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Elisha Cuthbert Photos Books: Martin Eden The Pickwick Papers The Sea Wolf |
sir, replied the waiter.
The waiter retired; the breakfast concluded; and the travellers
ascended to their respective bedrooms, to prepare a change of
clothing, to take with them on their approaching expedition.
Mr. Pickwick had made his preliminary arrangements, and
was looking over the coffee-room blinds at the passengers
in the street, when the waiter entered, and announced that
the chaise was ready--an announcement which the vehicle itself
confirmed, by forthwith appearing before the coffee-room blinds
aforesaid.
It was a curious little green box on four wheels, with a low
place like a wine-bin for two behind, and an elevated perch for
one in front, drawn by an immense brown horse, displaying
great symmetry of bone. An hostler stood near, holding by the
bridle another immense horse--apparently a near relative of the
animal in the chaise--ready saddled for Mr. Winkle.
Bless my soul! said Mr. Pickwick, as they stood upon the
pavement while the coats were being put in. Bless my soul! whos
to drive? I never thought of that.
Oh! you, of course, said Mr. Tupman.
Of course, said Mr. Snodgrass.
I! exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
Not the slightest fear, Sir, interposed the hostler. Warrant
him quiet, Sir; a hinfant in arms might drive him.
He dont shy, does he? inquired Mr. Pickwick.
Shy, sir?-he wouldnt shy if he was to meet a vagin-load of
monkeys with their tails burned off.
The last recommendation was indisputable. Mr. Tupman and
Mr. Snodgrass got into the bin; Mr. Pickwick ascended to his
perch, and deposited his feet on a floor-clothed shelf, erected
beneath it for that purpose.
Now, shiny Villiam, said the hostler to the deputy hostler,
give the genlmn the ribbons. Shiny Villiam--so called,
probably, from his sleek hair and oily countenance--placed the
reins in Mr. Pickwicks left hand; and the upper hostler thrust a
whip into his right.
Wo-o! cried Mr. Pickwick, as the tall quadruped evinced a
decided inclination to back into the coffee-room window.
Wo-o! echoed Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass, from the bin.
Only his playfulness, genlmn, said the head hostler
encouragingly; jist kitch hold on him, Villiam. The deputy
restrained the animals impetuosity, and the principal ran to
assist Mr. Winkle in mounting.
Tother side, sir, if you please.
Blowed if the genlmn wornt a-gettin up on the wrong side,
whispered a grinning post-boy to the inexpressibly gratified waiter.
Mr. Winkle, thus instructed, climbed into his saddle, with
about as much difficulty as he would have experienced in getting
up the side of a first-rate man-of-war.
All right? inquired Mr. Pickwick, with an inward presentiment
that it was all wrong.
All right, replied Mr. Winkle faintly.
Let em go, cried the hostler.--Hold him in, sir; and away
went the chaise, and the saddle-horse, with Mr. Pickwick on the
box of the one, and Mr. Winkle on the back of the other, to the
delight and gratification of the whole inn-yard.
What makes him go sideways? said Mr. Snodgrass in the bin,
to Mr. Winkle in the saddle.
I cant imagine, replied Mr. Winkle. His horse was drifting
up the street in the most mysterious manner--side first, with
his head towards one side of the way, and his tail towards the other.
Mr. Pickwick had no leisure to observe either this or any other
particular, the whole of his faculties being concentrated in the
management of the animal attached to the chaise, who displayed
various peculiarities, highly interesting to a bystander, but by no
means equally amusing to any one seated behind him. Besides
constantly jerking his head up, in a very unpleasant and uncomfortable
manner, and tugging at the reins to an extent which
rendered it a matter of great difficulty for Mr. Pickwick to hold
them, he had a singular propensity for darting suddenly every
now and then to the side of the road, then stopping short, and
then rushing forward for some minutes, at a speed which it was
wholly impossible to control.
What CAN he mean by this? said Mr. Snodgrass, when the
horse had executed this manoeuvre for the twentieth time.
I dont know, replied Mr. Tupman; it looks very like shying,
dont it? Mr. Snodgrass was about to reply, when he was interrupted
by a shout from Mr. Pickwick.
Woo! said that gentleman; I have dropped my whip.
Winkle, said Mr. Snodgrass, as the equestrian came trotting
up on the tall horse, with his hat over his ears, and shaking all
over, as if he would shake to pieces, with the violence of the
exercise, pick up the whip, theres a good fellow. Mr. Winkle
pulled at the bridle of the tall horse till he The Pickwick Papers page 28 The Pickwick Papers page 30 |