple of shelves, with a few plates and cups and saucers; and a\npair of stage shoes and a couple of foils hung beneath them. With the\nexception of little heaps of rags and bundles which had been carelessly\nthrown into the corners of the room, these were the only things in the\napartment. 'I had had time to note these little particulars, and to mark the heavy\nbreathing and feverish startings of the sick man, before he was aware of\nmy presence. In the restless attempts to procure some easy resting-place\nfor his head, he tossed his hand out of the bed, and it fell on mine. He\nstarted up, and stared eagerly in my face. '\"Mr. Hutley, John,\" said his wife; \"Mr. Hutley, that you sent for to-\nnight, you know.\" '\"Ah!\" said the invalid, passing his hand across his forehead; \"Hutley--\nHutley--let me see.\" He seemed endeavouring to collect his thoughts for\na few seconds, and then grasping me tightly by the wrist said, \"Don't\nleave me--don't leave me, old fellow. She'll murder me; I know she\nwill.\" '\"Has he been long so?\" said I, addressing his weeping wife. '\"Since yesterday night,\" she replied. \"John, John, don't you know me?\" '\"Don't let her come near me,\" said the man, with a shudder, as she\nstooped over him. \"Drive her away; I can't bear her near me.\" He stared\nwildly at her, with a look of deadly apprehension, and then whispered in\nmy ear, \"I beat her, Jem; I beat her yesterday, and many times before. I\nhave starved her and the boy too; and now I am weak and helpless, Jem,\nshe'll murder me for it; I know she will. If you'd seen her cry, as I\nhave, you'd know it too. Keep her off.\" He relaxed his grasp, and sank\nback exhausted on the pillow. 'I knew but too well what all this meant. If I could have entertained\nany doubt of it, for an instant, one glance at the woman's pale face and\nwasted form would have sufficiently explained the real state of the\ncase. \"You had better stand aside,\" said I to the poor creature. \"You\ncan do him no good. Perhaps he will be calmer, if he does not see you.\" She retired out of the man's sight. He opened his eyes after a few\nseconds, and looked anxiously round. '\"Is she gone?\" he eagerly inquired. '\"Yes--yes,\" said I; \"she shall not hurt you.\" '\"I'll tell you what, Jem,\" said the man, in a low voice, \"she does hurt\nme.\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 2024-01-20 The user is reading a book]\n<User> There's something in her eyes wakes such a dreadful fear in my\nheart, that it drives me mad. All last night, her large, staring eyes\nand pale face were close to mine; wherever I turned, they turned; and\nwhenever I started up from my sleep, she was at the bedside looking at\nme.\" He drew me closer to him, as he said in a deep alarmed whisper,\n\"Jem, she must be an evil spirit--a devil! Hush! I know she is. If she\nhad been a woman she would have died long ago. No woman could have borne\nwhat she has.\" 'I sickened at the thought of the long course of cruelty and neglect\nwhich must have occurred to produce such an impression on such a man. I\ncould say nothing in reply; for who could offer hope, or consolation, to\nthe abject being before me? 'I sat there for upwards of two hours, during which time he tossed\nabout, murmuring exclamations of pain or impatience, restlessly throwing\nhis arms here and there, and turning constantly from side to side. At\nlength he fell into that state of partial unconsciousness, in which the\nmind wanders uneasily from scene to scene, and from place to place,\nwithout the control of reason, but still without being able to divest\nitself of an indescribable sense of present suffering. Finding from his\nincoherent wanderings that this was the case, and knowing that in all\nprobability the fever would not grow immediately worse, I left him,\npromising his miserable wife that I would repeat my visit next evening,\nand, if necessary, sit up with the patient during the night. 'I kept my promise. The last four-and-twenty hours had produced a\nfrightful alteration. The eyes, though deeply sunk and heavy, shone with\na lustre frightful to behold. The lips were parched, and cracked in many\nplaces; the hard, dry skin glowed with a burning heat; and there was an\nalmost unearthly air of wild anxiety in the man's face, indicating even\nmore strongly the ravages of the disease. The fever was at its height. 'I took the seat I had occupied the night before, and there I sat for\nhours, listening to sounds which must strike deep to the heart of the\nmost callous among human beings--the awful ravings of a dying man. From\nwhat I had heard of the medical attendant's opinion, I knew there was no\nhope for him: I was sitting by his death-bed. I saw the wasted limbs--\nwhich a few hours before had been distorted for the amusement of a\nboisterous gallery, writhing under the tortures of a burning fever--I\nheard the clown's shrill laugh, blending with the low murmurings of the\ndying man. 'It is a touching thing to hear the mind reverting to the ordinary\noccupations and pursuits of health, when the body lies before you weak\nand helpless; but when those occupations are of a character the most\nstrongly opposed to anything we associate with grave and solemn ideas,\nthe impression produced is infinitely more powerful. The theatre and the\npublic-house were the chief themes of the wretched man's wanderings. It\nwas evening, he fancied; he had a part to play that night; it was late,\nand he must leave home instantly. Why did they hold him, and prevent his\ngoing?