There was a sudden bump--a loud crash--away rolled a wheel, and over went the chaise.
After a very few seconds of bewilderment and confusion, in which nothing but the plunging of horses, and breaking of glass could be made out, Mr.
Pickwick felt himself violently pulled out from among the ruins of the chaise; and as soon as he had gained his feet, extricated his head from the skirts of his greatcoat, which materially impeded the usefulness of his spectacles, the full disaster of the case met his view.
Old Mr.Wardle without a hat, and his clothes torn in several places, stood by his side, and the fragments of the chaise lay scattered at their feet.

The post-boys, who had succeeded in cutting the traces, were standing, disfigured with mud and disordered by hard riding, by the horses' heads.

About a hundred yards in advance was the other chaise, which had pulled up on hearing the crash.

The postillions, each with a broad grin convulsing his countenance, were viewing the adverse party from their saddles, and Mr.Jingle was contemplating the wreck from the coach window, with evident satisfaction.

The day was just breaking, and the whole scene was rendered perfectly visible by the grey light of the morning.
'Hollo!' shouted the shameless Jingle, 'anybody damaged ?--elderly gentlemen--no light weights--dangerous work--very.' 'You're a rascal,' roared Wardle.
'Ha! ha!' replied Jingle; and then he added, with a knowing wink, and a jerk of the thumb towards the interior of the chaise--'I say--she's very well--desires her compliments--begs you won't trouble yourself--love to TUPPY--won't you get up behind ?--drive on, boys.' The postillions resumed their proper attitudes, and away rattled the chaise, Mr.Jingle fluttering in derision a white handkerchief from the coach window.
Nothing in the whole adventure, not even the upset, had disturbed the calm and equable current of Mr.Pickwick's temper.