“Mind⁠—the seven-mile stage in less than half an hour!” shouted Wardle.

“Off with you!”

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

“Pretty situation,” thought Mr. Pickwick, when he had had a moment’s time for reflection. “Pretty situation for the general chairman of the Pickwick Club. Damp chaise⁠—strange horses⁠—fifteen miles an hour⁠—and twelve o’clock at night!”