'Two or three weeks,' replied the man. 'Weeks!' said Mr Pickwick in astonishment, and out came the note-book again.

'He lives at Pentonville when he's at home,' observed the driver coolly, 'but we seldom take him home, on account of his weakness.'

'On account of his weakness!' repeated the perplexed Mr Pickwick.

'He always falls down when he's taken out of the cab,' continued the driver, 'but when he's in it, we tie him in very tightly, and so he can't very well fall down; and we've got a pair of very large wheels on, so when he does move, they run after him, and he must go on - he can't help it.'

Mr Pickwick entered every word of this statement in his notebook, with the view of communicating it to the club, as a singular instance of the tenacity of life in horses under trying circumstances. The entry was scarcely completed when they reached the Golden Cross. Down jumped the driver, and out got Mr Pickwick. Mr Tupman, Mr Snodgrass, and Mr Winkle, who had been anxiously waiting the arrival of their illustrious leader, crowded around to welcome him.