Page:The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.djvu/355

285 THE PICKWICK CLUB. 285

waiting. The coachman throws down the reins and gets down himself, and the other outside passengers drop down also, except those who have no great confidence in their ability to get up again, and they remain where they are, and stamp their feet against the coach to warm them ; looking with longing eyes and red noses at the bright fire in the inn bar, and the sprigs of holly with red berries which ornament the window.

But the guard has delivered at the corn-dealer's shop, the brown paper packet he took out of the little pouch which hangs over his shoulder by a leathern strap, and has seen the horses carefully put to, and has thrown on the pavement the saddle which was brought from Londo-n on the coach-roof, and has assisted in the conference between the coachman and the hostler about the grey mare that hurt her olf-fore-leg last Tuesday, and he and Mr. Weller are all right behind, and the coachman is all right in front, and the old gentleman inside, who has kept the window down full two inches all this time, has pulled it up again, and the cloths are off, and they are all ready for starting, except the ** two stout gentle- men," whom the coachman enquires after with some impatience. Here- upon the coachman, and the guard, and Sam Weller, and Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass, and all the hostlers, and every one of the idlers, who are more in number than all the others put together, shout for the missing gentlemen as loud as they can bawl. A distant response is heard from the yard, and Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman come running down it, quite out of breath, for they have been having a glass of ale a-piece, and Mr. Pickwick's fingers are so cold that he has been full five minutes before he could find the sixpence to pay for it. The coachman shouts an admonitory *' Now, then, gen'lm'n," the guard re-choes it — the old gentleman inside, thinks it a very extraordinary thing that people rvill get down when they know there isn't time for it — Mr. Pick- wick struggles up on one side, Mr. Tupman on the other, Mr. Winkle cries '* All right," and oif they start. Shawls are pulled up, coat collars are re-adjusted, the pavement ceases, the houses disappear ; and they are once again dashing along the open road, with the fresh clear air blowing in their faces, and gladdening their very hearts within them.

Such was the progress of Mr. Pickwick and his friends by the Mug- gleton Telegraph, on their way to Dingley Dell ; and at three o'clock that afternoon, they all stood, high and dry, safe and sound, hale and hearty, upon the steps of the Blue Lion, having taken on the road quite enough of ale and brandy, to enable them to bid defiance to the frost that was binding up the earth in its iron fetters, and weaving its beau- tiful net- work upon the trees and hedges. Mr. Pickwick was busily engaged in counting the barrels of oysters, and superintending the dis- interment of the cod-fish, when he felt himself gently pulled by the skirts of the coat ; and looking round, he discovered that the individual who resorted to this mode of catching his attention, was no other than Mr. Wardle's favourite page, better known to the readers of this unvar- nished history by the distinguishing appellation of the fat boy,

" Aha I " said Mr. Pickwick.

h« Aha 1 " said the fat boy. 1