--he should lose the money--he must go. No! they would not let\nhim. He hid his face in his burning hands, and feebly bemoaned his own\nweakness, and the cruelty of his persecutors. A short pause, and he\nshouted out a few doggerel rhymes--the last he had ever learned. He rose\nin bed, drew up his withered limbs, and rolled about in uncouth\npositions; he was acting--he was at the theatre. A minute's silence, and\nhe murmured the burden of some roaring song. He had reached the old\nhouse at last--how hot the room was. He had been ill, very ill, but he\nwas well now, and happy. Fill up his glass. Who was that, that dashed it\nfrom his lips? It was the same persecutor that had followed him before. He fell back upon his pillow and moaned aloud. A short period of\noblivion, and he was wandering through a tedious maze of low-arched\nrooms--so low, sometimes, that he must creep upon his hands and knees to\nmake his way along; it was close and dark, and every way he turned, some\nobstacle impeded his progress. There were insects, too, hideous crawling\nthings, with eyes that stared upon him, and filled the very air around,\nglistening horribly amidst the thick darkness of the place. The walls\nand ceiling were alive with reptiles--the vault expanded to an enormous\nsize--frightful figures flitted to and fro--and the faces of men he\nknew, rendered hideous by gibing and mouthing, peered out from among\nthem; they were searing him with heated irons, and binding his head with\ncords till the blood started; and he struggled madly for life. 'At the close of one of these paroxysms, when I had with great\ndifficulty held him down in his bed, he sank into what appeared to be a\nslumber. Overpowered with watching and exertion, I had closed my eyes\nfor a few minutes, when I felt a violent clutch on my shoulder. I awoke\ninstantly. He had raised himself up, so as to seat himself in bed--a\ndreadful change had come over his face, but consciousness had returned,\nfor he evidently knew me. The child, who had been long since disturbed\nby his ravings, rose from its little bed, and ran towards its father,\nscreaming with fright--the mother hastily caught it in her arms, lest he\nshould injure it in the violence of his insanity; but, terrified by the\nalteration of his features, stood transfixed by the bedside. He grasped\nmy shoulder convulsively, and, striking his breast with the other hand,\nmade a desperate attempt to articulate. It was unavailing; he extended\nhis arm towards them, and made another violent effort. There was a\nrattling noise in the throat--a glare of the eye--a short stifled groan-\n-and he fell back--dead!' It would afford us the highest gratification to be enabled to record Mr.\nPickwick's opinion of the foregoing anecdote. We have little doubt that\nwe should have been enabled to present it to our readers, but for a most\nunfortunate occurrence. Mr. Pickwick had replaced on the table the glass which, during the last\nfew sentences of the tale, he had retained in his hand; and had just\nmade up his mind to speak--indeed, we have the authority of Mr.\nSnodgrass's note-book for stating, that he had actually opened his\nmouth--when the waiter entered the room, and said--\n\n'Some gentlemen, Sir.' It has been conjectured that Mr. Pickwick was on the point of delivering\nsome remarks which would have enlightened the world, if not the Thames,\nwhen he was thus interrupted; for he gazed sternly on the waiter's\ncountenance, and then looked round on the company generally, as if\nseeking for information relative to the new-comers. 'Oh!' said Mr. Winkle, rising, 'some friends of mine--show them in. Very\npleasant fellows,' added Mr. Winkle, after the waiter had retired--\n'officers of the 97th, whose acquaintance I made rather oddly this\nmorning. You will like them very much.' Mr. Pickwick's equanimity was at once restored. The waiter returned, and\nushered three gentlemen into the room. 'Lieutenant Tappleton,' said Mr. Winkle, 'Lieutenant Tappleton, Mr.\nPickwick--Doctor Payne, Mr. Pickwick--Mr. Snodgrass you have seen\nbefore, my friend Mr. Tupman, Doctor Payne--Doctor Slammer, Mr.\nPickwick--Mr. Tupman, Doctor Slam--'\n\nHere Mr. Winkle suddenly paused; for strong emotion was visible on the\ncountenance both of Mr. Tupman and the doctor. 'I have met _this_ gentleman before,' said the Doctor, with marked\nemphasis. 'Indeed!' said Mr. Winkle. 'And--and that person, too, if I am not mistaken,' said the doctor,\nbestowing a scrutinising glance on the green-coated stranger. 'I think I\ngave that person a very pressing invitation last night, which he thought\nproper to decline.' Saying which the doctor scowled magnanimously on the\nstranger, and whispered his friend Lieutenant Tappleton. 'You don't say so,' said that gentleman, at the conclusion of the\nwhisper. 'I do, indeed,' replied Doctor Slammer. 'You are bound to kick him on the spot,' murmured the owner of the camp-\nstool, with great importance. 'Do be quiet, Payne,' interposed the lieutenant.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-20, 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> 'Will you allow me to\nask you, sir,' he said, addressing Mr. Pickwick, who was considerably\nmystified by this very unpolite by-play--'will you allow me to ask you,\nSir, whether that person belongs to your party?' 'No, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'he is a guest of ours.' 'He is a member of your club, or I am mistaken?' said the lieutenant\ninquiringly. 'Certainly not,' responded Mr. Pickwick. 