‘Now, about Manor Farm,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘How shall we go?’
‘We had better consult the waiter, perhaps,’ said Mr. Tupman; and the waiter was summoned accordingly.
‘Dingley Dell, gentlemen—fifteen miles, gentlemen—cross road—post-chaise, sir?’
‘Post-chaise won’t hold more than two,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘True, sir—beg your pardon, sir.—Very nice four-wheel chaise, sir—seat for two behind—one in front for the gentleman that drives—oh! beg your pardon, sir—that’ll only hold three.’
‘What’s to be done?’ said Mr. Snodgrass.
‘Perhaps one of the gentlemen would like to ride, sir?’ suggested the waiter, looking towards Mr. Winkle; ‘very good saddle-horses, sir—any of Mr. Wardle’s men coming to Rochester, bring ‘em back, Sir.’
‘The very thing,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Winkle, will you go on horseback?’
Now Mr. Winkle did entertain considerable misgivings in the very lowest recesses of his own heart, relative to his equestrian skill; but, as he would not have them even suspected, on any account, he at once replied with great hardihood, ‘Certainly. I should enjoy it of all things.’
Mr. Winkle had rushed upon his fate; there was no resource.