Episode 1483 – Traveling Shawls | Pickwick 3 | Read With Me | SWM+ Sneak Peek
SCOOTER: Friends beyond the binary, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, readers, Pickwickians, people on journeys, people at home, people in bed, getting ready for bed, whatever it is, I’m here to keep you company and take your mind off of stuff. Welcome to Sleep With Me, by the way. This is a podcast where I’m gonna read you to sleep tonight, paraphrase you to sleep eventually, but we're gonna take forever to get there. Oh boy, will this be moving slowly. This is like where…if you wonder what episode did Pickwick Papers win Scooter over, it was somewhere late in Episode 2 or in the middle of Episode 3 where it offered the perfect combination of actually interesting content, opportunities to go off topic, and fun ways to sleepify it. So, that’s basically what I’ll be doing. I’ll be reading from the Pickwick Papers, kinda sleepifying it and having fun with it, all for something you don't need to listen to that’s here to help you fall asleep and keep you company.
If you're new to the show, welcome. I’m here to keep you company and take your mind off of stuff. I’m really glad you're here. What we got coming up is support so that paying for the show is optional just for those people whose lives are made better on a regular basis. Those are the people who we need to support the show, not somebody that’s just listened a couple times a month or if you're new. Don't worry about it. But the support enables us to be free for everybody…and then a long, meandering intro meant to ease you into bedtime, then I’ll be reading from the Pickwick Papers for about forty-five, fifty minutes. All told, we’ll be here over an hour, and I’m really glad you're here. If the podcast has changed your life, if you do listen all night long, you do listen month after month after month, night after night after night, you're the part of the audience…if you can, we need your support to keep the show free for everybody else, and these are the ways…if you say, yeah, this podcast makes my life better; it helps me. How can I help? These are the ways you could do that.
Intro: Hey, are you up all night tossing, turning, mind racing? Trouble getting to sleep? Trouble staying asleep? Well, welcome. This is Sleep With Me, the podcast that puts you to sleep. We do it with a bedtime story. Alls you need to do is get in bed, turn out the lights, and press Play. I’m gonna do the rest. What I’m going to attempt to do is create a safe place where you could set aside whatever’s keeping you awake. That could be thoughts on your mind, thoughts about the past, the present, the future, thinking thoughts, thoughts you're thinking about, it could be feelings, anything like feelings related to those thoughts or feelings that are left over from the day, feelings about something coming up, it could be physical sensations, it could be changes in time, temperature, routine, you could be going through something, you could be in the middle of something, maybe your work schedule’s changed, maybe you have guests, maybe you're traveling.
Whatever it is, I’m here to keep you company and take your mind off of that stuff so you could fall asleep. That’s a little bit different than most other stuff out there. The important parts of the show are you, really, and hopefully this show can help you. If it doesn't, don't worry, I got options I’ll talk about here. But it…the purpose of the show is to help you bring you comfort and distraction in the deep, dark night so you could fall asleep, one, because you deserve a good night's sleep. You deserve a bedtime where you could get the rest you need so your life is more manageable tomorrow, and ideally you could do that on a regular basis and you could be out there flourishing. You deserve a bedtime you don't have to dread, a bedtime you could look forward to or at least feel neutral about, and you deserve a bedtime without rigmarole, where you say, well, at least I got this podcast to listen to. It’s kinda distracting.
It’s like watching a TV show that I’m not paying attention to, or listening to a friend that I’m not listening to, kind of. It’s nice. It’s not bad, the whole show. That’s one of the reasons I make the show, to help you out. Why is just as important, because I’ve been there. That’s why I like making the show, and because I put…I've dedicated my life to it, basically, because I know what it’s like for me all the way back when I was a kid and I couldn't sleep to now, when I can't sleep, trouble getting to sleep, trouble staying asleep, trouble waking up early, trouble waking up a lot, all those things, and I know what it feels like. Each one has a little bit different feel. Sometimes it’s thoughts, sometimes it’s feelings, sometimes it’s physical sensations, sometimes it’s…I'm going through something. I deal with a lot of different stuff around sleep, right? I have good practices and everything like that. So, most of the time, that stuff works.
In the past I didn't have…I didn't know as much about sleep as I do now, but it’s still not perfect. All those things combine for me to understand what it feels like for me in the deep, dark night when I’m tired, when I’m frustrated, when I really want sleep and I can't get it or I need…I feel like I need sleep to deal with something, when I can't get away from my thoughts, feelings, or physical sensations. I know what that feels like on all those levels, but particularly the deep-down levels, right? If it feels anything like that for you or any shades or anywhere on a spectrum similar or even a spectrum I’m not familiar with, if I can help you out, it’d be my honor, because I really know what that feels like. If it feels anything like that for you, I want to help. Here's the even better news, right?
‘Cause I say, well, I can probably relate to how you feel, but maybe I don't…I can't see you in the way and say, yeah, holy cow…there’s enough people listening to the show right now around the world that there is someone listening who can relate, who does know how it feels, and they're really happy to…that you're listening, and that…they're like, man, I hope this show helps you like it helped me, because I know exactly what you're going through. I’ve been through something very, very similar. So, they are rooting for you. Somewhere, someone on another part of the world from you who can totally or very closely understand how you feel sympathizes for you and roots for you to say, man, I hope you can get the rest you need so your life’s more manageable tomorrow, so you could be out there flourishing. Here's the best part; they're rooting for you whether…they just hope this podcast works, but maybe it doesn't. But they get to experience that, too.