'And never wears your club-button?' said the lieutenant. 'No--never!' replied the astonished Mr. Pickwick. Lieutenant Tappleton turned round to his friend Doctor Slammer, with a\nscarcely perceptible shrug of the shoulder, as if implying some doubt of\nthe accuracy of his recollection. The little doctor looked wrathful, but\nconfounded; and Mr. Payne gazed with a ferocious aspect on the beaming\ncountenance of the unconscious Pickwick. 'Sir,' said the doctor, suddenly addressing Mr. Tupman, in a tone which\nmade that gentleman start as perceptibly as if a pin had been cunningly\ninserted in the calf of his leg, 'you were at the ball here last night!' Mr. Tupman gasped a faint affirmative, looking very hard at Mr. Pickwick\nall the while. 'That person was your companion,' said the doctor, pointing to the still\nunmoved stranger. Mr. Tupman admitted the fact. 'Now, sir,' said the doctor to the stranger, 'I ask you once again, in\nthe presence of these gentlemen, whether you choose to give me your\ncard, and to receive the treatment of a gentleman; or whether you impose\nupon me the necessity of personally chastising you on the spot?' 'Stay, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I really cannot allow this matter to go\nany further without some explanation. Tupman, recount the\ncircumstances.' Mr. Tupman, thus solemnly adjured, stated the case in a few words;\ntouched slightly on the borrowing of the coat; expatiated largely on its\nhaving been done 'after dinner'; wound up with a little penitence on his\nown account; and left the stranger to clear himself as best he could. He was apparently about to proceed to do so, when Lieutenant Tappleton,\nwho had been eyeing him with great curiosity, said with considerable\nscorn, 'Haven't I seen you at the theatre, Sir?' 'Certainly,' replied the unabashed stranger. 'He is a strolling actor!' said the lieutenant contemptuously, turning\nto Doctor Slammer.--'He acts in the piece that the officers of the 52nd\nget up at the Rochester Theatre to-morrow night. You cannot proceed in\nthis affair, Slammer--impossible!' 'Quite!' said the dignified Payne. 'Sorry to have placed you in this disagreeable situation,' said\nLieutenant Tappleton, addressing Mr. Pickwick; 'allow me to suggest,\nthat the best way of avoiding a recurrence of such scenes in future will\nbe to be more select in the choice of your companions. Good-evening,\nSir!' and the lieutenant bounced out of the room. 'And allow me to say, Sir,' said the irascible Doctor Payne, 'that if I\nhad been Tappleton, or if I had been Slammer, I would have pulled your\nnose, Sir, and the nose of every man in this company. I would, sir--\nevery man. Payne is my name, sir--Doctor Payne of the 43rd. Good-\nevening, Sir.' Having concluded this speech, and uttered the last three\nwords in a loud key, he stalked majestically after his friend, closely\nfollowed by Doctor Slammer, who said nothing, but contented himself by\nwithering the company with a look. Rising rage and extreme bewilderment had swelled the noble breast of Mr.\nPickwick, almost to the bursting of his waistcoat, during the delivery\nof the above defiance. He stood transfixed to the spot, gazing on\nvacancy. The closing of the door recalled him to himself. He rushed\nforward with fury in his looks, and fire in his eye. His hand was upon\nthe lock of the door; in another instant it would have been on the\nthroat of Doctor Payne of the 43rd, had not Mr. Snodgrass seized his\nrevered leader by the coat tail, and dragged him backwards. 'Restrain him,' cried Mr. Snodgrass; 'Winkle, Tupman--he must not peril\nhis distinguished life in such a cause as this.' 'Let me go,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Hold him tight,' shouted Mr. Snodgrass; and by the united efforts of\nthe whole company, Mr. Pickwick was forced into an arm-chair. 'Leave him alone,' said the green-coated stranger; 'brandy-and-water--\njolly old gentleman--lots of pluck--swallow this--ah!--capital stuff.' Having previously tested the virtues of a bumper, which had been mixed\nby the dismal man, the stranger applied the glass to Mr. Pickwick's\nmouth; and the remainder of its contents rapidly disappeared. There was a short pause; the brandy-and-water had done its work; the\namiable countenance of Mr. Pickwick was fast recovering its customary\nexpression. 'They are not worth your notice,' said the dismal man. 'You are right, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'they are not. I am ashamed\nto have been betrayed into this warmth of feeling. Draw your chair up to\nthe table, Sir.' The dismal man readily complied; a circle was again formed round the\ntable, and harmony once more prevailed. Some lingering irritability\nappeared to find a resting-place in Mr. Winkle's bosom, occasioned\npossibly by the temporary abstraction of his coat--though it is scarcely\nreasonable to suppose that so slight a circumstance can have excited\neven a passing feeling of anger in a Pickwickian's breast. With this\nexception, their good-humour was completely restored; and the evening\nconcluded with the conviviality with which it had begun. Many authors entertain, not only a foolish, but a really dishonest\nobjection to acknowledge the sources whence they derive much valuable\ninformation. We have no such feeling. We are merely endeavouring to\ndischarge, in an upright manner, the responsible duties of our editorial\nfunctions; and whatever ambition we might have felt under other\ncircumstances to lay claim to the