Chapter 9 - Page 2

it!'
and with sundry incoherent exclamations of the like nature, the
unhappy gentleman spun round and round the apartment, in a
transport of frenzy.

'Lord preserve us!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, eyeing the
extraordinary gestures of his friend with terrified surprise. 'He's
gone mad! What shall we do?'
'Do!' said the stout old host, who regarded only the last words
of the 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 ran out to execute the commission--'where's that villain, Joe?'

'Here I am! but I hain't a willin,' replied a voice. It was the
fat boy's.

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

'Don't let him!' screamed all the women, above whose
exclamations the blubbering of the fat boy was distinctly audible.

'I won't be held!' cried the old man. 'Mr. Winkle, take your
hands off. Mr. Pickwick, let me go, sir!'

It was a beautiful sight, in that moment of turmoil and confusion,
to behold the placid and philosophical expression of
Mr. Pickwick's face, albeit somewhat flushed with exertion, as he
stood with his arms firmly clasped round the extensive waist of
their corpulent host, thus restraining the impetuosity of his
passion, while the fat boy was scratched, and pulled, and pushed
from the room by all the females congregated therein. He had no
sooner released his hold, than the man entered to announce that
the gig was ready.

'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.