Mr Tupman looked around. The wine had already put Mr Snodgrass and Mr Winkle to sleep. It had also had an effect on Mr Pickwick. That gentleman had slowly gone through the different changes which follow the great tiredness caused by dinner (and a great deal of wine). He had changed from being very friendly and happy with everyone in the room to being very, very sad, and from very great sadness back to feeling very friendly and happy again.

Mr Pickwick's being awake was like a gas-lamp in the street with the wind blowing on it. Sometimes he would be strangely bright, then he sank so low that he hardly seemed awake; after a moment, he was again bright and lively for a few seconds; but in an uncertain and hesitating kind of way, and then he was out altogether. His head was down on his chest, and steady snoring, with an occasional choke, were the only sounds which showed that the great man was still there.

Mr Tupman was strongly tempted to go to the ball, and to to see the beauty of the Kentish ladies for the first time. He was also very much tempted to take the stranger with him. He knew nothing about the place and the people who lived there, and the stranger seemed to know so much about the town and its people that he almost might have been living there since he was a baby.