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! who's 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 don't shy, does he?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Shy, sir? He wouldn't shy if he was to meet a vagginload of monkeys with their tails burnt 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 gen'lm'n the ribbins." "Shiny Villiam" so called, probably, from his sleek hair and oily countenance placed the reins in Mr. Pickwick's 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, gen'lm'n," said the head hostler encouragingly; "jist kitch hold on him, Villiam." The deputy restrained the animal's impetuosity, and the principal ran to assist Mr. Winkle in mounting.
"T'other side, sir, if you please."
"Blowed if the gen'lm'n worn't a gettin' up on the wrong side," whispered a grinning post-boy to the inexpressibly gratified waiter.