authorship of these adventures, a\nregard for truth forbids us to do more than claim the merit of their\njudicious arrangement and impartial narration. The Pickwick papers are\nour New River Head; and we may be compared to the New River Company. The\nlabours of others have raised for us an immense reservoir of important\nfacts. We merely lay them on, and communicate them, in a clear and\ngentle stream, through the medium of these pages, to a world thirsting\nfor Pickwickian knowledge. Acting in this spirit, and resolutely proceeding on our determination to\navow our obligations to the authorities we have consulted, we frankly\nsay, that to the note-book of Mr. Snodgrass are we indebted for the\nparticulars recorded in this and the succeeding chapter--particulars\nwhich, now that we have disburdened our consciences, we shall proceed to\ndetail without further comment. The whole population of Rochester and the adjoining towns rose from\ntheir beds at an early hour of the following morning, in a state of the\nutmost bustle and excitement. A grand review was to take place upon the\nlines. The manoeuvres of half a dozen regiments were to be inspected by\nthe eagle eye of the commander-in-chief; temporary fortifications had\nbeen erected, the citadel was to be attacked and taken, and a mine was\nto be sprung. Mr. Pickwick was, as our readers may have gathered from the slight\nextract we gave from his description of Chatham, an enthusiastic admirer\nof the army. Nothing could have been more delightful to him--nothing\ncould have harmonised so well with the peculiar feeling of each of his\ncompanions--as this sight. Accordingly they were soon afoot, and walking\nin the direction of the scene of action, towards which crowds of people\nwere already pouring from a variety of quarters. The appearance of everything on the lines denoted that the approaching\nceremony was one of the utmost grandeur and importance. There were\nsentries posted to keep the ground for the troops, and servants on the\nbatteries keeping places for the ladies, and sergeants running to and\nfro, with vellum-covered books under their arms, and Colonel Bulder, in\nfull military uniform, on horseback, galloping first to one place and\nthen to another, and backing his horse among the people, and prancing,\nand curvetting, and shouting in a most alarming manner, and making\nhimself very hoarse in the voice, and very red in the face, without any\nassignable cause or reason whatever.\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> Officers were running backwards and\nforwards, first communicating with Colonel Bulder, and then ordering the\nsergeants, and then running away altogether; and even the very privates\nthemselves looked from behind their glazed stocks with an air of\nmysterious solemnity, which sufficiently bespoke the special nature of\nthe occasion. Mr. Pickwick and his three companions stationed themselves in the front\nof the crowd, and patiently awaited the commencement of the proceedings. The throng was increasing every moment; and the efforts they were\ncompelled to make, to retain the position they had gained, sufficiently\noccupied their attention during the two hours that ensued. At one time\nthere was a sudden pressure from behind, and then Mr. Pickwick was\njerked forward for several yards, with a degree of speed and elasticity\nhighly inconsistent with the general gravity of his demeanour; at\nanother moment there was a request to 'keep back' from the front, and\nthen the butt-end of a musket was either dropped upon Mr. Pickwick's\ntoe, to remind him of the demand, or thrust into his chest, to insure\nits being complied with. Then some facetious gentlemen on the left,\nafter pressing sideways in a body, and squeezing Mr. Snodgrass into the\nvery last extreme of human torture, would request to know 'vere he vos a\nshovin' to'; and when Mr. Winkle had done expressing his excessive\nindignation at witnessing this unprovoked assault, some person behind\nwould knock his hat over his eyes, and beg the favour of his putting his\nhead in his pocket. These, and other practical witticisms, coupled with\nthe unaccountable absence of Mr. Tupman (who had suddenly disappeared,\nand was nowhere to be found), rendered their situation upon the whole\nrather more uncomfortable than pleasing or desirable. At length that low roar of many voices ran through the crowd which\nusually announces the arrival of whatever they have been waiting for. All eyes were turned in the direction of the sally-port. A few moments\nof eager expectation, and colours were seen fluttering gaily in the air,\narms glistened brightly in the sun, column after column poured on to the\nplain. The troops halted and formed; the word of command rang through\nthe line; there was a general clash of muskets as arms were presented;\nand the commander-in-chief, attended by Colonel Bulder and numerous\nofficers, cantered to the front. The military bands struck up\naltogether; the horses stood upon two legs each, cantered backwards, and\nwhisked their tails about in all directions; the dogs barked, the mob\nscreamed, the troops recovered, and nothing was to be seen on either\nside, as far as the eye could reach, but a long perspective of red coats\nand white trousers, fixed and motionless. Mr. Pickwick had been so fully occupied in falling about, and\ndisentangling himself, miraculously, from between the legs of horses,\nthat he had not enjoyed sufficient leisure to observe the scene before\nhim, until it assumed the appearance we have just described. When he was\nat last enabled to stand firmly on his legs, his gratification and\ndelight were unbounded. 