'What's the fun?' said a rather tall, thin, young man,in a green coat, emerging suddenly from the coach-yard.
'Informers!' shouted the crowd again.
'We are not,' roared Mr. Pickwick, in a tone which,to any dispassionate listener, carried conviction with it.
'Ain't you, though—ain't you?' said the young man, appealing to Mr. Pickwick, and making his way through the crowd by the infallible process of elbowing the countenances of its component members.That learned man in a few hurried words explained the real state of the case.
