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‘
Where
are
we
to
go
to
?
’
screamed
the
agitated
Pickwickians
.
‘
Hoi
—
hoi
—
hoi
!
’
was
the
only
reply
.
There
was
a
moment
of
intense
bewilderment
,
a
heavy
tramp
of
footsteps
,
a
violent
concussion
,
a
smothered
laugh
;
the
half
-
dozen
regiments
were
half
a
thousand
yards
off
,
and
the
soles
of
Mr
.
Pickwick
’
s
boots
were
elevated
in
air
.
Mr
.
Snodgrass
and
Mr
.
Winkle
had
each
performed
a
compulsory
somerset
with
remarkable
agility
,
when
the
first
object
that
met
the
eyes
of
the
latter
as
he
sat
on
the
ground
,
staunching
with
a
yellow
silk
handkerchief
the
stream
of
life
which
issued
from
his
nose
,
was
his
venerated
leader
at
some
distance
off
,
running
after
his
own
hat
,
which
was
gambolling
playfully
away
in
perspective
.
There
are
very
few
moments
in
a
man
’
s
existence
when
he
experiences
so
much
ludicrous
distress
,
or
meets
with
so
little
charitable
commiseration
,
as
when
he
is
in
pursuit
of
his
own
hat
.
A
vast
deal
of
coolness
,
and
a
peculiar
degree
of
judgment
,
are
requisite
in
catching
a
hat
.
A
man
must
not
be
precipitate
,
or
he
runs
over
it
;
he
must
not
rush
into
the
opposite
extreme
,
or
he
loses
it
altogether
.
The
best
way
is
to
keep
gently
up
with
the
object
of
pursuit
,
to
be
wary
and
cautious
,
to
watch
your
opportunity
well
,
get
gradually
before
it
,
then
make
a
rapid
dive
,
seize
it
by
the
crown
,
and
stick
it
firmly
on
your
head
;
smiling
pleasantly
all
the
time
,
as
if
you
thought
it
as
good
a
joke
as
anybody
else
.
There
was
a
fine
gentle
wind
,
and
Mr
.
Pickwick
’
s
hat
rolled
sportively
before
it
.
The
wind
puffed
,
and
Mr
.
Pickwick
puffed
,
and
the
hat
rolled
over
and
over
as
merrily
as
a
lively
porpoise
in
a
strong
tide
:
and
on
it
might
have
rolled
,
far
beyond
Mr
.
Pickwick
’
s
reach
,
had
not
its
course
been
providentially
stopped
,
just
as
that
gentleman
was
on
the
point
of
resigning
it
to
its
fate
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
we
say
,
was
completely
exhausted
,
and
about
to
give
up
the
chase
,
when
the
hat
was
blown
with
some
violence
against
the
wheel
of
a
carriage
,
which
was
drawn
up
in
a
line
with
half
a
dozen
other
vehicles
on
the
spot
to
which
his
steps
had
been
directed
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
perceiving
his
advantage
,
darted
briskly
forward
,
secured
his
property
,
planted
it
on
his
head
,
and
paused
to
take
breath
.
He
had
not
been
stationary
half
a
minute
,
when
he
heard
his
own
name
eagerly
pronounced
by
a
voice
,
which
he
at
once
recognised
as
Mr
.
Tupman
’
s
,
and
,
looking
upwards
,
he
beheld
a
sight
which
filled
him
with
surprise
and
pleasure
.
in
an
open
barouche
,
the
horses
of
which
had
been
taken
out
,
the
better
to
accommodate
it
to
the
crowded
place
,
stood
a
stout
old
gentleman
,
in
a
blue
coat
and
bright
buttons
,
corduroy
breeches
and
top
-
boots
,
two
young
ladies
in
scarfs
and
feathers
,
a
young
gentleman
apparently
enamoured
of
one
of
the
young
ladies
in
scarfs
and
feathers
,
a
lady
of
doubtful
age
,
probably
the
aunt
of
the
aforesaid
,
and
Mr
.
Tupman
,
as
easy
and
unconcerned
as
if
he
had
belonged
to
the
family
from
the
first
moments
of
his
infancy
.
Fastened
up
behind
the
barouche
was
a
hamper
of
spacious
dimensions
—
one
of
those
hampers
which
always
awakens
in
a
contemplative
mind
associations
connected
with
cold
fowls
,
tongues
,
and
bottles
of
wine
—
and
on
the
box
sat
a
fat
and
red
-
faced
boy
,
in
a
state
of
somnolency
,
whom
no
speculative
observer
could
have
regarded
for
an
instant
without
setting
down
as
the
official
dispenser
of
the
contents
of
the
before
-
mentioned
hamper
,
when
the
proper
time
for
their
consumption
should
arrive
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
had
bestowed
a
hasty
glance
on
these
interesting
objects
,
when
he
was
again
greeted
by
his
faithful
disciple
.
‘
Pickwick
—
Pickwick
,
’
said
Mr
.
Tupman
;
‘
come
up
here
.
Make
haste
.
’
