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Elisha Cuthbert Photos Books: Martin Eden The Pickwick Papers The Sea Wolf |
werry
tight, and takes him in werry short, so as he cant werry well fall
down; and weve got a pair o precious large wheels on, so ven he
does move, they run after him, and he must go on--he cant
help it.
Mr. Pickwick entered every word of this statement in his note-
book, with the view of communicating it to the club, as a singular
instance of the tenacity of life in horses under trying circumstances.
The entry was scarcely completed when they reached the
Golden Cross. Down jumped the driver, and out got Mr. Pickwick.
Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, and Mr. Winkle, who had
been anxiously waiting the arrival of their illustrious leader,
crowded to welcome him.
Heres your fare, said Mr. Pickwick, holding out the shilling
to the driver.
What was the learned mans astonishment, when that unaccountable
person flung the money on the pavement, and
requested in figurative terms to be allowed the pleasure of fighting
him (Mr. Pickwick) for the amount!
You are mad, said Mr. Snodgrass.
Or drunk, said Mr. Winkle.
Or both, said Mr. Tupman.
Come on! said the cab-driver, sparring away like clockwork.
Come on--all four on you.
Heres a lark! shouted half a dozen hackney coachmen. Go
to vork, Sam!--and they crowded with great glee round the
party.
Whats the row, Sam? inquired one gentleman in black calico sleeves.
Row! replied the cabman, what did he want my number for?
I didnt want your number, said the astonished Mr. Pickwick.
What did you take it for, then? inquired the cabman.
I didnt take it, said Mr. Pickwick indignantly.
Would anybody believe, continued the cab-driver, appealing
to the crowd, would anybody believe as an informerud go about
in a mans cab, not only takin down his number, but evry word
he says into the bargain (a light flashed upon Mr. Pickwick--it
was the note-book).
Did he though? inquired another cabman.
Yes, did he, replied the first; and then arter aggerawatin me
to assault him, gets three witnesses here to prove it. But Ill give it
him, if Ive six months for it. Come on! and the cabman dashed
his hat upon the ground, with a reckless disregard of his own
private property, and knocked Mr. Pickwicks spectacles off, and
followed up the attack with a blow on Mr. Pickwicks nose, and
another on Mr. Pickwicks chest, and a third in Mr. Snodgrasss
eye, and a fourth, by way of variety, in Mr. Tupmans waistcoat,
and then danced into the road, and then back again to the pavement,
and finally dashed the whole temporary supply of breath
out of Mr. Winkles body; and all in half a dozen seconds.
Wheres an officer? said Mr. Snodgrass.
Put em under the pump, suggested a hot-pieman.
You shall smart for this, gasped Mr. Pickwick.
Informers! shouted the crowd.
Come on, cried the cabman, who had been sparring without
cessation the whole time.
The mob hitherto had been passive spectators of the scene, but
as the intelligence of the Pickwickians being informers was spread
among them, they began to canvass with considerable vivacity
the propriety of enforcing the heated pastry-vendors proposition:
and there is no saying what acts of personal aggression they
might have committed, had not the affray been unexpectedly
terminated by the interposition of a new-comer.
Whats the fun? said a rather tall, thin, young man, in a green
coat, emerging suddenly from the coach-yard.
informers! shouted the crowd again.
We are not, roared Mr. Pickwick, in a tone which, to any
dispassionate listener, carried conviction with it.
Aint you, though--aint you? said the young man, appealing
to Mr. Pickwick, and making his way through the crowd by the
infallible process of elbowing the countenances of its component members.
That learned man in a few hurried words explained the real
state of the case.
Come along, then, said he of the green coat, lugging Mr.
Pickwick after him by main force, and talking the whole way.
Here, No. 924, take your fare, and take yourself off--respectable
gentleman--know him well--none of your nonsense--this way,
sir--wheres your friends?--all a mistake, I see--never mind--
accidents will happen--best regulated families--never say die--
down upon your luck--Pull him UP--Put that in his pipe--like
the flavour--damned rascals. And with a lengthened string of
similar broken sentences, delivered with extraordinary volubility,
the stranger led the way to the travellers waiting-room, whither
he was closely followed by Mr. Pickwick and his disciples.
Here, waiter! shouted the stranger, ringing the bell with
tremendous violence, glasses round--brandy-and-water, hot and
strong, and sweet, and plenty,--eye damaged, Sir? Waiter! raw
beef-steak for the gentlemans eye--nothing like raw beef-steak
for a bruise, sir; cold lamp-post very good, but The Pickwick Papers page 3 The Pickwick Papers page 5 |