Like, some people are nodding with me right now, and they're thinking…they're the ones doing the thinking of other listeners. It’s a magical form of interconnection that’s, whatever, disconnected interconnection — I don't know how else to describe it — and that one day, if you become a regular listener, you get to experience that on a nightly basis, and it also helps and…just a little bit. It’s not gonna change everything, but it’s nice to think of someone else and root for them and hope…be like, man, here I’m having some nice thoughts of you even though I don't know you. I know what that feels like. So, those, I guess, are the pillars of the show even though they're meandering pillars. The way it works is I send my voice across the deep, dark night. I use lulling, soothing, creaky, dulcet tones, pointless meanders, and superfluous tangents. I go off topic, I get mixed up, then I get confused, I forget what I was talking about, all to slowly ease you into bedtime and distract you.
Now, there’s a couple things to know. This podcast just isn't for everybody, but give it a few tries. That’s just what most regular listeners say. Like, people that support the show, who have supported it for ten years, they say, at first I didn't like you or the podcast. But on the second or third try I realized, oh, okay, this show’s different than what I expected. So, if you got here, you're skeptical, you're doubtful, you're frustrated, that’s pretty normal because you're looking for something to help you fall asleep. You're prob…if it’s like me, you tried a ton of different stuff, you paid a lot of money for different stuff, and you're like, oh, I’ll give this a try. Somebody recommended it or I found it in a search. Alls I can say is just give it a couple tries to see, 'cause this is the kinda thing that works, and then you say, oh, I didn't realize this was how it worked. ‘Cause if you're…sleep podcasts and bedtime stories, that should be…you have a reasonable idea of what to expect.
This show is strange and unreasonable, I guess, and ideally in the best way possible, but we’ll see, right? So, just give it a few tries. If you figure out this show is not for me, I just don't like you, you're not my style, that’s totally okay. That’s a pretty common reaction. Or even…a lot of people feel stronger than that. I have a website set up, sleepwithmepodcast.com/nothankyou, with other sleep podcasts and sleepy stuff on there, 'cause I still want you to fall asleep. Then also we’ve added on just recently to the /nothankyou page…well, it’ll be recently when I’m recording this, but when you're hearing it it’ll be far in the future. If you're a regular listener and you're fed up with me or the show because of the work that goes into the show or the needing support or something like that, we have stuff on there for you. Instead of…'cause the whole idea of the /nothankyou page is saying yes to where you're at, right? Like, I don't mean to go on a topic about this, but it’s a new thing.
The /nothankyou page has been around for years 'cause the idea is like, hey, instead of letting me know in strong terms that you…the podcast doesn't work for you, just go to that /nothankyou page. Discover something sleepy. You get the rest you need. If you're a regular listener that…whatever, you're…there’s something about supporting the show that gives you strong feelings and you have strong feelings about me now, you could go there. Maybe you find another sleep podcast. But I also have something…you say, no, I’m a super fan of the show but I’m also strongly displeased with you. Instead of the same thing, just use that page. We got stuff for you there. We even have a nice offer for you if you're really a super fan of the show but you're also strongly unhappy with me. That way we save all of our time. That was the whole idea of the /nothankyou page, is it’s really draining and it’s really creatively challenging to read all that stuff of people that are having strong, unhappy feelings, and it doesn't help them fall asleep, either.
So, yeah, that’s just something new. So, sleepwithmepodcast.com/nothankyou if you're feeling those strong or not-so-strong no-thank-you feelings, 'cause everything I said is still true, 'cause we're all having a tough time. But if you're still around, man…you're saying, no, no, Scoots, I love you, buddy…and I get it. So, it takes a while to get used to. What other…? I’m new to the show. So, I guess if you're new to the show, I’m trying to focus on you. Sorry. If you're still in this, you say, okay, you gave me one reason to stop listening; what about a few more? Sure. This is a podcast you just barely listen to. That also takes some getting used to, right, the idea that it’s a show that you only kinda pay attention to. That’s gonna take some adjusting as well. So, just see how that goes, too, right? It’s like a TV on in the other room or sand flowing through your hands. So, see how that goes. It’s also a sleep podcast that’s actually not here to put you to sleep.
I’m here to keep you company while you fall asleep. There’s no pressure to fall asleep with this show. I’m here over an hour whether you're awake or asleep to barely entertain you. But you could listen to me; you don't need to listen to me. But I know when I’m recording the show I’m gonna be here to the very end, because there’s people listening who can't sleep at all, and I’m here for them and for you. I’m here to be your bore-bae, your bore-sib, your bore-cuz, your bore-bestie, your borebor, your borebie, your boreman, your bores, your Boris Borelaf, your bore…best bore-friend f’eva, to keep you company and take your mind off of stuff and hang with you ‘til you fall asleep. There’s plenty of other episodes ready to go. So, there’s no pressure to fall asleep. That’s kinda one of the reliefs of the show. I hope…you say, well, at least I know he’s gonna be rambling for a while. So, that’s the other thing; a podcast…most people don't like it.
