Mr.Weller having obtained leave of absence from Mr.Pickwick, who, in his then state of excitement and worry was by no means displeased at being left alone, set forth, long before the appointed hour, and having plenty of time at his disposal, sauntered down as far as the Mansion House, where he paused and contemplated, with a face of great calmness and philosophy, the numerous cads and drivers of short stages who assemble near that famous place of resort, to the great terror and confusion of the old-lady population of these realms.Having loitered here, for half an hour or so, Mr.Weller turned, and began wending his way towards Leadenhall Market, through a variety of bye streets and courts.As he was sauntering away his spare time, and stopped to look at almost every object that met his gaze, it is by no means surprising that Mr.Weller should have paused before a small and print-seller's window; but without further explanation it does appear surprising that his eyes should have no sooner rested on certain pictures which were exposed for sale therein, than he gave a sudden start, smote his right leg with great vehemence, and exclaimed with energy, "If it hadn't been for this, I should ha' forgot all about it, till it was too late!"The particular picture on which Sam Weller's eyes were fixed, as he said this, was a highly coloured representation of a couple of human hearts skewered together with an arrow, cooking before a cheerful fire, while a male and female cannibal in modern attire: the gentleman being clad in a blue coat and white trousers, and the lady in a deep red pelisse with a parasol of the same: were approaching the meal with hungry eyes, up a serpentine gravel path leading thereunto.A decidedly indelicate young gentleman, in a pair of wings and nothing else, was depicted as superintending the cooking; a representation of the spire of the church in Langham Place, London, appeared in the distance; and the whole formed a "valentine," of which, as a written inscription in the window testified, there was a large assortment within, which the shopkeeper pledged himself to dispose of, to his countrymen generally, at the reduced rate of one and sixpence each.
"I should ha' forgot it; I should certainly ha' forgot it!" said Sam;so saying, he at once stepped into the stationer's shop, and requested to be served with a sheet of the best gilt-edged letter-paper, and a hard-nibbed pen which could be warranted not to splutter.These articles having been promptly supplied, he walked on direct towards Leadenhall Market at a good round pace, very different from his recent lingering one.Looking round him, he there beheld a signboard on which the painter's art had delineated something remotely resembling a cerulean elephant with an aquiline nose in lieu of trunk.Rightly conjecturing that this was the Blue Boar himself, he stepped into the house, and inquired concerning his parent.
"He won't be here this three quarters of an hour or more," said the young lady who superintended the domestic arrangements of the Blue Boar.
"Wery good, my dear," replied Sam."Let me have nine penn'orth o'brandy and water luke, and the inkstand, will you, miss?"The brandy and water luke, and the inkstand, having been carried into the little parlour, and the young lady having carefully flattened down the coals to prevent their blazing, and carried away the poker to preclude the possibility of the fire being stirred, without the full privity and concurrence of the Blue Boar being first had and obtained, Sam Weller sat himself down in a box near the stove, and pulled out the sheet of gilt-edged letter-paper, and the hard-nibbed pen.Then looking carefully at the pen to see that there were no hairs in it, and dusting down the table, so that there might be no crumbs of bread under the paper, Sam tucked up the cuffs of his coat, squared his elbows, and composed himself to write.
To ladies and gentlemen who are not in the habit of devoting themselves practically to the science of penmanship, writing a letter is no very easy task; it being always considered necessary in such cases for the writer to recline his head on his left arm, so as to place his eyes as nearly as possible on a level with the paper, while glancing sideways at the letters he is constructing, to form with his tongue imaginary characters to correspond.
These motions, although unquestionably of the greatest assistance to original composition, retard in some degree the progress of the writer; and Sam had unconsciously been a full hour and a half writing words in small text, smearing out wrong letters with his little finger, and putting in new ones which required going over very often to render them visible through the old blots, when he was roused by the opening of the door and the entrance of his parent.
"Vell, Sammy," said the father.
"vell, my Prooshan Blue," responded the son, laying down his pen."What's the last bulletin about mother-in-law?""Mrs.Veller passed a wery good night, but is uncommon perwerse, and unpleasant this mornin'.Signed upon oath, T.Veller, Esquire, Senior.
That's the last vun as was issued, Sammy," replied Mr.Weller, untying his shawl.
"No better yet?" inquired Sam.
"All the symptoms aggerawated," replied Mr.Weller, shaking his head.
"But wot's that, you're a doing of? Pursuit of knowledge under difficulties, Sammy?""I've done now," said Sam with slight embarrassment; "I've been a writin'.""So I see," replied Mr.Weller."Not to any young 'ooman, I hope, Sammy?""Why, it's no use a sayin' it ain't," replied Sam."It's a walentine.""A what!" exclaimed Mr.Weller, apparently horror-stricken by the word.
"A walentine," replied Sam.
