“Friend of yours!⁠—My dear sir, how are you?⁠—Friend of my friend’s⁠—give me your hand, sir”⁠—and the stranger grasped Mr. Wardle’s hand with all the fervour of a close intimacy of many years, and then stepped back a pace or two as if to take a full survey of his face and figure, and then shook hands with him again, if possible, more warmly than before.

“Well; and how came you here?” said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile in which benevolence struggled with surprise.

“Come,” replied the stranger⁠—“stopping at Crown⁠—Crown at Muggleton⁠—met a party⁠—flannel jackets⁠—white trousers⁠—anchovy sandwiches⁠—devilled kidney⁠—splendid fellows⁠—glorious.”