Even some of the super fans strongly…have strong feelings about me. It doesn't…you don't listen to it, it doesn't put you to sleep. What else? Oh, structure of the show also throws people off, so let me tell you about the structure of the show. The show is structured in a very specific way, but it is adjustable as you become a regular listener and you find what your preferences are, because people…some people are just here for a little while while they're going through something or they're new. But if you become a regular listener, kind of a super listener, then you start to develop preferences. So…but so, yeah, I guess that’s the whole thing, is like, I try to build the show to be accepting of your preferences even when they're strongly worded and also say, hey, let’s not…you don't need to share your strongly-worded preferences with me. Let’s just figure out a solution so you could get the sleep you need. So, the show starts off with a greeting; friends beyond the binary, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls.
That’s so you feel seen and welcomed in. You say, oh, okay, I’ll check that podcast out. Then there’s support, sponsor support and requests for listener support, 'cause that’s what keeps the show going and makes it for the people…paying for it optional for new listeners or occasional listeners or people just going through something, is the people that support the show. Like I said, if you are like, no, I won't support the show but I want…like, if you want a ad-free experience, you can get that at Sleep With Me+ or through our referral program. Or if neither one of those is for you but you still feel like you want it, use that /nothankyou page. So, that’s…but that’s what keeps the show coming out, 'cause most people like to listen to the show linearly and kind of as it kinda unfolds, and they fall asleep later on in the show. So, that’s the intro or that’s the beginning of the show, then the support. Then there’s an intro, a long, meandering intro about fifteen to twenty minutes long where I go to explain what the podcast is but I go off topic, I get mixed up.
It follows a familiar structure every time, but every intro is different. Normally it’s like silly tangents. This time it was like, I’ve been trying new stuff out, so I wanted to talk about it. But yeah, I apologize that I wasn't as goofy as normal. But the intro…I could do the same intro every time or not have an intro or have a short intro, and there’s a couple reasons I don't. One, I want the intro to be familiar but different every time because whatever keeps me awake adjusts to any kind of patterns that are predictable, and then keeps me awake again. So, the idea that the intro and the episodes are always different but familiar and we even follow a familiar release schedule, is that it’s predictable. You say, it’s reassuring, I guess, but it’s not repetitive, though there is a lot of repetitive stuff in my speech.
But you know what I mean, so that our brainbots — that’s what I call them — don't know what to expect and they can't point out, okay, that cricket’s coming in again at eight minutes to cricket on this loop of cricket loops, or there he goes; it’s the same intro. I can do it by heart. So, it’s familiar and reassuring but it has variety. The reason it’s long is, one, we get to hang out together, but two, to ease you into bedtime. So, most people are listening as they get ready for bed, they're getting comfortable in bed, or they're winding down, doing a chill wind-down activity. There is a small percentage of people that fall asleep during the intros, but we recommend you support the show. That’s gonna be your best experience. Or there’s another podcast out there, Bedtime Stories from Sleep With Me, that has no intros. So, you could choose between those two things. But the intro is meant to ease you into bedtime, to have a buffer between the day and the night, and to help you drift off.
That’s just what works for me personally, what studies have been shown to work, is having a wind down. Ideally the intro is part of your wind-down routine. It doesn't have to be, right? Then as you become…if you support the show on Sleep With Me+, there’s so many different ways between what we have on there and the way you could use your podcast app to structure things. You could do that. So, that’s it. Then there will be support, then there will be our bedtime story. Tonight I’ll be reading from the Pickwick Papers and paraphrasing and refocusing it through the lens of Sleep With Me. So, it’ll be preparations for a dance-off tonight. It’s quite comedic, or it’s comedic and action-packed at the same time. I really enjoyed it. But very snoozy 'cause, oh boy, did this…they like to talk, just like me. So, I think that’s it. That’s the structure of the show. I already talked about why I make the show, what to expect. If you're new or a regular listener, I’m so glad to be with you here.
We're all here together. Sleep With Me exists in the world, right? We're not a part of the world; we're a part of the world together, and even though this is indirect, we really can circle together and kinda send each other…root for one another in the deep, dark night, and that’s a nice thing to be a part of right now. So, it’s nice you're here, and I’m really glad you're here. I work really hard. So do a bunch of other people, which I guess is kind of amazing to some people, but I’m so proud of that because that’s what makes the show work, is the people behind the scenes here working hard. We really want to help you fall asleep. So, thanks again for coming by. If you decide this podcast has changed my life for the better, how can I help the podcast that’s changed my life for the better? These are the ways you could do it. Thanks.
Hey everybody, this is Scoots. This is a episode of our read-through of the Pickwick Papers. We’ve been doing this on Sleep With Me+ for about a year. Now it’s finally making its way out into the public feed. So, I really hope you enjoy it. If you're on Sleep With Me+ and you're hearing this, you got this episode about a year ago. So, make sure you're checking your full-episode feeds or your story-only episode feeds, and don't forget to check your bonus feeds every once in a while. But this has been a really enjoyable series to cover with the friends meandering throughout England and friendship. So, I really hope you enjoy this episode of Sleep With Me and read with me the Pickwick Papers. Thanks and goodnight, everybody.
Hey everybody, we're back with our reading of the Pickwick Papers. When we last left off, Tracy Tupman, TT, had just gone to bed after hanging out with the stranger and Dr. Slammer…and those two causing quite a scene at the party upstairs. Meanwhile, everybody else had gone to bed earlier. Dr. Slammer was probably stammering with his displeasure, but yeah, he had sank into repose, right? Now we return to the Pickwick Papers. 7:00 had hardly ceased striking on the following morning when Mr. Pickwick’s comprehensive mind was aroused from the state of unconsciousness in which slumber had plunged it by a loud knocking at his chamber door. Quote the Scooter, who’s a bore? Who’s there? Said Mr. Pickwick, starting up in bed. Boots, sir. What do you want? Please, sir, can you tell me which gentleman of your party wears a bright blue dress coat with a gilt button with PC on it? It’s been given out to brush, thought Mr. Pickwick, and the man has forgotten whom it belongs to.
