Seven o’clock had hardly ceased striking on the following morning, when Mr. Pickwick’s comprehensive mind was aroused from the state of unconsciousness, in which slumber had plunged it, by a loud knocking at his chamber door.

“Who’s there?” said Mr. Pickwick, starting up in bed.

“Boots, sir.”

“What do you want?”

“Please, sir, can you tell me which gentleman of your party wears a bright blue dress-coat, with a gilt button with ‘ P.C. ’ on it?”