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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Стр. 404/859
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And
now
the
bugle
plays
a
lively
air
as
the
coach
rattles
through
the
ill
-
paved
streets
of
a
country
town
;
and
the
coachman
,
undoing
the
buckle
which
keeps
his
ribands
together
,
prepares
to
throw
them
off
the
moment
he
stops
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
emerges
from
his
coat
collar
,
and
looks
about
him
with
great
curiosity
;
perceiving
which
,
the
coachman
informs
Mr
.
Pickwick
of
the
name
of
the
town
,
and
tells
him
it
was
market
-
day
yesterday
,
both
of
which
pieces
of
information
Mr
.
Pickwick
retails
to
his
fellow
-
passengers
;
whereupon
they
emerge
from
their
coat
collars
too
,
and
look
about
them
also
.
Mr
.
Winkle
,
who
sits
at
the
extreme
edge
,
with
one
leg
dangling
in
the
air
,
is
nearly
precipitated
into
the
street
,
as
the
coach
twists
round
the
sharp
corner
by
the
cheesemonger
’
s
shop
,
and
turns
into
the
market
-
place
;
and
before
Mr
.
Snodgrass
,
who
sits
next
to
him
,
has
recovered
from
his
alarm
,
they
pull
up
at
the
inn
yard
where
the
fresh
horses
,
with
cloths
on
,
are
already
waiting
.
The
coachman
throws
down
the
reins
and
gets
down
himself
,
and
the
other
outside
passengers
drop
down
also
;
except
those
who
have
no
great
confidence
in
their
ability
to
get
up
again
;
and
they
remain
where
they
are
,
and
stamp
their
feet
against
the
coach
to
warm
them
—
looking
,
with
longing
eyes
and
red
noses
,
at
the
bright
fire
in
the
inn
bar
,
and
the
sprigs
of
holly
with
red
berries
which
ornament
the
window
.
But
the
guard
has
delivered
at
the
corn
-
dealer
’
s
shop
,
the
brown
paper
packet
he
took
out
of
the
little
pouch
which
hangs
over
his
shoulder
by
a
leathern
strap
;
and
has
seen
the
horses
carefully
put
to
;
and
has
thrown
on
the
pavement
the
saddle
which
was
brought
from
London
on
the
coach
roof
;
and
has
assisted
in
the
conference
between
the
coachman
and
the
hostler
about
the
gray
mare
that
hurt
her
off
fore
-
leg
last
Tuesday
;
and
he
and
Mr
.
Weller
are
all
right
behind
,
and
the
coachman
is
all
right
in
front
,
and
the
old
gentleman
inside
,
who
has
kept
the
window
down
full
two
inches
all
this
time
,
has
pulled
it
up
again
,
and
the
cloths
are
off
,
and
they
are
all
ready
for
starting
,
except
the
‘
two
stout
gentlemen
,
’
whom
the
coachman
inquires
after
with
some
impatience
.
Hereupon
the
coachman
,
and
the
guard
,
and
Sam
Weller
,
and
Mr
.
Winkle
,
and
Mr
.
Snodgrass
,
and
all
the
hostlers
,
and
every
one
of
the
idlers
,
who
are
more
in
number
than
all
the
others
put
together
,
shout
for
the
missing
gentlemen
as
loud
as
they
can
bawl
.
A
distant
response
is
heard
from
the
yard
,
and
Mr
.
Pickwick
and
Mr
.
Tupman
come
running
down
it
,
quite
out
of
breath
,
for
they
have
been
having
a
glass
of
ale
a
-
piece
,
and
Mr
.
Pickwick
’
s
fingers
are
so
cold
that
he
has
been
full
five
minutes
before
he
could
find
the
sixpence
to
pay
for
it
.
The
coachman
shouts
an
admonitory
‘
Now
then
,
gen
’
l
’
m
’
n
,
’
the
guard
re
-
echoes
it
;
the
old
gentleman
inside
thinks
it
a
very
extraordinary
thing
that
people
WILL
get
down
when
they
know
there
isn
’
t
time
for
it
;
Mr
.
Pickwick
struggles
up
on
one
side
,
Mr
.
Tupman
on
the
other
;
Mr
.
Winkle
cries
‘
All
right
’
;
and
off
they
start
.
Shawls
are
pulled
up
,
coat
collars
are
readjusted
,
the
pavement
ceases
,
the
houses
disappear
;
and
they
are
once
again
dashing
along
the
open
road
,
with
the
fresh
clear
air
blowing
in
their
faces
,
and
gladdening
their
very
hearts
within
them
.
Such
was
the
progress
of
Mr
.
Pickwick
and
his
friends
by
the
Muggleton
Telegraph
,
on
their
way
to
Dingley
Dell
;
and
at
three
o
’
clock
that
afternoon
they
all
stood
high
and
dry
,
safe
and
sound
,
hale
and
hearty
,
upon
the
steps
of
the
Blue
Lion
,
having
taken
on
the
road
quite
enough
of
ale
and
brandy
,
to
enable
them
to
bid
defiance
to
the
frost
that
was
binding
up
the
earth
in
its
iron
fetters
,
and
weaving
its
beautiful
network
upon
the
trees
and
hedges
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
was
busily
engaged
in
counting
the
barrels
of
oysters
and
superintending
the
disinterment
of
the
cod
-
fish
,
when
he
felt
himself
gently
pulled
by
the
skirts
of
the
coat
.
Looking
round
,
he
discovered
that
the
individual
who
resorted
to
this
mode
of
catching
his
attention
was
no
other
than
Mr
.
Wardle
’
s
favourite
page
,
better
known
to
the
readers
of
this
unvarnished
history
,
by
the
distinguishing
appellation
of
the
fat
boy
.
‘
Aha
!
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
Aha
!
’
said
the
fat
boy
.
As
he
said
it
,
he
glanced
from
the
cod
-
fish
to
the
oyster
-
barrels
,
and
chuckled
joyously
.
He
was
fatter
than
ever
.
‘
Well
,
you
look
rosy
enough
,
my
young
friend
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
