STRONGLY ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE POSITION,THAT THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE IS NOT ARAILWAYhe quiet seclusion of Dingley Dell, the presence of so manyof the gentler sex, and the solicitude and anxiety theyevinced in his behalf, were all favourable to the growthand development of those softer feelings which nature hadimplanted deep in the bosom of Mr. Tracy Tupman, and whichnow appeared destined to centre in one lovely object.

The youngladies were pretty, their manners winning, their dispositionsunexceptionable; but there was a dignity in the air, a touch-me-not-ishness in the walk, a majesty in the eye, of the spinster aunt,to which, at their time of life, they could lay no claim, whichdistinguished her from any female on whom Mr. Tupman had evergazed. That there was something kindred in their nature,something congenial in their souls, something mysteriouslysympathetic in their bosoms, was evident. Her name was the firstthat rose to Mr. Tupman's lips as he lay wounded on the grass;and her hysteric laughter was the first sound that fell upon his earwhen he was supported to the house. But had her agitation arisenfrom an amiable and feminine sensibility which would have beenequally irrepressible in any case; or had it been called forth by amore ardent and passionate feeling, which he, of all men living,could alone awaken? These were the doubts which racked hisbrain as he lay extended on the sofa; these were the doubts whichhe determined should be at once and for ever resolved.

　　It was evening. Isabella and Emily had strolled out with Mr.

　　Trundle; the deaf old lady had fallen asleep in her chair; thesnoring of the fat boy, penetrated in a low and monotonous soundfrom the distant kitchen; the buxom servants were lounging at theside door, enjoying the pleasantness of the hour, and the delightsof a flirtation, on first principles, with certain unwieldy animalsattached to the farm; and there sat the interesting pair, uncaredfor by all, caring for none, and dreaming only of themselves; therethey sat, in short, like a pair of carefully-folded kid gloves―boundup in each other.

　　'I have forgotten my flowers,' said the spinster aunt.

　　'Water them now,' said Mr. Tupman, in accents of persuasion.

　　'You will take cold in the evening air,' urged the spinster auntaffectionately.

　　'No, no,' said Mr. Tupman, rising; 'it will do me good. Let meaccompany you.'

　　The lady paused to adjust the sling in which the left arm of theyouth was placed, and taking his right arm led him to the garden.

　　There was a bower at the farther end, with honeysuckle,jessamine, and creeping plants―one of those sweet retreats whichhumane men erect for the accommodation of spiders.

　　The spinster aunt took up a large watering-pot which lay in onecorner, and was about to leave the arbour. Mr. Tupman detainedher, and drew her to a seat beside him.

　　'Miss Wardle!' said he. The spinster aunt trembled, till somepebbles which had accidentally found their way into the largewatering-pot shook like an infant's rattle.

　　'Miss Wardle,' said Mr. Tupman, 'you are an angel.'

　　'Mr. Tupman!' exclaimed Rachael, blushing as red as thewatering-pot itself.

　　'Nay,' said the eloquent Pickwickian―'I know it but too well.'

　　'All women are angels, they say,' murmured the lady playfully.

　　'Then what can you be; or to what, without presumption, can Icompare you?' replied Mr. Tupman. 'Where was the woman everseen who resembled you? Where else could I hope to find so rare acombination of excellence and beauty? Where else could I seekto―Oh!' Here Mr. Tupman paused, and pressed the hand whichclasped the handle of the happy watering-pot.

　　The lady turned aside her head. 'Men are such deceivers,' shesoftly whispered.

　　'They are, they are,' ejaculated Mr. Tupman; 'but not all men.

　　There lives at least one being who can never change―one beingwho would be content to devote his whole existence to yourhappiness―who lives but in your eyes―who breathes but in yoursmiles―who bears the heavy burden of life itself only for you.'

　　'Could such an individual be found―' said the lady.

　　'But he can be found,' said the ardent Mr. Tupman, interposing.

　　'He is found. He is here, Miss Wardle.' And ere the lady was awareof his intention, Mr. Tupman had sunk upon his knees at her feet.

　　'Mr. Tupman, rise,' said Rachael.

　　'Never!' was the valorous reply. 'Oh, Rachael!' He seized herpassive hand, and the watering-pot fell to the ground as hepressed it to his lips.―'Oh, Rachael! say you love me.'

　　'Mr. Tupman,' said the spinster aunt, with averted head, 'I canhardly speak the words; but―but―you are not wholly indifferentto me.'