Mr. Winkle, he called out. Next room but two on the right hand. Thank you sir, said the Boots…said Boots, and walked away. What’s this all about? Cried TT as he heard a loud knocking at his door and roused him from his oblivious repose. Can I speak to Winkle, sir? Replied Boots from outside. Winkle, Winkle, shouted Tupman — that’s TT for you and me — calling into the inner room. Hello, cried a faint voice from within its bedclothes. You're wanted. There’s someone at the door for you. Having exerted himself to articulate thus much, TT turned around and fell fast asleep again. Wanted? Said Winkle, hastily jumping out of bed and putting on a few articles of clothing. Wanted? At this distance from town? Who on Earth could want me? Gentleman in the coffee room, sir, replied Boots as Mr. Winkle opened the door and confronted him. The gentleman says he’ll not detain you but for a moment, sir, but he can take no denial. Huh, very odd, said Winkle. I’ll be down directly.
Rip Van…not my name, but Rip Van in this sleep podcast is my game. Scoots only realized it in Episode 3. We’ll just call him…can we call him Rip Van from now on? Well, we’ll see. He hurriedly wrapped himself in a traveling shawl. Remember the traveling shawls? They were like…they were…it’s like…you haven't heard of the Traveling Shawls here in modern Earth days? They were an imaginary cover band of the Traveling Wilburys just in the villages and the towns, retirees in shawls who travel around covering songs of the Traveling Wilburys. The Traveling Shawls. Classic, man. He got into a traveling shawl and a dressing gown and proceeded downstairs. An old woman and a couple of waiters were cleaning the coffee room. I don't know if she was…she may have been a fan of the Traveling Shawls if she was…and another person in an undressed uniform was looking out the window. He turned around as Mr. Winkle entered and made a stiff inclination of the head.
Having ordered the attendants to retire, he closed the door and very carefully said, Mr. Winkle, I presume? Yeah, my name is Winkle. Rip Van, possibly, sir. You will not be surprised, sir, when I inform you I have been called here this morning on behalf of my friend, Dr. Slammer, the Doc Slammer. Dr. Slammer? Said Winkle. Dr. Slammer begged me to express his opinion that your conduct of last evening was of a description which no gentleman could endure. And, he added, which no one gentleman would pursue towards another. As a matter of fact, if you have your gentleman card on you, I will be tearing it up. Rip Van’s astonishment was too real and too evident to escape the observation of Dr. Slammer’s friend. He therefore proceeded…whoa, whoa, I get it. My friend Doc Slammer requested me to add that he was firmly persuaded you were intoxicated during a portion of the evening and possibly unconscious of the extent of the insult that you sent his way.
He commissioned me to say that should this be pleaded as an excuse for your behavior, he will consent to accept a written apology to be penned by you from my dictation. A written apology? Repeated Winkle in the most emphatic tone of amazement possible. My word, a written apology; that may have been a better version. Of course, you know the alternative, replied the visitor coolly, tearing up of your gentleman card. My gentleman card’s not even made of paper, sir. It’s made of metal, and I won't be turning it over to you or Doc Slammer or anyone else. Were you entrusted with this message to me by name, inquired Winkle? That’s Winkle, Rip Van, also known by other first names, 'cause he…I'm confused. My intellects are hopelessly confused by this extraordinary conversation, and I’ve just awoken.
Here's the thing; I was not present myself, replied the visitor, and in consequence of your firm refusal to give your card last night — not your gentleman card; your greeting card — to Doc Slammer, I was desired by that gentleman to identify the wearer of a very uncommon coat, a bright blue dressing gown with a gilt button displaying a bust and the letters PC. Whoa, whoa, what, what, what? Winkle was actually so astonished that he heard his own costume thus minutely described, Dr. Slammer’s friend proceeded. From the inquiries I made at the bar just now, I was convinced that the owner of the coat in question arrived here with three gentlemen yesterday afternoon. I immediately sent up to the gentleman who was described as appearing the head of the party, and he had once referred me to you. Now, if the principle tower of the Rochester Castle had suddenly walked from its foundation and stationed itself opposite the coffee room window, Mr. Winkle’s surprise would have been as nothing compared with the profound astonishment with which he had heard this address.
His first impression was that his coat had been taken without his permission. Will you allow me to detain you one moment? Said he. Certainly, replied the unwelcome visitor. There, Winkle ran hastily upstairs. With a trembling hand he opened the door and opened his bag. Surprise; there was his coat in its usual place, but exhibiting on close inspection evidence of having been worn the proceeding night. What the heck? It must be so, said Winkle, letting the coat fall from his hands. I took too much wine after dinner and I have a vague recollection of walking about the streets and smoking a cigar afterwards. The fact is I was very intoxicated. I must have changed my coat, gone somewhere, and insulted somebody. I have no doubt of it, and this message is the terrible consequence. Saying which, Mr. Winkle retraced his steps in the direction of the coffee room and with gloomy and dreadful resolve of accepting the challenge of Dr. Slammer and abiding by the worst consequences that might ensue.
