see either a donkey or a postboy
a-takin' his pleasure in this!'

Expatiating upon this learned and remarkable theory, and citing many
curious statistical and other facts in its support, Sam Weller beguiled
the time until they reached Dunchurch, where a dry postboy and fresh
horses were procured; the next stage was Daventry, and the next
Towcester; and at the end of each stage it rained harder than it had
done at the beginning.

'I say,' remonstrated Bob Sawyer, looking in at the coach window, as
they pulled up before the door of the Saracen's Head, Towcester, 'this
won't do, you know.'

'Bless me!' said Mr. Pickwick, just awakening from a nap, 'I'm afraid
you're wet.'

'Oh, you are, are you?' returned Bob. 'Yes, I am, a little that way,
Uncomfortably damp, perhaps.'

Bob did look dampish, inasmuch as the rain was streaming from his neck,
elbows, cuffs, skirts, and knees; and his whole apparel shone so with
the wet, that it might have been mistaken for a full suit of prepared
oilskin.

'I AM rather wet,' said Bob, giving himself a shake and casting a little
hydraulic shower around, like a Newfoundland dog just emerged from the
water.

'I think it's quite impossible to go on to-night,' interposed Ben.

'Out of the question, sir,' remarked Sam Weller, coming to assist in
the conference; 'it's a cruelty to animals, sir, to ask 'em to do it.
There's beds here, sir,' said Sam, addressing his master, 'everything
clean and comfortable. Wery good little dinner, sir, they can get ready
in half an hour--pair of fowls, sir, and a weal cutlet; French beans,
'taturs, tart, and tidiness. You'd better stop vere you are, sir, if I
might recommend. Take adwice, sir, as the doctor said.'

The host of the Saracen's Head opportunely appeared at this moment, to
confirm Mr. Weller's statement relative to the accommodations of the
establishment, and to back his entreaties with a variety of dismal
conjectures regarding the state of the roads, the doubt of fresh horses
being to be had at the next stage, the dead certainty of its raining all
night, the equally mortal certainty of its clearing up in the morning,
and other topics of inducement familiar to innkeepers.

'Well,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but I must send a letter to London by some
conveyance, so that it may be delivered the very first thing in the
morning, or I must go forwards at all hazards.'

The landlord smiled his delight. Nothing could be easier than for the
gentleman