　　Mr. Tupman no sooner heard this avowal, than he proceeded todo what his enthusiastic emotions prompted, and what, for aughtwe know (for we are but little acquainted with such matters),people so circumstanced always do. He jumped up, and, throwinghis arm round the neck of the spinster aunt, imprinted upon herlips numerous kisses, which after a due show of struggling andresistance, she received so passively, that there is no telling howmany more Mr. Tupman might have bestowed, if the lady had notgiven a very unaffected start, and exclaimed in an affrightedtone―'Mr. Tupman, we are observed!―we are discovered!'

　　Mr. Tupman looked round. There was the fat boy, perfectlymotionless, with his large circular eyes staring into the arbour, butwithout the slightest expression on his face that the most expertphysiognomist could have referred to astonishment, curiosity, orany other known passion that agitates the human breast. Mr.

　　Tupman gazed on the fat boy, and the fat boy stared at him; andthe longer Mr. Tupman observed the utter vacancy of the fat boy'scountenance, the more convinced he became that he either did notknow, or did not understand, anything that had been goingforward. Under this impression, he said with great firmness―'What do you want here, sir?'

　　'Supper's ready, sir,' was the prompt reply.

　　'Have you just come here, sir?' inquired Mr. Tupman, with apiercing look.

　　'Just,' replied the fat boy.

　　Mr. Tupman looked at him very hard again; but there was not awink in his eye, or a curve in his face.

　　Mr. Tupman took the arm of the spinster aunt, and walkedtowards the house; the fat boy followed behind.

　　'He knows nothing of what has happened,' he whispered.

　　'Nothing,' said the spinster aunt.

　　There was a sound behind them, as of an imperfectlysuppressed chuckle. Mr. Tupman turned sharply round. No; itcould not have been the fat boy; there was not a gleam of mirth, oranything but feeding in his whole visage.

　　'He must have been fast asleep,' whispered Mr. Tupman.

　　'I have not the least doubt of it,' replied the spinster aunt.

　　They both laughed heartily.

　　Mr, Tupman was wrong. The fat boy, for once, had not beenfast asleep. He was awake―wide awake―to what had been goingforward.

　　The supper passed off without any attempt at a generalconversation. The old lady had gone to bed; Isabella Wardledevoted herself exclusively to Mr. Trundle; the spinster'sattentions were reserved for Mr. Tupman; and Emily's thoughtsappeared to be engrossed by some distant object―possibly theywere with the absent Snodgrass.

　　Eleven―twelve―one o'clock had struck, and the gentlemenhad not arrived. Consternation sat on every face. Could they havebeen waylaid and robbed? Should they send men and lanterns inevery direction by which they could be supposed likely to havetravelled home? or should they―Hark! there they were. Whatcould have made them so late? A strange voice, too! To whomcould it belong? They rushed into the kitchen, whither the truantshad repaired, and at once obtained rather more than a glimmeringof the real state of the case.

　　Mr. Pickwick, with his hands in his pockets and his hat cockedcompletely over his left eye, was leaning against the dresser,shaking his head from side to side, and producing a constantsuccession of the blandest and most benevolent smiles withoutbeing moved thereunto by any discernible cause or pretencewhatsoever; old Mr. Wardle, with a highly-inflamed countenance,was grasping the hand of a strange gentleman mutteringprotestations of eternal friendship; Mr. Winkle, supporting himselfby the eight-day clock, was feebly invoking destruction upon thehead of any member of the family who should suggest thepropriety of his retiring for the night; and Mr. Snodgrass had sunkinto a chair, with an expression of the most abject and hopelessmisery that the human mind can imagine, portrayed in everylineament of his expressive face.

　　'Is anything the matter?' inquired the three ladies.

　　'Nothing the matter,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'We―we're―allright.―I say, Wardle, we're all right, ain't we?'

　　'I should think so,' replied the jolly host.―'My dears, here's myfriend Mr. Jingle―Mr. Pickwick's friend, Mr. Jingle, come 'pon―little visit.'

　　'Is anything the matter with Mr. Snodgrass, sir?' inquiredEmily, with great anxiety.

　　'Nothing the matter, ma'am,' replied the stranger. 'Cricketdinner―glorious party―capital songs―old port―claret―good―very good―wine, ma'am―wine.'

