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!--I won't bear
it!--I'll have justice, Pickwick!--I won't stand 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. Pickwi