Having partaken of a quantity of fresh air liberally mixed with a generous portion of soot and the pungent vapours given off by the thickened water in the gutters, Mr Headstone deemed it necessary to clear his lungs with a tonic of his own particular prescription. Had he been a man of even the most limited education in the field of biology, the pedagogue would have known that liquids entering the body through the mouth and traversing the channel of the throat have never been observed to decant into the organs of respiration, and so cannot by the strict rules that govern the art of medicine be said to have any effect whatsoever on the action of inhalation. To such a Hippocratic objection, Mr Headstone would remain steadfast in his belief that the successful application of his remedy on numerous occasions was tantamount to scientific proof of the tonic's efficacy.
This tonic, which had once been dispensed by the apothecary, was now more conveniently available over the bar of that dazzling emporium of alcohol beverages commonly known as the 'gin shop'. Finding himself walking up Holborn Hill (the very phrase being enough to provoke a thirst in a normal man and a craving in a thirsty one), Mr Headstone determined to turn in at the establishment of Mr Thompson and Mr Fearon and to put himself right with one of their special compounds. The hour being early, there were but few customers engaged in the act of taking physic in liquid form, and the schoolmaster was able to secure with ease his favoured position at the polished mahogany bar that ran the width of the interior. Upon consultation with one of the practioners who dispensed both liquor and advice from behind the counter, Mr Headstone accepted a glass of rum shrub, followed in swift succession by a sherry cobbler, a pint of champagne and a quartern of Old Tom.
Thus revived, he fell to a perusal of The Pickwick Papers, which he had managed - after some confusion over a lump of coal - to retrieve from his pocket. He made very little progress in understanding any of the author's intentions until a young fellow in a brown coat with bright buttons observed - by way of a ribald remark to his two companions - that the book was upside down. Having revolved the volume through an appropriate angle of declination, Mr Headstone reapplied himself to the task of reading the first sentence for the twenty-third time. This he completed to his satisfaction and, pocketing the volume once more, resolved to engage with the second sentence at the earliest possible opportunity.
As has already been observed, Mr Headstone was inclined to display the sentimental side of his nature when the influence of strong liquor was upon him. It was, undoubtedly, this feeling of compassion for his fellow man that spurred him on to an act of generosity which - on sober reflection - it might have been more prudent to withhold. Having observed the few poor individuals about him - the two washerwomen seated on a bench sharing a glass of gin and peppermint, the old men complaining of the hardness of the times to a plump elderly lady reeking of rum, even the caustic fellow in the brown coat and his two fawning companions - Mr Headstone felt a sudden urge of philanthropy overtake his soul, and, striking the polished mahogany with the palm of his hand, announced in a voice both stentorian and compassionate that he would stand a glass round for the entire company.
It was an unfortunate circumstance that - only moments prior to this proclamation and unbeknownst to its proclaimer - a knot of Irish labourers had entered the shop from the street. Upon being greeted with such a welcome they crowded as a man to the bar, knocking Mr Headstone from his stool in their eagerness to avail themselves of this uncommon example of English hospitality. On hands and knees, the pedagogue crawled tortoise-like between the forest of their sturdy legs and, finally extricating himself from the outlying members of the group, who were too busy assaulting those immediately in front of them to notice anything untoward about their boots, he was able to affect as dignified an exit as the circumstances would allow before the police arrived. With one last backward glance at the confused mixture of arms, legs, staves, torn coats, shouting and struggling, Mr Headstone reflected with some degree of sorrow that he would not be able to return to the establishment for some time without the fear of being presented with a very large bill.
Mr Charles Dickens