　　'It wasn't the wine,' murmured Mr. Snodgrass, in a brokenvoice. 'It was the salmon.' (Somehow or other, it never is the wine,in these cases.)'Hadn't they better go to bed, ma'am?' inquired Emma. 'Two ofthe boys will carry the gentlemen upstairs.'

　　'I won't go to bed,' said Mr. Winkle firmly.

　　'No living boy shall carry me,' said Mr. Pickwick stoutly; and hewent on smiling as before. 'Hurrah!' gasped Mr. Winkle faintly.

　　'Hurrah!' echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat and dashing iton the floor, and insanely casting his spectacles into the middle ofthe kitchen. At this humorous feat he laughed outright.

　　'Let's―have―'nother―bottle,' cried Mr. Winkle, commencingin a very loud key, and ending in a very faint one. His headdropped upon his breast; and, muttering his invincibledetermination not to go to his bed, and a sanguinary regret that hehad not 'done for old Tupman' in the morning, he fell fast asleep;in which condition he was borne to his apartment by two younggiants under the personal superintendence of the fat boy, to whoseprotecting care Mr. Snodgrass shortly afterwards confided his ownperson, Mr. Pickwick accepted the proffered arm of Mr. Tupmanand quietly disappeared, smiling more than ever; and Mr. Wardle,after taking as affectionate a leave of the whole family as if he wereordered for immediate execution, consigned to Mr. Trundle thehonour of conveying him upstairs, and retired, with a very futileattempt to look impressively solemn and dignified. 'What ashocking scene!' said the spinster aunt.

　　'Dis-gusting!' ejaculated both the young ladies.

　　'Dreadful―dreadful!' said Jingle, looking very grave: he wasabout a bottle and a half ahead of any of his companions. 'Horridspectacle―very!'

　　'What a nice man!' whispered the spinster aunt to Mr. Tupman.

　　'Good-looking, too!' whispered Emily Wardle.

　　'Oh, decidedly,' observed the spinster aunt.

　　Mr. Tupman thought of the widow at Rochester, and his mindwas troubled. The succeeding half-hour's conversation was not ofa nature to calm his perturbed spirit. The new visitor was verytalkative, and the number of his anecdotes was only to beexceeded by the extent of his politeness. Mr. Tupman felt that asJingle's popularity increased, he (Tupman) retired further into theshade. His laughter was forced―his merriment feigned; and whenat last he laid his aching temples between the sheets, he thought,with horrid delight, on the satisfaction it would afford him to haveJingle's head at that moment between the feather bed and themattress.

　　The indefatigable stranger rose betimes next morning, and,although his companions remained in bed overpowered with thedissipation of the previous night, exerted himself most successfullyto promote the hilarity of the breakfast-table. So successful werehis efforts, that even the deaf old lady insisted on having one ortwo of his best jokes retailed through the trumpet; and even shecondescended to observe to the spinster aunt, that 'He' (meaningJingle) 'was an impudent young fellow:' a sentiment in which allher relations then and there present thoroughly coincided.

　　It was the old lady's habit on the fine summer mornings torepair to the arbour in which Mr. Tupman had already signalisedhimself, in form and manner following: first, the fat boy fetchedfrom a peg behind the old lady's bedroom door, a close black satinbonnet, a warm cotton shawl, and a thick stick with a capacioushandle; and the old lady, having put on the bonnet and shawl ather leisure, would lean one hand on the stick and the other on thefat boy's shoulder, and walk leisurely to the arbour, where the fatboy would leave her to enjoy the fresh air for the space of half anhour; at the expiration of which time he would return andreconduct her to the house.

　　The old lady was very precise and very particular; and as thisceremony had been observed for three successive summerswithout the slightest deviation from the accustomed form, she wasnot a little surprised on this particular morning to see the fat boy,instead of leaving the arbour, walk a few paces out of it, lookcarefully round him in every direction, and return towards herwith great stealth and an air of the most profound mystery.

　　The old lady was timorous―most old ladies are―and her firstimpression was that the bloated lad was about to do her somegrievous bodily harm with the view of possessing himself of herloose coin. She would have cried for assistance, but age andinfirmity had long ago deprived her of the power of screaming;she, therefore, watched his motions with feelings of intense horrorwhich were in no degree diminished by his coming close up to her,and shouting in her ear in an agitated, and as it seemed to her, athreatening tone―'Missus!'