'Can anything be finer or more delightful?' he inquired of Mr. Winkle. 'Nothing,' replied that gentleman, who had had a short man standing on\neach of his feet for the quarter of an hour immediately preceding. 'It is indeed a noble and a brilliant sight,' said Mr. Snodgrass, in\nwhose bosom a blaze of poetry was rapidly bursting forth, 'to see the\ngallant defenders of their country drawn up in brilliant array before\nits peaceful citizens; their faces beaming--not with warlike ferocity,\nbut with civilised gentleness; their eyes flashing--not with the rude\nfire of rapine or revenge, but with the soft light of humanity and\nintelligence.' Mr. Pickwick fully entered into the spirit of this eulogium, but he\ncould not exactly re-echo its terms; for the soft light of intelligence\nburned rather feebly in the eyes of the warriors, inasmuch as the\ncommand 'eyes front' had been given, and all the spectator saw before\nhim was several thousand pair of optics, staring straight forward,\nwholly divested of any expression whatever. 'We are in a capital situation now,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking round\nhim. The crowd had gradually dispersed in their immediate vicinity, and\nthey were nearly alone. 'Capital!' echoed both Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle. 'What are they doing now?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, adjusting his\nspectacles. 'I--I--rather think,' said Mr. Winkle, changing colour--'I rather think\nthey're going to fire.' 'Nonsense,' said Mr. Pickwick hastily. 'I--I--really think they are,' urged Mr. Snodgrass, somewhat alarmed. 'Impossible,' replied Mr. Pickwick. He had hardly uttered the word, when\nthe whole half-dozen regiments levelled their muskets as if they had but\none common object, and that object the Pickwickians, and burst forth\nwith the most awful and tremendous discharge that ever shook the earth\nto its centres, or an elderly gentleman off his. It was in this trying situation, exposed to a galling fire of blank\ncartridges, and harassed by the operations of the military, a fresh body\nof whom had begun to fall in on the opposite side, that Mr. Pickwick\ndisplayed that perfect coolness and self-possession, which are the\nindispensable accompaniments of a great mind. He seized Mr. Winkle by\nthe arm, and placing himself between that gentleman and Mr. Snodgrass,\nearnestly besought them to remember that beyond the possibility of being\nrendered deaf by the noise, there was no immediate danger to be\napprehended from the firing. 'But--but--suppose some of the men should happen to have ball cartridges\nby mistake,' remonstrated Mr. Winkle, pallid at the supposition he was\nhimself conjuring up. 'I heard something whistle through the air now--so\nsharp; close to my ear.' 'We had better throw ourselves on our faces, hadn't we?' said Mr.\nSnodgrass. 'No, no--it's over now,' said Mr. Pickwick. His lip might quiver, and\nhis cheek might blanch, but no expression of fear or concern escaped the\nlips of that immortal man. Mr. Pickwick was right--the firing ceased; but he had scarcely time to\ncongratulate himself on the accuracy of his opinion, when a quick\nmovement was visible in the line; the hoarse shout of the word of\ncommand ran along it, and before either of the party could form a guess\nat the meaning of this new manoeuvre, the whole of the half-dozen\nregiments, with fixed bayonets, charged at double-quick time down upon\nthe very spot on which Mr. Pickwick and his friends were stationed. Man is but mortal; and there is a point beyond which human courage\ncannot extend. Mr. Pickwick gazed through his spectacles for an instant\non the advancing mass, and then fairly turned his back and--we will not\nsay fled; firstly, because it is an ignoble term, and, secondly, because\nMr. Pickwick's figure was by no means adapted for that mode of retreat--\nhe trotted away, at as quick a rate as his legs would convey him; so\nquickly, indeed, that he did not perceive the awkwardness of his\nsituation, to the full extent, until too late. The opposite troops, whose falling-in had perplexed Mr. Pickwick a few\nseconds before, were drawn up to repel the mimic attack of the sham\nbesiegers of the citadel; and the consequence was that Mr. Pickwick and\nhis two companions found themselves suddenly inclosed between two lines\nof great length, the one advancing at a rapid pace, and the other firmly\nwaiting the collision in hostile array. 'Hoi!' shouted the officers of the advancing line. 'Get out of the way!' cried the officers of the stationary one. 'Where are we to go to?' screamed the agitated Pickwickians. 'Hoi--hoi--hoi!' was the only reply. There was a moment of intense\nbewilderment, a heavy tramp of footsteps, a violent concussion, a\nsmothered laugh; the half-dozen regiments were half a thousand yards\noff, and the soles of Mr. Pickwick's boots were elevated in air. Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle had each performed a compulsory somerset\nwith remarkable agility, when the first object that met the eyes of the\nlatter as he sat on the ground, staunching with a yellow silk\nhandkerchief the stream of life which issued from his nose, was his\nvenerated leader at some distance off, running after his own hat, which\nwas gambolling playfully away in perspective. There are very few moments in a man's existence when he experiences so\nmuch ludicrous distress, or meets with so little charitable\ncommiseration, as when he is in pursuit of his own hat.