And the stranger picked up the full half-pint of brandy-and-water. He swallowed it all without stopping to take a breath, and dropped into a chair looking as comfortable as if nothing unusual had happened.

While his three friends were busily thanking their new acquaintance, Mr Pickwick had plenty of time to study the stranger's clothes and how he looked.

The young man was about average height, but he was so thin, and his legs were so long, that it looked as though he was much taller. The green coat had been smart once, many years ago, but it had obviously been designed for a shorter man than the stranger, because the dirty sleeves hardly reached his wrists.

The coat was buttoned tightly up to his chin, and was so tight that it looked as if it was going to split open at the back at any moment.

Around his neck there was an old-fashioned collar, but it did not look as if there was a shirt as well. His black trousers had lots shiny patches which showed that they were old and worn often.

These trousers fitted over a pair of patched and mended shoes, as if the young man was trying to hide his dirty white socks, although these could clearly be seen anyway.

His long, black hair came out in waves from beneath each side of his old hat; and Mr Pickwick got a quick look at the bare wrists between the tops of his gloves and the bottom of his coat sleeves. His face was thin, but somehow the young man looked cheerful and optimistic and totally in control of himself and the world around him.