“You rendered us a very important service this morning, sir,” said he, “will you allow us to offer a slight mark of our gratitude by begging the favour of your company at dinner?”

“Great pleasure⁠—not presume to dictate, but broiled fowl and mushrooms⁠—capital thing! What time?”

“Let me see,” replied Mr. Pickwick, referring to his watch, “it is now nearly three. Shall we say five?”

“Suit me excellently,” said the stranger, “five precisely⁠—till then⁠—care of yourselves”; and lifting the pinched-up hat a few inches from his head, and carelessly replacing it very much on one side, the stranger, with half the brown paper parcel sticking out of his pocket, walked briskly up the yard, and turned into the High Street.