\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 2024-01-24 The user is reading a book]\n<User> A vast deal of\ncoolness, and a peculiar degree of judgment, are requisite in catching a\nhat. A man must not be precipitate, or he runs over it; he must not rush\ninto the opposite extreme, or he loses it altogether. The best way is to\nkeep gently up with the object of pursuit, to be wary and cautious, to\nwatch your opportunity well, get gradually before it, then make a rapid\ndive, seize it by the crown, and stick it firmly on your head; smiling\npleasantly all the time, as if you thought it as good a joke as anybody\nelse. There was a fine gentle wind, and Mr. Pickwick's hat rolled sportively\nbefore it. The wind puffed, and Mr. Pickwick puffed, and the hat rolled\nover and over as merrily as a lively porpoise in a strong tide: and on\nit might have rolled, far beyond Mr. Pickwick's reach, had not its\ncourse been providentially stopped, just as that gentleman was on the\npoint of resigning it to its fate. Mr. Pickwick, we say, was completely exhausted, and about to give up the\nchase, when the hat was blown with some violence against the wheel of a\ncarriage, which was drawn up in a line with half a dozen other vehicles\non the spot to which his steps had been directed. Mr. Pickwick,\nperceiving his advantage, darted briskly forward, secured his property,\nplanted it on his head, and paused to take breath. He had not been\nstationary half a minute, when he heard his own name eagerly pronounced\nby a voice, which he at once recognised as Mr. Tupman's, and, looking\nupwards, he beheld a sight which filled him with surprise and pleasure. In an open barouche, the horses of which had been taken out, the better\nto accommodate it to the crowded place, stood a stout old gentleman, in\na blue coat and bright buttons, corduroy breeches and top-boots, two\nyoung ladies in scarfs and feathers, a young gentleman apparently\nenamoured of one of the young ladies in scarfs and feathers, a lady of\ndoubtful age, probably the aunt of the aforesaid, and Mr. Tupman, as\neasy and unconcerned as if he had belonged to the family from the first\nmoments of his infancy. Fastened up behind the barouche was a hamper of\nspacious dimensions--one of those hampers which always awakens in a\ncontemplative mind associations connected with cold fowls, tongues, and\nbottles of wine--and on the box sat a fat and red-faced boy, in a state\nof somnolency, whom no speculative observer could have regarded for an\ninstant without setting down as the official dispenser of the contents\nof the before-mentioned hamper, when the proper time for their\nconsumption should arrive. Mr. Pickwick had bestowed a hasty glance on these interesting objects,\nwhen he was again greeted by his faithful disciple. 'Pickwick--Pickwick,' said Mr. Tupman; 'come up here. Make haste.' 'Come along, Sir. Pray, come up,' said the stout gentleman. 'Joe!--damn\nthat boy, he's gone to sleep again.--Joe, let down the steps.' The fat\nboy rolled slowly off the box, let down the steps, and held the carriage\ndoor invitingly open. Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle came up at the\nmoment. 'Room for you all, gentlemen,' said the stout man. 'Two inside, and one\nout. Joe, make room for one of these gentlemen on the box. Now, Sir,\ncome along;' and the stout gentleman extended his arm, and pulled first\nMr. Pickwick, and then Mr. Snodgrass, into the barouche by main force. Mr. Winkle mounted to the box, the fat boy waddled to the same perch,\nand fell fast asleep instantly. 'Well, gentlemen,' said the stout man, 'very glad to see you. Know you\nvery well, gentlemen, though you mayn't remember me. I spent some\nev'nin's at your club last winter--picked up my friend Mr. Tupman here\nthis morning, and very glad I was to see him. Well, Sir, and how are\nyou? You do look uncommon well, to be sure.' Mr. Pickwick acknowledged the compliment, and cordially shook hands with\nthe stout gentleman in the top-boots. 'Well, and how are you, sir?' said the stout gentleman, addressing Mr.\nSnodgrass with paternal anxiety. 'Charming, eh? Well, that's right--\nthat's right. And how are you, sir (to Mr. Winkle)? Well, I am glad to\nhear you say you are well; very glad I am, to be sure. My daughters,\ngentlemen--my gals these are; and that's my sister, Miss Rachael Wardle. She's a Miss, she is; and yet she ain't a Miss--eh, Sir, eh?' And the\nstout gentleman playfully inserted his elbow between the ribs of Mr.\nPickwick, and laughed very heartily. 'Lor, brother!' said Miss Wardle, with a deprecating smile. 'True, true,' said the stout gentleman; 'no one can deny it. Gentlemen,\nI beg your pardon; this is my friend Mr. Trundle. And now you all know\neach other, let's be comfortable and happy, and see what's going\nforward; that's what I say.' So the stout gentleman put on his\nspectacles, and Mr. Pickwick pulled out his glass, and everybody stood\nup in the carriage, and looked over somebody else's shoulder at the\nevolutions of the military. Astounding evolutions they were, one rank firing over the heads of\nanother rank, and then running away; and then the other rank firing over\nthe heads of another rank, and running away in their turn; and then\nforming squares, with officers in the centre; and then descending the\ntrench on one side with scaling-ladders, and ascending it on the other\nagain by the same means; and knocking down barricades of baskets, and\nbehaving in the most gallant manner possible. Then there was such a\nramming down of the contents of enormous guns on the battery, with\ninstruments like magnified mops; such a preparation before they were let\noff, and such an awful noise when they did go, that the air resounded\nwith the screams of ladies. The young Misses Wardle were so frightened,\nthat Mr. Trundle was actually obliged to hold one of them up in the\ncarriage, while Mr. Snodgrass supported the other; and Mr. Wardle's\nsister suffered under such a dreadful state of nervous alarm, that Mr.