--begs you won't trouble yourself—love to Tuppy—won't you get up behind?—drive on, boys."
The postilions resumed their proper attitudes, and away rattled the chaise, Mr. Jingle fluttering in derision a white handkerchief from the coach-window.
Nothing in the whole adventure, not even the upset, had disturbed the calm and equable current of Mr. Pickwick's temper. The villany, however, which could first borrow money of his faithful follower, and then abbreviate his name to "Tuppy," was more than he could patiently bear. He drew his breath hard, and coloured up to the very tips of his spectacles, as he said, slowly and emphatically—
"If ever I meet that man again, I'll———"
"Yes, yes," interrupted Wardle, "that's all very well: but while we stand talking here, they'll get their licence, and be married in London."
Mr. Pickwick paused, bottled up his vengeance, and corked it down.
"How far is it to the next stage?" inquired Mr. Wardle, of one of the boys.
"Six mile, an't it, Tom?"
"Rayther better."
"Rayther better nor six mile, sir."
"Can't be helped," said Wardle, "we must walk it, Pickwick."
"No help for it," replied that truly great man.
So sending forward one of the boys on horseback, to procure a fresh chaise and horses, and leaving the other behind to take care of the broken one, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Wardle set manfully forward on the walk, first tying their shawls round their necks, and slouching down their hats to escape as much as possible from the deluge of rain, which after a slight cessation had again begun to pour heavily down.