　　Now it so happened that Mr. Jingle was walking in the gardenclose to the arbour at that moment. He too heard the shouts of'Missus,' and stopped to hear more. There were three reasons forhis doing so. In the first place, he was idle and curious; secondly,he was by no means scrupulous; thirdly, and lastly, he wasconcealed from view by some flowering shrubs. So there he stood,and there he listened.

　　'Missus!' shouted the fat boy.

　　'Well, Joe,' said the trembling old lady. 'I'm sure I have been agood mistress to you, Joe. You have invariably been treated verykindly. You have never had too much to do; and you have alwayshad enough to eat.'

　　This last was an appeal to the fat boy's most sensitive feelings.

　　He seemed touched, as he replied emphatically―'I knows I has.'

　　'Then what can you want to do now?' said the old lady, gainingcourage.

　　'I wants to make your flesh creep,' replied the boy.

　　This sounded like a very bloodthirsty mode of showing one'sgratitude; and as the old lady did not precisely understand theprocess by which such a result was to be attained, all her formerhorrors returned.

　　'What do you think I see in this very arbour last night?'

　　inquired the boy.

　　'Bless us! What?' exclaimed the old lady, alarmed at the solemnmanner of the corpulent youth.

　　'The strange gentleman―him as had his arm hurt―a-kissin'

　　and huggin'―'

　　'Who, Joe? None of the servants, I hope.'

　　'Worser than that,' roared the fat boy, in the old lady's ear.

　　'Not one of my grandda'aters?'

　　'Worser than that.'

　　'Worse than that, Joe!' said the old lady, who had thought thisthe extreme limit of human atrocity. 'Who was it, Joe? I insistupon knowing.'

　　The fat boy looked cautiously round, and having concluded hissurvey, shouted in the old lady's ear―'Miss Rachael.'

　　'What!' said the old lady, in a shrill tone. 'Speak louder.'

　　'Miss Rachael,' roared the fat boy.

　　'My da'ater!'

　　The train of nods which the fat boy gave by way of assent,communicated a blanc-mange like motion to his fat cheeks.

　　'And she suffered him!' exclaimed the old lady. A grin stole overthe fat boy's features as he said―'I see her a-kissin' of him agin.'

　　If Mr. Jingle, from his place of concealment, could have beheldthe expression which the old lady's face assumed at thiscommunication, the probability is that a sudden burst of laughterwould have betrayed his close vicinity to the summer-house. Helistened attentively. Fragments of angry sentences such as,'Without my permission!'―'At her time of life'―'Miserable old'ooman like me'―'Might have waited till I was dead,' and so forth,reached his ears; and then he heard the heels of the fat boy's bootscrunching the gravel, as he retired and left the old lady alone.

　　It was a remarkable coincidence perhaps, but it wasnevertheless a fact, that Mr. Jingle within five minutes of hisarrival at Manor Farm on the preceding night, had inwardlyresolved to lay siege to the heart of the spinster aunt, withoutdelay. He had observation enough to see, that his off-hand mannerwas by no means disagreeable to the fair object of his attack; andhe had more than a strong suspicion that she possessed that mostdesirable of all requisites, a small independence. The imperativenecessity of ousting his rival by some means or other, flashedquickly upon him, and he immediately resolved to adopt certainproceedings tending to that end and object, without a moment'sdelay. Fielding tells us that man is fire, and woman tow, and thePrince of Darkness sets a light to 'em. Mr. Jingle knew that youngmen, to spinster aunts, are as lighted gas to gunpowder, and hedetermined to essay the effect of an explosion without loss of time.

　　Full of reflections upon this important decision, he crept fromhis place of concealment, and, under cover of the shrubs beforementioned, approached the house. Fortune seemed determined tofavour his design. Mr. Tupman and the rest of the gentlemen leftthe garden by the side gate just as he obtained a view of it; and theyoung ladies, he knew, had walked out alone, soon after breakfast.

　　The coast was clear.

　　The breakfast-parlour door was partially open. He peeped in.

　　The spinster aunt was knitting. He coughed; she looked up andsmiled. Hesitation formed no part of Mr. Alfred Jingle's character.

　　He laid his finger on his lips mysteriously, walked in, and closedthe door.

　　'Miss Wardle,' said Mr. Jingle, with affected earnestness,'forgive intrusion―short acquaintance―no time for ceremony―alldiscovered.'

　　'Sir!' said the spinster aunt, rather astonished by theunexpected apparition and somewhat doubtful of Mr. Jingle'ssanity.

