The heat was a short one.

Mr.Tupman threw himself into the hedge, Mr.Snodgrass followed his example, the horse dashed the four--wheeled chaise against a wooden bridge, separated the wheels from the body, and the bin from the perch; and finally stood stock still to gaze upon the ruin he had made.
The first care of the two unspilt friends was to extricate their unfortunate companions from their bed of quickset--a process which gave them the unspeakable satisfaction of discovering that they had sustained no injury, beyond sundry rents in their garments, and various lacerations from the brambles.

The next thing to be done was to unharness the horse.

This complicated process having been effected, the party walked slowly forward, leading the horse among them, and abandoning the chaise to its fate.
An hour's walk brought the travellers to a little road-side public-house, with two elm-trees, a horse trough, and a signpost, in front; one or two deformed hay-ricks behind, a kitchen garden at the side, and rotten sheds and mouldering outhouses jumbled in strange confusion all about it.

A red-headed man was working in the garden; and to him Mr.Pickwick called lustily, 'Hollo there!' The red-headed man raised his body, shaded his eyes with his hand, and stared, long and coolly, at Mr.Pickwick and his companions.
'Hollo there!' repeated Mr.Pickwick.
'Hollo!' was the red-headed man's reply.
'How far is it to Dingley Dell ?' 'Better er seven mile.' 'Is it a good road ?' 'No, 'tain't.' Having uttered this brief reply, and apparently satisfied himself with another scrutiny, the red-headed man resumed his work.