And amidst the yo-yoing of the whole four,
the chaise stopped.
'What's the matter?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'There's a gate here,' replied old Wardle. 'We shall hear something
of the fugitives.'
After a lapse of five minutes, consumed in incessant knocking
and shouting, an old man in his shirt and trousers emerged from
the turnpike-house, and opened the gate.
'How long is it since a post-chaise went through here?'
inquired Mr. Wardle.
'How long?'
'ah!'
'Why, I don't rightly know. It worn't a long time ago, nor it
worn't a short time ago--just between the two, perhaps.'
'Has any chaise been by at all?'
'Oh, yes, there's been a Shay by.'
'How long ago, my friend,' interposed Mr. Pickwick; 'an hour?'
'Ah, I dare say it might be,' replied the man.
'Or two hours?' inquired the post--boy on the wheeler.
'Well, I shouldn't wonder if it was,' returned the old man
doubtfully.
'Drive on, boys,' cried the testy old gentleman; 'don't waste
any more time with that old idiot!'
'Idiot!' exclaimed the old man with a grin, as he stood in the
middle of the road with the gate half-closed, watching the chaise
which rapidly diminished in the increasing distance.
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