otor-car, which they had just
mounted, well wrapped up in antiquated great coats, shawls, and
comforters.

Mr. Weller, Senior, had, all unconsciously, brought his well-loved whip
with him, and was greatly embarrassed thereby.

"Votever shall I do vith it, Sammy?" he whispered, hoarsely.

"Purtend it's a new, patent, jointless fishing-rod, guv'nor," rejoined
Sam, in a Stygian aside. "Nobody 'ere'll 'ave the slightest notion vot
it really is."

"When are they--eh--going to--ahem--put the horses to?" murmured Mr.
Pickwick, emerging from his coat collar, and looking about him with
great perplexity.

"'_Osses?_" cried the coachman, turning round upon Mr. Pickwick, with
sharp suspicion in his eye. "'_Osses?_ d'ye say. Oh, who are you
a-gettin' at?"

Mr. Pickwick withdrew promptly into his coat-collar.

The irrepressible Sam came immediately to the aid of his beloved master,
whom he would never see snubbed if _he_ knew it.

"There's vheels vithin vheels, as the bicyclist said vhen he vos pitched
head foremost into the vatchmaker's vinder," remarked Mr. Weller,
Junior, with the air of a Solomon in smalls. "But vot sort of a vheel do
you call that thing in front of you, and vot's its pertikler objeck? a
top of a coach instead o' under it?"

"This yer wheel means Revolution," said the driver.

"It do, Samivel, it do," interjected his father dolorously. "And in my
opinion it's a worse Revolution than that there French one itself. A
coach vithout 'osses, vheels instead of vheelers, and a driver vithout a
vhip! Oh Sammy, Sammy, to think it should come to _this_!!!"

The driver--if it be not desecration to a noble old name so to designate
him--gave a turn to his wheel and the autocar started. Mr. Winkle, who
sat at the extreme edge, waggled his shadowy legs forlornly in the air;
Mr. Snodgrass, who sat next to him, snorted lugubriously; Mr. Tupman
turned paler than even a Stygian shade has a right to do. Mr. Pickwick
took off his glasses and wiped them furtively.

"Sam," he whispered hysterically in the ear of his faithful servitor,
"Sam, this is dreadful! A--ahem!--vehicle with no visible means of
propulsion pounding along like--eh--Saint Denis without his head, is
more uncanny than Charon's boat."

"Let's get down, Sammy, let's get down at once," groaned Mr. Weller the
elder. "I can't stand it, Samivel, I really can't. Think o' the poor
'osses, Sammy, think o' the poor 'osses as ain't there, and vot they
must feel t