\nTupman found it indispensably necessary to put his arm round her waist,\nto keep her up at all. Everybody was excited, except the fat boy, and he\nslept as soundly as if the roaring of cannon were his ordinary lullaby. 'Joe, Joe!' said the stout gentleman, when the citadel was taken, and\nthe besiegers and besieged sat down to dinner. 'Damn that boy, he's gone\nto sleep again. Be good enough to pinch him, sir--in the leg, if you\nplease; nothing else wakes him--thank you. Undo the hamper, Joe.' The fat boy, who had been effectually roused by the compression of a\nportion of his leg between the finger and thumb of Mr. Winkle, rolled\noff the box once again, and proceeded to unpack the hamper with more\nexpedition than could have been expected from his previous inactivity. 'Now we must sit close,' said the stout gentleman. After a great many\njokes about squeezing the ladies' sleeves, and a vast quantity of\nblushing at sundry jocose proposals, that the ladies should sit in the\ngentlemen's laps, the whole party were stowed down in the barouche; and\nthe stout gentleman proceeded to hand the things from the fat boy (who\nhad mounted up behind for the purpose) into the carriage. 'Now, Joe, knives and forks.' The knives and forks were handed in, and\nthe ladies and gentlemen inside, and Mr. Winkle on the box, were each\nfurnished with those useful instruments. 'Plates, Joe, plates.' A similar process employed in the distribution of\nthe crockery. 'Now, Joe, the fowls. Damn that boy; he's gone to sleep again. Joe! Joe!' (Sundry taps on the head with a stick, and the fat boy, with some\ndifficulty, roused from his lethargy.) 'Come, hand in the eatables.' There was something in the sound of the last word which roused the\nunctuous boy. He jumped up, and the leaden eyes which twinkled behind\nhis mountainous cheeks leered horribly upon the food as he unpacked it\nfrom the basket. 'Now make haste,' said Mr. Wardle; for the fat boy was hanging fondly\nover a capon, which he seemed wholly unable to part with.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-24, 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> The boy sighed\ndeeply, and, bestowing an ardent gaze upon its plumpness, unwillingly\nconsigned it to his master. 'That's right--look sharp. Now the tongue--now the pigeon pie. Take care\nof that veal and ham--mind the lobsters--take the salad out of the\ncloth--give me the dressing.' Such were the hurried orders which issued\nfrom the lips of Mr. Wardle, as he handed in the different articles\ndescribed, and placed dishes in everybody's hands, and on everybody's\nknees, in endless number. 'Now ain't this capital?' inquired that jolly personage, when the work\nof destruction had commenced. 'Capital!' said Mr. Winkle, who was carving a fowl on the box. 'Glass of wine?' 'With the greatest pleasure.' 'You'd better have a bottle to yourself up there, hadn't you?' 'You're very good.' 'Joe!' 'Yes, Sir.' (He wasn't asleep this time, having just succeeded in\nabstracting a veal patty.) 'Bottle of wine to the gentleman on the box. Glad to see you, Sir.' 'Thank'ee.' Mr. Winkle emptied his glass, and placed the bottle on the\ncoach-box, by his side. 'Will you permit me to have the pleasure, Sir?' said Mr. Trundle to Mr.\nWinkle. 'With great pleasure,' replied Mr. Winkle to Mr. Trundle, and then the\ntwo gentlemen took wine, after which they took a glass of wine round,\nladies and all. 'How dear Emily is flirting with the strange gentleman,' whispered the\nspinster aunt, with true spinster-aunt-like envy, to her brother, Mr.\nWardle. 'Oh! I don't know,' said the jolly old gentleman; 'all very natural, I\ndare say--nothing unusual. Mr. Pickwick, some wine, Sir?' Mr. Pickwick,\nwho had been deeply investigating the interior of the pigeon-pie,\nreadily assented. 'Emily, my dear,' said the spinster aunt, with a patronising air, 'don't\ntalk so loud, love.' 'Lor, aunt!' 'Aunt and the little old gentleman want to have it all to themselves, I\nthink,' whispered Miss Isabella Wardle to her sister Emily. The young\nladies laughed very heartily, and the old one tried to look amiable, but\ncouldn't manage it. 'Young girls have such spirits,' said Miss Wardle to Mr. Tupman, with an\nair of gentle commiseration, as if animal spirits were contraband, and\ntheir possession without a permit a high crime and misdemeanour. 'Oh, they have,' replied Mr. Tupman, not exactly making the sort of\nreply that was expected from him. 'It's quite delightful.' 'Hem!' said Miss Wardle, rather dubiously. 'Will you permit me?' said Mr. Tupman, in his blandest manner, touching\nthe enchanting Rachael's wrist with one hand, and gently elevating the\nbottle with the other. 'Will you permit me?' 'Oh, sir!' Mr. Tupman looked most impressive; and Rachael expressed her\nfear that more guns were going off, in which case, of course, she should\nhave required support again. 