Page:The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.djvu/91

49 THE PICKWICK CLUB. 49

A tall bony woman — straig^ht all the way down — in a coarse blue pelisse, with the waist an inch or two below her arno-pits, responded to the call.

" Can we put this horse up here, my good woman ? " said Mr. Tup- man, advancing-, and speaking in his most seductive tones. The woman looked very hard at the whole party ; and the red-headed man whis- pered something in her ear.

" No," replied the woman, after a little consideration, " I'm afeerd on it."

" Afraid I" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, " what's the woman afraid of!"

" It got lis in trouble last time," said the woman, turning into the house; '* I woant have nothin' to say to *un."

astonished Mr. Pickwick.
 * ' Most extraordinary thing I ever met with in my life," said the

gathered round him, " that they think we have come by this horse in some dishonest manner."
 * I — I — really believe," whispered Mr. Winkle, as his friends

" What ! " exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, in a storm of indignation. Mr. Winkle modestly repeated his suggestion.

" Hallo, you fellow !" said the angry Mr. Pickwick, ** do you think we stole this horse ? "

" I'm sure ye did," replied the red-headed njan, with a grin which agitated his countenance from one auricular organ to the other. Saying which, he turned into the house, and banged the dcor after him.

" It's like a dream," — ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, " a hideous dream. The idea of a man's walking about, all day, vvith a dreadful horse that he can't get rid of!" The depressed Pickwickians turned moodily away, with the tall quadruped, for which they all felt the most unmiti- gated disgust, following slowly at their heels.

It was late in the afternoon, when the four friends and their four- footed companion, turned into the lane leading to Manor Farm : and even when they were so near their place of destination, the pleasure they would otherwise have experienced, was materially damped as they reflected on the bingularity of their appearance, and the absurdity of their situation. Torn clothes, lacerated faces, dusty shoes, exhausted looks, and, above all, the horse. Oh, how Mr. Pickwick cursed that horse : he had eyed the noble animal from time to time with looks expressive of hatred and revenge ; more than once he had calculated the probable amount of the expense he would incur by cutting his throat ; and now the temptation to destroy him, or to cast him loose upon the world, rushed upon his mind with ten-fold force. He was roused from a meditation on these dire imaginings, by the sudden appearance of two figures, at a turn of the lane. It was Mr. Wardle, and his faithful attendant, the fat boy.

"Why, where hai^e you been?" said the hospitable old gentleman. " I've been waiting for you all day. Well, you do look tired. What! Scratches ! Not hurt, I hope — eh ? Well, I am glad to hear that — very. So you've been spilt, eh.^ Never mind. Common accident in