To this determination Mr. Winkle was urged by a variety of considerations. The first of which was his reputation with the club. He had always been looked up to as high authority on all matters of amusement and dexterity whether offensive, defensive, or inoffensive, and if, on this very first occasion of being put to the test, he shrunk back from trial, beneath his leader’s eye, his name and standing were lost forever. Besides, he remembered to have heard it frequently surmised by the uninitiated in such matters that by an understood arrangement between the seconds, if they had to do a dance-off, it may just be a dance-off with chalk. Furthermore, he reflected, that if he applied to Mr. Snodgrass to dance with him and depicted in glowing terms his ability to dance, that gentleman might possibly communicate to Mr. Pickwick, who would certainly lose no time in transmitting to the local authorities, thus cancelling any unofficial dance-offs.
Such were his thoughts when he returned to the coffee room and intimated his intention of accepting the dance-off from Dr. Slammer. Will you refer me to a friend to arrange the time and place of our meeting? Said the officer. Quite unnecessary, replied Winkle. Name them to me, and I can procure…'cause it’s a dual dance-off, right? Double dance-off? I have a friend who will dance with me. Shall we say we dance-off at sunset this evening? Inquired the officer in a careless tone. Very good, replied Winkle, thinking in his heart this was nothing very good at all. Have you been to the place called Pitt Park? Yeah, Pitt Park; I saw it yesterday. Well, if you take the trouble to turn into Pitt Park, there’s a field which borders a ditch, and if you take the footpath to the left, when you arrive at the angle of the entrance to the park and keep straight on it ‘til you see me, we will proceed to a copse of trees where the affair can be conducted without fear of interruption. Fear of interruption?
Who would interrupt a dance-off? Thought Mr. Winkle. Nothing more to arrange, I think, said the officer. I’m not aware of anything more, replied Winkle. Good morning. Good morning. The officer whistled a lively air as he strode away. That morning’s breakfast passed heavily off. TT was not in the condition to rise after the unwonted dissipation of the previous night. Mr. Snodgrass appeared to labor under a poetical depression of spirits, and even Pickwick evinced an unusual attachment to silence and soda water. Hangovers all around. Winkle watched his…watched for his opportunity and was not long wanting. Snodgrass proposed a visit to the castle. As Winkle was the only member of the other party deposed to walk, they went out together. Snodgrass? Said Winkle when they had turned out onto the street. Snodgrass, my dear fellow, can I reply upon your secrecy? As he said this, he most devoutly and earnestly hoped he could not. My fingers are crossed, Snodgrass. Can I trust you?
You can. Oof, replied Snodgrass, but the ‘oof’ was Winkle’s. Listen, do you want me to make a double promise? No, no, no, interrupted Winkle, more concerned now at the idea of his companion’s unconsciously pledging himself not to give information. No promises, no promises, no double promises. Quite unnecessary. Mr. Snodgrass dropped the hand which he had in the spirit of making promises and raised it towards the cloud as he made the above appeal and assumed an attitude of attention. I want your assistance, my dear fellow, in an affair of honor, said Winkle. You shall have it, replied Snodgrass, clasping his friend’s hand. It’s a dance-off with a doctor, Dr. Slammer and one of his buddies, said Winkle. He tried to make the matter appear as solemn as possible. An affair with an officer second by another at sunset this evening in a lonely field beyond Pitt Park. I’ll attend you, said…I will dance at your side. Snodgrass here to dance with his friend.
He was astonished, Winkle was, but by no means dismayed. It is extraordinary how cool any party but the principle can be in such cases. Mr. Winkle had forgotten this. He had judged of his friend’s feelings by his own. Life lesson for Scoots there. I mean, I don't know…I mean, we may…after this, as they say about dance-offs, we may never want to dance again, said Winkle. I hope not, said Snodgrass. The doctor, I believe, is a very good dancer, said Winkle. Yeah, I mean, most of these doctors are. Class stuff and…they do a lot of dancing. It’s part of going to school, observed Snodgrass calmly. But so are you, ain’t you? Mr. Winkle replied in the affirmative. Yep, I can dance, man, and perceiving that he had not alarmed his companion sufficiently, he changed his ground. Snodgrass? He said in a voice tremulous with emotion. If I can't dance — 'cause this may be an endurance dance-off — will you find in a packet which I shall place in your hands a note for my father, a note of my secret dance moves if I swear it to never dance again?
This approach did not work, either. Snodgrass was affected, but he undertook the delivery of the notes of the dance moves as readily as if he would if he was a postman. If I fail to dance ever again, said Winkle, or if the doctor fails to dance, you, my friend…if we get caught doing an unauthorized dance-off, you'll be in trouble, too. Shall I involve my friend in the transportation of any of this? Snodgrass winced a little at this, but his heroism was invincible. In the cause of friendship, he fervently exclaimed, I would brave all forms of dance, even the forbidden. Ugh, Winkle kinda said to himself. Why is my companion so devoted to friendship? They continued to walk silently side by side for some minutes, each immersed in their own meditations. The morning was wearing away, but Winkle was still…he wanted to figure something else out. Snodgrass? He said, stopping suddenly. Do not let me be balked in this matter.