'Do you think my dear nieces pretty?' whispered their affectionate aunt\nto Mr. Tupman. 'I should, if their aunt wasn't here,' replied the ready Pickwickian,\nwith a passionate glance. 'Oh, you naughty man--but really, if their complexions were a little\nbetter, don't you think they would be nice-looking girls--by\ncandlelight?' 'Yes; I think they would,' said Mr. Tupman, with an air of indifference. 'Oh, you quiz--I know what you were going to say.' 'What?' inquired Mr. Tupman, who had not precisely made up his mind to\nsay anything at all. 'You were going to say that Isabel stoops--I know you were--you men are\nsuch observers. Well, so she does; it can't be denied; and, certainly,\nif there is one thing more than another that makes a girl look ugly it\nis stooping. I often tell her that when she gets a little older she'll\nbe quite frightful. Well, you are a quiz!' Mr. Tupman had no objection to earning the reputation at so cheap a\nrate: so he looked very knowing, and smiled mysteriously. 'What a sarcastic smile,' said the admiring Rachael; 'I declare I'm\nquite afraid of you.' 'Afraid of me!' 'Oh, you can't disguise anything from me--I know what that smile means\nvery well.' 'What?' said Mr. Tupman, who had not the slightest notion himself. 'You mean,' said the amiable aunt, sinking her voice still lower--'you\nmean, that you don't think Isabella's stooping is as bad as Emily's\nboldness. Well, she is bold! You cannot think how wretched it makes me\nsometimes--I'm sure I cry about it for hours together--my dear brother\nis _so_ good, and so unsuspicious, that he never sees it; if he did, I'm\nquite certain it would break his heart. I wish I could think it was only\nmanner--I hope it may be--' (Here the affectionate relative heaved a\ndeep sigh, and shook her head despondingly). 'I'm sure aunt's talking about us,' whispered Miss Emily Wardle to her\nsister--'I'm quite certain of it--she looks so malicious.' 'Is she?' replied Isabella.--'Hem! aunt, dear!' 'Yes, my dear love!' 'I'm _so_ afraid you'll catch cold, aunt--have a silk handkerchief to\ntie round your dear old head--you really should take care of yourself--\nconsider your age!' However well deserved this piece of retaliation might have been, it was\nas vindictive a one as could well have been resorted to. There is no\nguessing in what form of reply the aunt's indignation would have vented\nitself, had not Mr. Wardle unconsciously changed the subject, by calling\nemphatically for Joe. 'Damn that boy,' said the old gentleman, 'he's gone to sleep again.' 'Very extraordinary boy, that,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'does he always sleep\nin this way?' 'Sleep!' said the old gentleman, 'he's always asleep. Goes on errands\nfast asleep, and snores as he waits at table.' 'How very odd!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Ah! odd indeed,' returned the old gentleman; 'I'm proud of that boy--\nwouldn't part with him on any account--he's a natural curiosity! Here,\nJoe--Joe--take these things away, and open another bottle--d'ye hear?' The fat boy rose, opened his eyes, swallowed the huge piece of pie he\nhad been in the act of masticating when he last fell asleep, and slowly\nobeyed his master's orders--gloating languidly over the remains of the\nfeast, as he removed the plates, and deposited them in the hamper. The\nfresh bottle was produced, and speedily emptied: the hamper was made\nfast in its old place--the fat boy once more mounted the box--the\nspectacles and pocket-glass were again adjusted--and the evolutions of\nthe military recommenced. There was a great fizzing and banging of guns,\nand starting of ladies--and then a mine was sprung, to the gratification\nof everybody--and when the mine had gone off, the military and the\ncompany followed its example, and went off too. 'Now, mind,' said the old gentleman, as he shook hands with Mr. Pickwick\nat the conclusion of a conversation which had been carried on at\nintervals, during the conclusion of the proceedings, 'we shall see you\nall to-morrow.' 'Most certainly,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'You have got the address?' 'Manor Farm, Dingley Dell,' said Mr. Pickwick, consulting his pocket-\nbook. 'That's it,' said the old gentleman. 'I don't let you off, mind, under a\nweek; and undertake that you shall see everything worth seeing. If\nyou've come down for a country life, come to me, and I'll give you\nplenty of it. Joe--damn that boy, he's gone to sleep again--Joe, help\nTom put in the horses.' The horses were put in--the driver mounted--the fat boy clambered up by\nhis side--farewells were exchanged--and the carriage rattled off. As the\nPickwickians turned round to take a last glimpse of it, the setting sun\ncast a rich glow on the faces of their entertainers, and fell upon the\nform of the fat boy. His head was sunk upon his bosom; and he slumbered\nagain.\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."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-25", "answer": "Mr. Pickwick, Tracy Tupman, Winkle, Snodgrass, cab-driver, stranger, Dr. Slammer, Dismal Jemmy, Mr. Wardle, Emily, Rachael, Pickwickians, Rochester, fashionable inn, ball, duel, army maneuvers, Chatham, militia, mock combat, Dingley Dell, horse-drawn cab, notes, cabbie's fabrications, impromptu anecdotes, wealthy widow, dress coat, reputation, second, actor's tale, alcoholic pantomime, picnic, jealousy, sunset, invitation, farm, friendship, mistaken identity, challenge, revenge, restraint, brandy, equanimity, attraction, enamored, insults, crowd"}]