"How long is it since a post-chaise went through here?" inquired Mr. Wardle.
"How long?"
"Ah!"
"Why, I don't rightly know. It worn't a long time ago, nor it worn't a short time ago—just between the two, perhaps."
"Has any chaise been by at all?"
"Oh yes, there's been a shay by."
"How long ago, my friend," interposed Mr. Pickwick, "an hour?"
"Ah, I daresay it might be," replied the man.
"Or two hours?" inquired the post-boy on the wheeler.
"Well, I shouldn't wonder if it was," returned the old man doubtfully.
"Drive on, boys," cried the testy old gentleman; "don't waste any more time with that old idiot!"
"Idiot!" exclaimed the old man with a grin, as he stood in the middle of the road with the gate half-closed, watching the chaise which rapidly diminished in the increasing distance.
"No—not much o' that either; you've lost ten minutes here, and gone away as wise as you came, arter all. If every man on the line as has a guinea give him, earns it half as well, you won't catch t'other shay this side Mich'lmas, old short-and-fat." And with another prolonged grin, the old man closed the gate, re-entered his house, and bolted the door after him.
Meanwhile the chaise proceeded, without any slackening of pace, towards the conclusion of the stage. The moon, as Wardle had foretold, was rapidly on the wane; large tiers of dark heavy clouds, which had been gradually overspreading the sky for some time past, now formed one black mass over head; and large drops of rain which pattered every now and then against the windows of the chaise, seemed to warn the travellers of the rapid approach of a stormy night. The wind, too, which was directly against them, swept in furious gusts