Do not give information…a little reverse-psychology, maybe…don't tell anybody locally, authority figures…don't tell them we're doing a dance-off without permission, possibly an endurance dance-off where we could…we dance so much we never want to dance again. Don't tell them that it’s I and Dr. Slammer involved in this at present. By the way, Dr. Slammer, Doc Slammer works in Chatham Barracks, and if they were to tell either one of us not to do it or we’d get in trouble, we probably wouldn't. Do not do that, Snodgrass, please. Snodgrass sneezed and seized his friend’s hand warmly as he enthusiastically replied, not for any worlds, my friend. A thrill passed over Mr. Wrinkle’s frame as a conviction that he had nothing to hope from his friend, that he was destined to become an animated dancer rushed forcibly upon him. The state of the case had been formally explained to Mr. Snodgrass, and a case of dance shoes, dance socks, which some shall forget to do, of dancewear, Danskins, which is a brand, I believe.
But back then it was…they didn't have that, but they had something similar. They even got dancing caps, having been hired from a manufacturer in Rochester. Ready and dressed to dance, as they say, the two friends returned to the inn, Winkle to ruminate on the approaching struggle, and Snodgrass to make sure everything was ready, and even to go over some moves to make sure everything was in proper order. It was a dull and heavy evening when they again sallied forth on their awkward errand, or errand, as some would say. Winkle was muffled up in a huge cloak covering his dancewear to escape observation. Mr. Snodgrass bore many other dance…he had even the equivalent of leg warmers and arm warmers for both of them under his arms. But now that it was coming to a head, Winkle was a bit grouchy and said in an agitated tone, have you got everything? Everything, replied Snodgrass. Plenty, plenty. I have extra shoes, extra socks.
I don't have extra shorts, me mate, but I do have leg warmers and arm warmers, too. But it’s the socks we may need depending on how long we dance for, or if the night is cool, the arm warmers and leg warmers. Even if we sweat through them, I have backups. So, I’ve got plenty. Everything is ready to go. I’ve done this…well, I’ve dreamed of doing this, as a matter of fact, especially for a friend like you, Winkle. These were instances of friendship for which any person might feel reasonably grateful, maybe even very grateful. The presumption is that the gratitude of Winkle was too powerful for utterance, as he said nothing but continued to walk on rather slowly. I like your slow walking. Very strategic. We're making excellent time, said Snodgrass as they headed into the park. The sun is just going down. Mr. Winkle looked up at the declining orb and painfully thought of the probability of his never dancing again by his own failure to dance, and it could be coming soon, setting like the sun his life of dancing.
Now, there’s one of the guys, said Winkle. Where? Said Snodgrass. There, up there in the blue cloak, said Snodgrass, looking in the direction indicated by the forefinger. There was a figure muffled up, standing. It was the guy from this morning, and he evinced his consciousness of their presence by slightly beckoning with his hand and then doing a two-step. The two friends followed him at a little distance as he walked away. Then he did a skip and a step. The evening grew more dull every moment and a melancholy wind sounded through the deserted fields like a distant giant whistling for his dog. The somber tone of the scene and the tinge matched the feelings of Winkle. He started as they passed the angle of the ditch. It looked like a summary of how he felt on the inside. The officer from this morning turned suddenly from the path, and after climbing, he jumped over a hedge. At first he seemed to have vanished, but behind the hedge was a secluded field perfectly level for dancing.
There was two gentlemen waiting in it, one small with dark hair, the other in a braided set of dancewear. But he was sitting with perfect equanimity on a camp stool. Wow, that’s the other person, I suppose, said Snodgrass. Let’s take a drop of brandy and loosen up the limbs, as they say. Winkle seized the wicker bottle which his friend proffered, and he took a lengthened pull at the exhilarating liquid. My friend, sir, Mr. Snodgrass said, Mr. Winkle, I’d like to introduce you to this guy. I don't know who he is. Dr. Slammer’s friend bowed and produced a case similar to that which Snodgrass carried. We have nothing further to say, sir, I think, he coolly remarked as he opened the case. It appears your apology has been resolutely declined. Nothing, sir, said Snodgrass, who began to feel rather uncomfortable himself. Please step forward, said the officer. Certainly, said Snodgrass.
They measured out the dance…they started to make a dance floor on the ground and the preliminaries were arranged. You might find these leg warmers better than your own, said the opposite to Snodgrass, producing his own…so, he had an extra pair of leg warmers. Would you like to try these? They're better for this type of weather and this environment. Do you mind if we use these instead of yours? Why, certainly not, replied Snodgrass. The offer relieved him from considerable embarrassment, for his previous notions of what would be a good leg warmer for this evening’s dance were vague and undefined. Well, we may get ready to dance, then, I think, observed the officer with as much indifference as if the principles were playing chess and not about to dance, and him and Snodgrass were only observers. I think we may, replied Snodgrass, who would have assented to any proposition 'cause he knew…he had never been in a dance-off before, at least of this magnitude.
The officer crossed to Dr. Slammer, and Mr. Snodgrass went up to Winkle. It’s all ready, said Snodgrass to Winkle. Put on these leg warmers. You've got the leg warmers and the arm warmers, too? Said poor Winkle. Yeah, I got them, said Snodgrass. Get ready. Get ready to dance. It occurred to Winkle that this advice, get ready to dance, was very much like the kind of advice bystanders invariably give to a small child walking to their first dance class, ballet shoes over their arm, brand-new ballet shoes. They usually say to those children as they see them in the street; don't forget to get up on your tippy toes. First position, pelee, things like that, which they might think is admirable, but the child’s going to their first dance class. They have no idea what they're even talking about, and they may have never…those adults may have never danced before, either. In either case, they weren't doing ballet, and he took off his cloak in silence, and he took his sweet, sweet time taking off that cloak, and then started to put on his leg warmers.
