THE PICKWICK CLUB 183
" Certainly, Ma'am," replied Goodwin. " No man as is a man, Ma'am, could refuse to do it."
So as the hysterics were still hovering about, Mr. Pott said once more, that he would do it ; but Mrs. Pott was so overcome at the bare idea of having ever been suspected, that she was half-a-dozen times on the very verge of a relapse, and most unquestionably would have gone oflf, had it not been for the indefatigable efforts of the assiduous Good- win, and repeated entreaties for pardon from the conquered Pott ; and finally, when that unhappy individual had been frightened and snubbed down to his proper level, Mrs. Pott recovered, and they went to breakfast.
" You will not allow this base newspaper slander to shorten your stay here, Mr. Winkle?" said Mrs. Pott, smiling through the traces of her tears.
" I hope not," said Mr. Pott, actuated, as he spoke, by an internal wish that his visiter would choke himself with the morsel of dry toast which he was raising to his lips at the moment : and so terminate his stay effectually.
" I hope not."
" You are very good," said Mr. Winkle ; '* but a letter has been received from Mr. Pickwick — ^^so I learn by a note from Mr. Tupman, which was brought up to my bed-room door, this morning — in which he requests us to join him at Bury to-day ; and we are to leave by the coach at noon."
" But you will come back ? " said Mrs. Pott-.
" Oh, certainly," replied Mr. Winkle.
" You are quite sure?" said Mrs. Pott, stealing a tender look at her visiter.
" Quite," responded Mr. Winkle.
The breakfast passed off in silence, for each member of the party was brooding over his, or her, own personal grievances. Mrs. Pott was regretting the loss of a beau ; Mr. Pott his rash pledge to horse- whip the Independent ; and Mr. Winkle his having placed himself in so awkward a situation. Noon approached, and after many adieux and promises to return, he tore himself away.
"If he ever comes back, I'll poison him," thought Mr. Pott, as he turned into the little back office where he prepared his thunderbolts.
" If I ever do come back, and mix myself up with these people again," thought Mr. Winkle, as he wended his way to the Peacock, " I shall deserve to be horsewhipped myself — that's all."
His friends were ready, the coach was nearly so, and in half an hour they were proceeding on their journey, along the road over which Mr. Pickwick and Sam had so recently travelled, and of which, as we have already said something, we do not feel called upon to extract Mr. Snodgrass's poetical and beautiful description.
Mr. Weller was standing at the door of the Angel, ready to receive them, and by that gentleman they were ushered to the apartment of Mr. Pickwick, where, to the no small surprise of Mr. Winkle and Mr.
