Mr. Wardle's Servant Joe

"Mr. Wardle's Servant Joe" is a short story by Charles Dickens that offers a humorous yet poignant glimpse into the lives of the lower classes in Victorian England. The narrative centers around Joe, a comical and somewhat bumbling servant employed by Mr. Wardle, who navigates the challenges of his position with a blend of wit and sincerity. Through Joe's interactions with his employer and the other characters, Dickens explores themes of class disparity, social expectations, and human resilience. The story is notable for its vivid characterizations and the author's trademark social commentary, illuminating the complexities of life below the surface of polite society.

• Children
• Short story

								
AN old country gentleman named Wardle had a servant of whom he was very
proud, not because of the latter's diligence, but because Joe, commonly
called the "Fat Boy," was a character which could not be matched
anywhere in the world. At the time when our story opens, Mr. Pickwick of
London, and three others of his literary club, were traveling in search
of adventure. With Mr. Pickwick, the founder and head of the Pickwick
club, were Mr. Tupman, whose great weakness for the ladies brought him
frequent troubles, Mr. Winkle, whose desire to appear as a sport brought
much ridicule upon himself, and Mr. Snodgrass, whose poetic nature
induced him to write many romantic verses which amused his friends and
all who read them. These four Pickwickians were introduced one day to
Mr. Wardle, his aged sister Miss Rachel Wardle, and his two daughters,
Emily and Isabella, as they were looking at some army reviews from their
coach. Mr. Wardle hospitably asked Mr. Pickwick and his friends to join
them in the coach.

"Come up here! Mr. Pickwick," said Mr. Wardle, "come along sir. Joe!
Drat that boy! He's gone to sleep again. Joe, let down the steps and
open the carriage door. Come ahead, room for two of you inside and one
outside. Joe, make room for one. Put this gentleman on the box!" Mr.
Wardle mounted with a little help and the fat boy, where he was, fell
fast asleep.

One rank of soldiers after another passed, firing over the heads of
another rank, and when the cannon went off the air resounded with the
screams of ladies. Mr. Snodgrass actually found it necessary to support
one of the Misses Wardle with his arm. Their maidenly aunt was in such a
dreadful state of nervous alarm that Mr. Tupman found that he was
obliged to put his arm about her waist to keep her up at all. Everyone
was excited with the exception of the fat boy, and he slept as soundly
as if the roaring of cannon were his ordinary lullaby.

"Joe! Joe!" called Mr. Wardle. "Drat that boy! He's gone asleep again.
Pinch him in the leg, if you please. Nothing else wakens him. Thank you.
Get out the lunch, Joe." The fat boy, who had been effectually aroused
by Mr. Winkle, proceeded to unpack the hamper with more quickness than
could have been expected from his previous inactivity.

"Now Joe, knives and forks." The knives and forks were handed in and
each one was furnished with these useful implements.

"Now Joe, the fowls. Drat that boy! He's gone asleep again. Joe! Joe!"
Numerous taps on the head with a stick and the fat boy with some
difficulty was awakened. "Go hand in the eatables." There was something
in the sound of the last word which aroused him. He jumped up with
reddened eyes which twinkled behind his mountainous cheeks, and feasted
upon the food as he unpacked it from the basket.

"Now make haste," said Mr. Wardle, for the fat boy was hanging fondly
over a chicken which he seemed wholly unable to part with. The boy
sighed deeply and casting an ardent gaze upon its plumpness, unwillingly
handed it to his master.

"A very extraordinary boy, that," said Mr. Pickwick. "Does he always
sleep in this way?"

"Sleep!" said the old gentleman. "He's always sleeping. Goes on errands
fast 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.
Wouldn't part with him on any account. He's a natural curiosity. Here,
Joe, take these things away and open another bottle. Do you hear?" The
fat boy aroused, opened his eyes, started and finished the piece of pie
he was in the act of eating when he fell fast asleep, and slowly obeyed
his master's orders, looking intently upon the remains of the feast as
he removed the plates and stowed them in the hamper. At last Mr. Wardle
and his party mounted the coach and prepared to drive off.

"Now mind," he said, as he shook hands with Mr. Pickwick, "we expect to
see you all to-morrow. You have the address?"

"Manor Farm, Dingley Dell," said Mr. Pickwick, consulting his
pocket-book.

"That's it," said the old gentleman. "You must come for at least a week.
If you are traveling to get country life, come to me and I will give you
plenty of it. Joe! Drat that boy, he's gone to sleep again. Help put in
the horses." The horses were put in and the driver mounted and the boy
clambered up by his side. The farewells were exchanged and the carriage
rolled off. As the Pickwickians turned around to take a last glimpse of
it the setting sun cast a red gold upon the faces of their entertainers,
and fell upon the form of the fat boy. His head was sunk upon his
bosom, and he slumbered again.

After some amusing difficulties, which we have not space to describe
here, Mr. Pickwick and his friends arrived safely at the country home of
Mr. Wardle. The time passed very pleasantly.

One day some of the men decided upon a shooting trip, and Mr. Winkle, to
maintain his reputation as a sport, did not admit that he knew nothing
about guns. Mr. Pickwick, early in the morning, seeing Mr. Wardle
carrying a gun, asked what they were going to do.

"Why, your friend and I are going out rook shooting. He's a very good
shot, isn't he?" said Mr. Wardle.

"I have heard him say he's a capital one," replied Mr. Pickwick, "but I
never saw him aim at anything."

"Well," said the host, "I wish Mr. Tupman would join us. Joe! Joe!" The
fat boy who, under the exciting influences of the morning, did not
appear to be more than three parts and a fraction asleep, emerged from
the house. "Go up and call Mr. Tupman, and tell him he will find us
waiting." At last the party started, Mr. Tupman having joined them. Some
boys, who were with them, discovered a tree with a nest in one of the
branches, and when all was ready Mr. Wardle was persuaded to shoot
first. The boys shouted, and shook a branch with a nest on it, and a
half-a-dozen young rooks, in violent conversation, flew out to ask what
the matter was. Mr. Wardle leveled his gun and fired; down fell one and
off flew the others.

"Pick him up, Joe," said the old gentleman. There was a smile upon the
youth's face as he advanced, for an indistinct vision of rook pie
floated through his imagination. He laughed as he retired with the bird.
It was a plump one.

"Now, Mr. Winkle," said the host, reloading his own gun, "fire away."
Mr. Winkle advanced and raised his gun. Mr. Pickwick and his friends
crouched involuntarily to escape damage from the heavy fall of birds
which they felt quite certain would be caused by their friend's skill.
There was a solemn pause, a shout, a flapping of wings.

Mr. Winkle closed his eyes and fired; there was a scream from an
individual, not a rook. Mr. Tupman had saved the lives of innumerable
birds by receiving a portion of the charge in his left arm. Though it
was a very slight wound, Mr. Tupman made a great fuss about it and
everyone was horror-stricken. He was partly carried to the house. The

								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes