he supper was ready laid, the chairs were drawn round thetable, bottles, jugs, and glasses were arranged upon thesideboard, and everything betokened the approach of themost convivial period in the whole four-and-twenty hours.

　　‘Where’s Rachael?’ said Mr. Wardle.

　　‘Ay, and Jingle?’ added Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘Dear me,’ said the host, ‘I wonder I haven’t missed him before.

　　Why, I don’t think I’ve heard his voice for two hours at least.

　　Emily, my dear, ring the bell.’

　　The bell was rung, and the fat boy appeared.

　　‘Where’s Miss Rachael?’ He couldn’t say. ‘Where’s Mr. Jingle,then?’ He didn’t know. Everybody looked surprised. It was late―past eleven o’clock. Mr. Tupman laughed in his sleeve. They wereloitering somewhere, talking about him. Ha, ha! capital notionthat―funny.

　　‘Never mind,’ said Wardle, after a short pause. ‘They’ll turn uppresently, I dare say. I never wait supper for anybody.’

　　‘Excellent rule, that,’ said Mr. Pickwick―‘admirable.’

　　‘Pray, sit down,’ said the host.

　　‘Certainly’ said Mr. Pickwick; and down they sat.

　　There was a gigantic round of cold beef on the table, and Mr.

　　Pickwick was supplied with a plentiful portion of it. He had raisedhis fork to his lips, and was on the very point of opening his mouthfor the reception of a piece of beef, when the hum of many voicessuddenly arose in the kitchen. He paused, and laid down his fork.

　　Mr. Wardle paused too, and insensibly released his hold of thecarving-knife, which remained inserted in the beef. He looked atMr. Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick looked at him.

　　Heavy footsteps were heard in the passage; the parlour doorwas suddenly burst open; and the man who had cleaned Mr.

　　Pickwick’s boots on his first arrival, rushed into the room,followed by the fat boy and all the domestics. ‘What the devil’s themeaning of this?’ exclaimed the host.

　　‘The kitchen chimney ain’t a-fire, is it, Emma?’ inquired the oldlady. ‘Lor, grandma! No,’ screamed both the young ladies.

　　‘What’s the matter?’ roared the master of the house.

　　The man gasped for breath, and faintly ejaculated―‘They ha’ gone, mas’r!―gone right clean off, sir!’ (At thisjuncture Mr. Tupman was observed to lay down his knife and fork,and to turn very pale.)‘Who’s gone?’ said Mr. Wardle fiercely.

　　‘Mus’r Jingle and Miss Rachael, in a po’-chay, from Blue Lion,Muggleton. I was there; but I couldn’t stop ‘em; so I run off to tell’ee.’

　　‘I paid his expenses!’ said Mr. Tupman, jumping up frantically.

　　‘He’s got ten pounds of mine!―stop him!―he’s swindled me!―Iwon’t bear it!―I’ll have justice, Pickwick!―I won’t stand it!’ andwith sundry incoherent exclamations of the like nature, theunhappy gentleman spun round and round the apartment, in atransport of frenzy.

　　‘Lord preserve us!’ ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, eyeing theextraordinary gestures of his friend with terrified surprise. ‘He’sgone mad! What shall we do?’

　　‘Do!’ said the stout old host, who regarded only the last words ofthe sentence. ‘Put the horse in the gig! I’ll get a chaise at the Lion,and follow ’em instantly. Where?’―he exclaimed, as the man ranout to execute the commission―‘where’s that villain, Joe?’

　　‘Here I am! but I hain’t a willin,’ replied a voice. It was the fatboy’s.

　　‘Let me get at him, Pickwick,’ cried Wardle, as he rushed at theill-starred youth. ‘He was bribed by that scoundrel, Jingle, to putme on a wrong scent, by telling a cock-and-bull story of my sisterand your friend Tupman!’ (Here Mr. Tupman sank into a chair.)‘Let me get at him!’

　　‘Don’t let him!’ screamed all the women, above whoseexclamations the blubbering of the fat boy was distinctly audible.

　　‘I won’t be held!’ cried the old man. ‘Mr. Winkle, take yourhands off. Mr. Pickwick, let me go, sir!’

　　It was a beautiful sight, in that moment of turmoil andconfusion, to behold the placid and philosophical expression ofMr. Pickwick’s face, albeit somewhat flushed with exertion, as hestood with his arms firmly clasped round the extensive waist oftheir corpulent host, thus restraining the impetuosity of hispassion, while the fat boy was scratched, and pulled, and pushedfrom the room by all the females congregated therein. He had nosooner released his hold, than the man entered to announce thatthe gig was ready.

　　‘Don’t let him go alone!’ screamed the females. ‘He’ll killsomebody!’

　　‘I’ll go with him,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘You’re a good fellow, Pickwick,’ said the host, grasping hishand. ‘Emma, give Mr. Pickwick a shawl to tie round his neck―make haste. Look after your grandmother, girls; she has faintedaway. Now then, are you ready?’

　　Mr. Pickwick’s mouth and chin having been hastily envelopedin a large shawl, his hat having been put on his head, and hisgreatcoat thrown over his arm, he replied in the affirmative.

　　They jumped into the gig. ‘Give her her head, Tom,’ cried thehost; and away they went, down the narrow lanes; jolting in andout of the cart-ruts, and bumping up against the hedges on eitherside, as if they would go to pieces every moment.

　　‘How much are they ahead?’ shouted Wardle, as they drove upto the door of the Blue Lion, round which a little crowd hadcollected, 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 gigafterwards.’

　　‘Now, boys!’ cried the landlord―‘chaise-and-four out―makehaste―look alive there!’

　　Away ran the hostlers and the boys. The lanterns glimmered, asthe men ran to and fro; the horses’ hoofs clattered on the unevenpaving of the yard; the chaise rumbled as it was drawn out of thecoach-house; and all was noise and bustle.

　　‘Now then!―is that chaise coming out to-night?’ cried Wardle.

　　‘Coming down the yard now, sir,’ replied the hostler.

　　Out came the chaise―in went the horses―on sprang the boys―in got the travellers.

　　‘Mind―the seven-mile stage in less than half an hour!’ shoutedWardle.

　　‘Off with you!’

　　The boys applied whip and spur, the waiters shouted, thehostlers cheered, and away they went, fast and furiously.

　　‘Pretty situation,’ thought Mr. Pickwick, when he had had amoment’s time for reflection. ‘Pretty situation for the generalchairman of the Pickwick Club. Damp chaise―strange horses―fifteen miles an hour―and twelve o’clock at night!’

　　For the first three or four miles, not a word was spoken byeither of the gentlemen, each being too much immersed in his ownreflections to address any observations to his companion. Whenthey had gone over that much ground, however, and the horsesgetting thoroughly warmed began to do their work in really goodstyle, Mr. Pickwick became too much exhilarated with the rapidityof the motion, to remain any longer perfectly mute.

　　‘We’re sure to catch them, I think,’ said he.

　　‘Hope so,’ replied his companion.

　　‘Fine night,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking up at the moon, whichwas shining brightly.

　　‘So much the worse,’ returned Wardle; ‘for they’ll have had allthe advantage of the moonlight to get the start of us, and we shalllose it. It will have gone down in another hour.’

　　‘It will be rather unpleasant going at this rate in the dark, won’tit?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘I dare say it will,’ replied his friend dryly.

　　Mr. Pickwick’s temporary excitement began to sober down alittle, as he reflected upon the inconveniences and dangers of theexpedition in which he had so thoughtlessly embarked. He wasroused by a loud shouting of the post-boy on the leader.

　　‘Yo-yo-yo-yo-yoe!’ went the first boy.

　　‘Yo-yo-yo-yoe!’ went the second.

　　‘Yo-yo-yo-yoe!’ chimed in old Wardle himself, most lustily, withhis head and half his body out of the coach window.

　　‘Yo-yo-yo-yoe!’ shouted Mr. Pickwick, taking up the burden ofthe cry, though he had not the slightest notion of its meaning orobject. And amidst the yo-yoing of the whole four, the chaisestopped.

　　‘What’s the matter?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘There’s a gate here,’ replied old Wardle. ‘We shall hearsomething of the fugitives.’

　　After a lapse of five minutes, consumed in incessant knockingand shouting, an old man in his shirt and trousers emerged fromthe turnpike-house, and opened the gate.

　　‘How long is it since a post-chaise went through here?’ inquiredMr. Wardle.

　　‘How long?’

　　‘ah!’

　　‘Why, I don’t rightly know. It worn’t a long time ago, nor itworn’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 mandoubtfully.

　　‘Drive on, boys,’ cried the testy old gentleman; ‘don’t waste anymore time with that old idiot!’

　　‘Idiot!’ exclaimed the old man with a grin, as he stood in themiddle of the road with the gate half-closed, watching the chaisewhich rapidly diminished in the increasing distance. ‘No―notmuch o’ that either; you’ve lost ten minutes here, and gone awayas wise as you came, arter all. If every man on the line as has aguinea give him, earns............