Snodgrass and the officer took up secondary positions on the established dance floor in the field, the dance area, we shall call it there. The gentleman on the camp stool did the same. So, there was a third observer, I guess, apparently. Then the two main competitors approached one another. Now, Winkle was always remarkable for his extreme humanity. It is conjectured that his unwillingness to even dance in a superior way to someone intentionally to show his dance superiority over somebody went against even his personality type. So, he had shut his eyes just thinking of like, I know I can out-dance Slammer, but I’m not okay with…what if he never dances again? Because his eyes were closed, he could not observe the very extraordinary and unaccountable demeanor of Doc Slammer. That gentleman started, stared, retreated, rubbed his eyes, stared again, and finally said, whoa, whoa, whoa. For the love of Joey Lawrence, what’s all this? Said Doc Slammer.
His friend and Snodgrass came running, 'cause he said it quite loudly, too loudly for a sleep podcast, and then Slammer said, this is not the man I seek an apology from. Not the man? Said Dr. Slammer’s friend. Not the man? Said Snodgrass. Not the man? Said the gentleman sitting at the camp stool. Certainly not, said Doc Slammer. That’s not the person who insulted me last night. Very extraordinary, said the officer. Very, said the gentleman on the camp stool. The only question is whether the gentleman being on the ground must not be considered as a matter of form to be the individual who insulted our friend Doc Slammer yesterday evening, whether he really is the individual or not. That got a pause from everybody. Whoa, whoa, wait, wait a second. Let me make sure you understand. So, you said this guy Winkle, even though he wasn't the guy that insulted Slammer, since he’s here and representing the man who insulted Slammer, he could be considered the man who insulted Slammer.
Having delivered that suggestion with a very sage and mysterious air, the man on the camp stool took a large pinch of snuff and looked profoundly around with the air of authority in such dancing matters. Now, this whole time Winkle had still had his eyes closed, and his ears, too, so much he loved other people’s love of dance. When he heard Slammer call out for the cessation of dancing offensively and perceiving by what he had afterwards said that there was beyond all question some mistake in the matter, he at once saw clearly the increase in reputation that he should inevitably acquire by concealing the real motive of his coming out. So, he was misguided in his misguidedness, and therefore he stepped boldly forward and said, I am not the person. I know it. That, then, said the man with the camp stool, is an affront to Dr. Slammer, and is sufficient reason for dancing-off. Please be quiet, Payne, said the doctor’s second.
Why do you communicate this fact…why didn't you tell me this this morning, sir? To be sure, sir, to be sure, said the man on the camp stool indignantly. I entreat you to be quiet, Payne, said the man…the officer from this morning. May I repeat my question, sir? Because, sir, replied Winkle, who had had time to deliberate upon his answer, because, sir, you described an intoxicated and ungentlemanly person as wearing a coat which I have the honor not only to wear but to have invented. I mean, let me lay that on you. This is the proposed uniform, sir, of the Pickwick Club in London. The honor of that uniform I feel bound to maintain, and I, therefore, without inquiry, accepted the challenge which you offered me. My dear sir, said the good-humored and little doctor, advancing with an extended hand, I honor your gallantry. Permit me to say, sir, that I highly admire your conduct and extremely regret having caused you inconvenience of preparing for a dance-off to no purpose.
I beg you won't mention it, sir, said Winkle. I shall feel proud of your acquaintance, sir, said Doc Slammer. It will afford me the greatest pleasure to know you, sir, replied Winkle. Thereupon, the doctor and Winkle shook hands. Then Mr. Winkle and Tappleton, who was the officer who was the doctor’s friend yet unnamed, and then the man in the camp stool, they all were hugging and shaking hands. Finally, Winkle and Snodgrass…everybody, Snodgrass, Winkle. Winkle, Payne. Snodgrass, Winkle. Winkle, Snodgrass. Snodgrass, Slammer. Slammer, Winkle, and whatever the other guy’s name is, Tappleton. There was an excess of admiration at the noble conduct of the heroic actions of Winkle. I think we may adjourn, said Tappleton. Certainly, said Slammer. Unless, said Payne, unless Mr. Winkle himself feels aggrieved by the challenge, in which case I may submit he has a right to satisfaction. Hint, hint, I came here to watch some dance, and I shall not be disappointed, said Payne within his ears.
Now, Winkle, with great self-denial, expressed himself quite satisfied already. Or possibly, said the man with the camp stool, Payne, maybe this Snodgrass might feel affronted with some observations which fell from…maybe I…maybe him and I need to dance-off? ‘Cause I, who was saying stuff during the early period of the meeting, if so, I’d be happy to dance off with Snodgrass and give everyone satisfaction of a dance-off immediately. Harrumph, harrumph, harrumph. Snodgrass hastily professed himself very much obliged with the handsome offer of the gentleman who had spoken, Payne, which he was only induced…I said, no, no, no, I’m content with the whole proceedings. I don't need any dancing-off, either. We could adjourn ourselves to dance somewhere for pleasure and not for offensive purposes. Then everybody started to give…make sure they had the right leg warmers and arm warmers and make sure everything got put away, and then they cleaned up the field.
