'Don't let him go alone!' screamed the females. 'He'll kill
somebody!'
'I'll go with him,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'You're a good fellow, Pickwick,' said the host, grasping his
hand. 'Emma, give Mr. Pickwick a shawl to tie round his neck--
make haste. Look after your grandmother, girls; she has fainted
away. Now then, are you ready?'
Mr. Pickwick's mouth and chin having been hastily enveloped
in a large shawl, his hat having been put on his head, and his
greatcoat thrown over his arm, he replied in the affirmative.
They jumped into the gig. 'Give her her head, Tom,' cried the
host; and away they went, down the narrow lanes; jolting in and
out of the cart-ruts, and bumping up against the hedges on either
side, as if they would go to pieces every moment.
'How much are they ahead?' shouted Wardle, as they drove up
to the door of the Blue Lion, round which a little crowd had
collected, late as it was.
'Not above three-quarters of an hour,' was everybody's reply.
'Chaise-and-four directly!--out with 'em! Put up the gig
afterwards.'
'Now, boys!' cried the landlord--'chaise-and-four out--make
haste--look alive there!'
Away ran the hostlers and the boys.
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