　　'Hush!' said Mr. Jingle, in a stage-whisper―'Large boy―dumpling face―round eyes―rascal!' Here he shook his headexpressively, and the spinster aunt trembled with agitation.

　　'I presume you allude to Joseph, sir?' said the lady, making aneffort to appear composed.

　　'Yes, ma'am―damn that Joe!―treacherous dog, Joe―told theold lady―old lady furious―wild―raving―arbour―Tupman―kissing and hugging―all that sort of thing―eh, ma'am―eh?'

　　'Mr. Jingle,' said the spinster aunt, 'if you come here, sir, toinsult me―'

　　'Not at all―by no means,' replied the unabashed Mr. Jingle―'overheard the tale―came to warn you of your danger―tender myservices―prevent the hubbub. Never mind―think it an insult―leave the room'―and he turned, as if to carry the threat intoexecution.

　　'What shall I do!' said the poor spinster, bursting into tears. 'Mybrother will be furious.'

　　'Of course he will,' said Mr. Jingle pausing―'outrageous.'

　　'Oh, Mr. Jingle, what can I say!' exclaimed the spinster aunt, inanother flood of despair.

　　'Say he dreamt it,' replied Mr. Jingle coolly.

　　A ray of comfort darted across the mind of the spinster aunt atthis suggestion. Mr. Jingle perceived it, and followed up hisadvantage.

　　'Pooh, pooh!―nothing more easy―blackguard boy―lovelywoman―fat boy horsewhipped―you believed―end of thematter―all comfortable.'

　　Whether the probability of escaping from the consequences ofthis ill-timed discovery was delightful to the spinster's feelings, orwhether the hearing herself described as a 'lovely woman'

　　softened the asperity of her grief, we know not. She blushedslightly, and cast a grateful look on Mr. Jingle.

　　That insinuating gentleman sighed deeply, fixed his eyes on thespinster aunt's face for a couple of minutes, startedmelodramatically, and suddenly withdrew them.

　　'You seem unhappy, Mr. Jingle,' said the lady, in a plaintivevoice. 'May I show my gratitude for your kind interference, byinquiring into the cause, with a view, if possible, to its removal?'

　　'Ha!' exclaimed Mr. Jingle, with another start―'removal!

　　remove my unhappiness, and your love bestowed upon a man whois insensible to the blessing―who even now contemplates a designupon the affections of the niece of the creature who―but no; he ismy friend; I will not expose his vices. Miss Wardle―farewell!' Atthe conclusion of this address, the most consecutive he was everknown to utter, Mr. Jingle applied to his eyes the remnant of ahandkerchief before noticed, and turned towards the door.

　　'Stay, Mr. Jingle!' said the spinster aunt emphatically. 'Youhave made an allusion to Mr. Tupman―explain it.'

　　'Never!' exclaimed Jingle, with a professional (i.e., theatrical)air. 'Never!' and, by way of showing that he had no desire to bequestioned further, he drew a chair close to that of the spinsteraunt and sat down.

　　'Mr. Jingle,' said the aunt, 'I entreat―I implore you, if there isany dreadful mystery connected with Mr. Tupman, reveal it.'

　　'Can I,' said Mr. Jingle, fixing his eyes on the aunt's face―'can Isee―lovely creature―sacrificed at the shrine―heartless avarice!'

　　He appeared to be struggling with various conflicting emotions fora few seconds, and then said in a low voice―'Tupman only wants your money.'

　　'The wretch!' exclaimed the spinster, with energeticindignation. (Mr. Jingle's doubts were resolved. She had money.)'More than that,' said Jingle―'loves another.'

　　'Another!' ejaculated the spinster. 'Who?'

　　'Short girl―black eyes―niece Emily.'

　　There was a pause.

　　Now, if there was one individual in the whole world, of whomthe spinster aunt entertained a mortal and deep-rooted jealousy, itwas this identical niece. The colour rushed over her face and neck,and she tossed her head in silence with an air of ineffablecontempt. At last, biting her thin lips, and bridling up, she said―'It can't be. I won't believe it.'

　　'Watch 'em,' said Jingle.

　　'I will,' said the aunt.

　　'Watch his looks.'

　　'I will.'

　　'His whispers.'

　　'I will.'

　　'He'll sit next her at table.'

　　'Let him.'

　　'He'll flatter her.'

　　'Let him.'

　　'He'll pay her every possible attention.'

　　'Let him.'

　　'And he'll cut you.'