You know, pack in, pack out, even for a dance-off, they say. The whole party left the ground in a much more lively manner than they had proceeded to it. Everyone was skipping to the lou, as they say, and kicking their heels up. How long are you in town for? Inquired Dr. Slammer of Winkle as they walked most amicably together. I think we're headed out the day after tomorrow. I trust I shall have the pleasure of seeing you and your friend at my rooms and of spending a pleasant evening with you after this awkward mistake, said Doc Slammer. Are you disengaged this evening? We have some friends here, replied Mr. Winkle. I should not like to leave them tonight. Perhaps you and your friend will join us at The Bull. With great pleasure, said the doctor. Will 10:00 be too late to look in for a half hour? Oh dear, no, said doc…said Mr. Winkle. I shall be most happy to introduce you to my friends Mr. Pickwick and TT Tupman.
It will give me great pleasure, I’m sure, said Dr. Slammer, little suspecting who Tupman was. Are you sure you're gonna come? Said Snodgrass. Oh, certainly. By this time they had reached the road. Cordial farewells were exchanged and the party separated. Doc Slammer and his friends repaired back to wherever they were from, and Mr. Winkle, accompanied by Snodgrass, returned to their inn. Now we gotta see what happens next, at least briefly, so we’ll go to Episode 2, Chapter 3. A New Acquaintance, The Stroller’s Tale, and an Interruption. So, Mr. Pickwick, meanwhile while that was happening, had felt some apprehensions in the consequence of the unusual absence of his two friends, which their mysterious behavior during the whole morning had by no means tended to diminish. It was, therefore, with more than ordinary pleasure that he rose to greet them when they again entered, and with more than ordinary interest that he inquired what had occurred to detain them from his society.
In reply to his question on this point, Mr. Snodgrass was about to offer an historical account of the circumstances just now detailed when he was suddenly checked by observing that there were present not only Tupman and their stagecoach companion of the proceeding day, but another person of equally singular appearance. It was a tired-looking man who looked really, really tired and hungover, rendered still more striking than nature, 'cause he has…his hair was hung. It looked like it hadn't been washed in quite a bit, and his eyes, though tired, were also bright and piercing. It looked like he was about to blow a bubble with gum or something, like he was contracting his jaws. He had an immovable expression that was unfathomable and understandable. Around his neck he wore a green shawl with large ends straggling over his chest, making their appearance occasionally beneath the worn buttonholes of his old waistcoat.
His upper garment was a long, black surtout, and below it he wore wide, drab trousers and large boots running rapidly to seed. So, Winkle’s eye was resting on this new person, and it was towards him that Pickwick extended his hand when he said, a friend of our friends here. We discovered this morning that our friend was connected with a theater in this place, and though it is not desirous to have it generally known, this gentleman is a member of the same profession. He was about to favor us with a little anecdote connected with it when you entered. Lots of anecdotes, said the green-coated stranger of the day before. He advanced to Winkle and spoke in a confidential tone. Rum fellow. Does the heavy business…? No actor. Who was this guy? Some…I don't even know. It’s dismal. This guy’s lame. Snodgrass and Winkle politely welcomed the gentleman, though, elegantly designated by…the stranger called this guy Dismal Jimmy.
Someone called for brandy water in imitation of the remainder of the company. They seated themselves at the table. Now, sir, said Mr. Pickwick, will you oblige us with proceeding with which you were going to relate? Dismal Jimmy said, sure, and he took a roll of paper from his pocket and turned to Snodgrass, who had just taken out his notebook, and said in a hollow voice perfectly in keeping with his demeanor, are you a poet, dude? I do a little of that, said Snodgrass, rather taken aback by the question. Ah, poetry makes life and light and music and the stage one of the false embellishments; the other of its illusions, and what is it is real in either to live or care for? I guess. I don't…yeah, sure, said Snodgrass. Very true, sir. To be before the footlights, continued Jimmy, is like sitting at a grand court show and admiring the silken dresses and the costumes and the hair, and to be behind them, to be the people who make the finery, who are unknown and uncared for, left to sink or swim, those are the people backstage.
Certainly, said Snodgrass, 'cause the guy stared at him a little too long, and he felt it necessary to say something. Go on, Jimmy, said the stranger. Keep it going. Oh, no stop. Keep it going. You don't stop. What about another glass before you begin? Said Pickwick. Jimmy took the hint, and having a mixed glass of brandy and water, slowly swallowed half of it and opened up his paper partly to read and partly to relate another tale that we will tell soon. So…but called The Stroller’s Tale. It will be recorded in the transaction of the next entry of our club as The Stroller’s Tale. But I’m wondering when we’ll finally figure…when will this stranger get a name who’s caused so much tumult, and what will happen to TT? And what did TT do all day, and the stranger? Did they drink a lot of water? What about Pickwick? As we avoided this dance-off and probably never find out who Payne is, but he…it was P-A-Y-N-E, though he does come across more as like a P-A-I-N.
But I think that’s it for this episode of Pickwick Papers. Oh, let me tell you the pictures that came up while we're still carrying you off into dreamland here. A couple more of the things came up in my book, one of which — I’m going backwards — was the No Dogs Allowed sign, which was from a different part of the book. But again, I’m just looking at…I have to read things on a Kindle since it makes it easier for me to read with my…what do you call it? Dyslexia. Then there was the thing at the party with everybody having discussions and non-positive things being said. So, yeah. So, yeah, that was…I gotta tell you, these two chapters have been quite interesting. So, I hope you're enjoying it, and we’ll be back in a bit to read more with you. Goodnight, everybody.
[End of recording]
Transcription performed by LeahTranscribes
