THE PICKWICK CLUB. 543
In protracted expectation of the weather clearing up, the last evening paper from London was read and re-read with an intensity of interest only known in cases of extreme destitution ; every inch of the carpet was walked over with similar perseverance, the windows were looked out of often enough to justify the imposition of an additional duty upon them, all kinds of topics of conversation M'ere started, and failed ; and at length Mr. Pickwick when noon had arrived without a change for the better, rang the bell resolutely and ordered out the chaise.
Although the roads were miry, and the drizzling rain came down harder than it had done yet, and although the mud and wet splashed in at the open windows of the carriage to such an extent that the discom- fort was almost as great to the pair of insides as to the pair of outsides, still there was something in the very motion, and the sense of being up and doing, which was so infinitelv superior to being pent in a dull room, looking at the dull rain dripping into a dull street, that they all agreed, on starting, that the change was a great improvement, and wondered how they could possibly have delayed making it as long as they had done.
When they stopped to change at Coventry, the steam ascended from the horses in such clouds as wholly to obscure the hostler, whose voice was however heard to declare from the mist, that he expected the first Gold Medal from the Humane Society on their next distribution of rewards, for taking the postboy's hat off; the water descending from the brim of which, the invisible gentleman declared must inevitably have drowned him (the postboy), but for his great presence of mind in tearing it promptly from his head, and drying the gasping man's countenance with a wisp of straw.
"This is pleasant," said Bob Sawyer, turning up his coat collar, and pulling the shawl over his mouth to concentrate the fumes of a glass of brandy just swallowed.
" Wery," replied Sam, composedly,
- ' You don't seem to mind it," observed Bob.
- Vy, I don't exactly see no good my mindin' on it 'ud do. Sir,"
replied Sam.
" That's an unanswerable reason, anyhow," said Bob.
" Yes, Sir," rejoined Mr. Weller. " Wotever is, is right, as the young nobleman sveetly remarked ven they put him down in the pension list 'cos his mother's uncle's vife's grandfather vunce lit the king's pipe vith a portable tinder box."
- ' Not a bad notion that, Sam," said Mr. Bob Sawyer approvingly.
"Just wot the young nobleman said ev'ry quarter-day arterwards for the rest of his life," replied Mr. Weller.
" Wos you ever called in," enquired Sam, glancing at the driver, after a short silence, and lowering his voice to a mysterious whisper, " wos you ever called in, ven you wos 'prentice to a sawbones, ti) wisit a postboy } "
- ' I don't remember that I ever was," replied Bob Sawyer.
" You never see a postboy in that 'ere hospital as you walked (as they says o' the ghosts), did you?" demanded Sam.
