"Dingley Dell, gentlemen—fifteen miles, gentlemen—cross road—post-chaise, sir?"
"Post-chaise won't hold more than two," said Mr. Pickwick.
"True, sir—beg your pardon, sir. Very nice four-wheeled chaise, sir—seat for two behind one in front for the gentleman that drives—oh! beg your pardon, sir that'll only hold three."
"What's to be done?" said Mr. Snodgrass.
"Perhaps one of the gentlemen would like to ride, sir?" suggested the waiter, looking towards Mr. Winkle; "very good saddle horses, sir any of Mr. Wardle's men coming to Rochester bring 'em back, sir."
"The very thing," said Mr. Pickwick. "Winkle, will you go on horseback?"
Mr. Winkle did entertain considerable misgivings in the very lowest recesses of his own heart, relative to his equestrian skill; but, as he would not have them even suspected on any account, he at once replied with great hardihood, "Certainly. I should enjoy it, of all things."
Mr. Winkle had rushed upon his fate; there was no resource. "Let them be at the door by eleven," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Very well, sir," replied the waiter.
The waiter retired; the breakfast concluded; and the travellers ascended to their respective bed-rooms, 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