　　'Cut me!' screamed the spinster aunt. 'He cut me; will he!' andshe trembled with rage and disappointment.

　　'You will convince yourself?' said Jingle.

　　'I will.'

　　'You'll show your spirit?'

　　'I will.'

　　'You'll not have him afterwards?'

　　'Never.'

　　'You'll take somebody else?'

　　'Yes.'

　　'You shall.'

　　Mr. Jingle fell on his knees, remained thereupon for fiveminutes thereafter; and rose the accepted lover of the spinsteraunt―conditionally upon Mr. Tupman's perjury being made clearand manifest.

　　 The burden of proof lay with Mr. Alfred Jingle; and heproduced his evidence that very day at dinner. The spinster auntcould hardly believe her eyes. Mr. Tracy Tupman was establishedat Emily's side, ogling, whispering, and smiling, in opposition toMr. Snodgrass. Not a word, not a look, not a glance, did he bestowupon his heart's pride of the evening before.

　　'Damn that boy!' thought old Mr. Wardle to himself.―He hadheard the story from his mother. 'Damn that boy! He must havebeen asleep. It's all imagination.'

　　'Traitor!' thought the spinster aunt. 'Dear Mr. Jingle was notdeceiving me. Ugh! how I hate the wretch!'

　　The following conversation may serve to explain to our readersthis apparently unaccountable alteration of deportment on thepart of Mr. Tracy Tupman.

　　The time was evening; the scene the garden. There were twofigures walking in a side path; one was rather short and stout; theother tall and slim. They were Mr. Tupman and Mr. Jingle. Thestout figure commenced the dialogue.

　　'How did I do it?' he inquired.

　　'Splendid―capital―couldn't act better myself―you mustrepeat the part to-morrow―every evening till further notice.'

　　'Does Rachael still wish it?'

　　'Of course―she don't like it―but must be done―avertsuspicion―afraid of her brother―says there's no help for it―onlya few days more―when old folks blinded―crown your happiness.'

　　'Any message?'

　　'Love―best love―kindest regards―unalterable affection. Can Isay anything for you?'

　　'My dear fellow,' replied the unsuspicious Mr. Tupman,fervently grasping his 'friend's' hand―'carry my best love―sayhow hard I find it to dissemble―say anything that's kind: but addhow sensible I am of the necessity of the suggestion she made tome, through you, this morning. Say I applaud her wisdom andadmire her discretion.'

　　'I will. Anything more?'

　　'Nothing, only add how ardently I long for the time when I maycall her mine, and all dissimulation may be unnecessary.'

　　'Certainly, certainly. Anything more?'

　　'Oh, my friend!' said poor Mr. Tupman, again grasping thehand of his companion, 'receive my warmest thanks for yourdisinterested kindness; and forgive me if I have ever, even inthought, done you the injustice of supposing that you could standin my way. My dear friend, can I ever repay you?'

　　'Don't talk of it,' replied Mr. Jingle. He stopped short, as ifsuddenly recollecting something, and said―'By the bye―can'tspare ten pounds, can you?―very particular purpose―pay you inthree days.'

　　'I dare say I can,' replied Mr. Tupman, in the fulness of hisheart. 'Three days, you say?'

　　'Only three days―all over then―no more difficulties.' Mr.

　　Tupman counted the money into his companion's hand, and hedropped it piece by piece into his pocket, as they walked towardsthe house.

　　'Be careful,' said Mr. Jingle―'not a look.'

　　'Not a wink,' said Mr. Tupman.

　　'Not a syllable.'

　　'Not a whisper.'

　　'All your attentions to the niece―rather rude, than otherwise,to the aunt―only way of deceiving the old ones.'

　　'I'll take care,' said Mr. Tupman aloud.

　　'And I'll take care,' said Mr. Jingle internally; and they enteredthe house.

　　The scene of that afternoon was repeated that evening, and onthe three afternoons and evenings next ensuing. On the fourth, thehost was in high spirits, for he had satisfied himself that there wasno ground for the charge against Mr. Tupman. So was Mr.

　　Tupman, for Mr. Jingle had told him that his affair would soon bebrought to a crisis. So was Mr. Pickwick, for he was seldomotherwise. So was not Mr. Snodgrass, for he had grown jealous ofMr. Tupman. So was the old lady, for she had been winning atwhist. So were Mr. Jingle and Miss Wardle, for reasons ofsufficient importance in this eventful history to be narrated inanother chapter.