It would appear, however, that matters were not going to be made all right quite so speedily as the young gentleman anticipated; for a very long conversation ensued, of which Mr. Pickwick could not avoid hearing certain fragments regarding dissolute conduct, and repeated forgiveness. At last there were very distinct allusions made by the oldest gentleman of the party to one Whitecross Street, at which the young gentleman, notwithstanding his primeness and his spirit, and his knowledge of life into the bargain, reclined his head upon the table, and howled dismally.
Very much satisfied with this sudden bringing down of the youth’s valour, and this effectual lowering of his tone, Mr. Pickwick rang the bell, and was shown, at his own request, into a private room furnished with a carpet, table, chairs, sideboard, and sofa, and ornamented with a looking-glass, and various old prints. Here he had the advantage of hearing Mrs. Namby’s performance on a square piano overhead, while the breakfast was getting ready; when it came, Mr. Perker came too.
“Aha, my dear sir,” said the little man, “nailed at last, eh? Come, come, I’m not sorry for it either, because now you’ll see the absurdity of this conduct. I’ve noted down the amount of the taxed costs and damages for which the ca-sa was issued, and we had better settle at once and lose no time. Namby is come home by this time, I dare say. What say you, my dear sir? Shall I draw a cheque, or will you?” The little man rubbed his hands with affected cheerfulness as he said this, but glancing at Mr. Pickwick’s countenance, could not forbear at the same time casting a desponding look towards Sam Weller.
“Perker,” said Mr. Pickwick, “let me hear no more of this, I beg. I see no advantage in staying here, so I shall go to prison to-night.”
“You can’t go to Whitecross Street, my dear sir,” said Perker. “Impossible! There are sixty beds in a ward; and the bolt’s on sixteen hours out of the four-and-twenty.”
“I would rather go to some other place of confinement if I can,” said Mr. Pickwick. “If not, I must make the best I can of that.”
“You can go to the Fleet, my dear sir, if you’re determined to go somewhere,” said Perker.
“That’ll do,” said Mr. Pickwick. “I’ll go there directly I have finished my breakfast.”
“Stop, stop, my dear sir; not the least occasion for being in such a violent hurry to get into a place that most other men are as eager to get out of,” said the good-natured little attorney. “We must have a habeas corpus. There’ll be no judge at chambers till four o’clock this afternoon. You must wait till then.”