“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 vagin-load of monkeys with their tails burned 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.