Mr. Tupman rang the bell, purchased the tickets, and ordered
chamber candlesticks. In another quarter of an hour the stranger
was completely arrayed in a full suit of Mr. Nathaniel Winkle's.

'It's a new coat,' said Mr. Tupman, as the stranger surveyed
himself with great complacency in a cheval glass; 'the first that's
been made with our club button,' and he called his companions'
attention to the large gilt button which displayed a bust of Mr.
Pickwick in the centre, and the letters 'P. C.' on either side.

'"P. C."' said the stranger--'queer set out--old fellow's
likeness, and "P. C."--What does "P. C." stand for--Peculiar
Coat, eh?'

Mr. Tupman, with rising indignation and great importance,
explained the mystic device.

'Rather short in the waist, ain't it?' said the stranger, screwing
himself round to catch a glimpse in the glass of the waist buttons,
which were half-way up his back. 'Like a general postman's coat
--queer coats those--made by contract--no measuring--
mysterious dispensations of Providence--all the short men get
long coats--all the long men short ones.' Running on in this way,
Mr. Tupman's new companion adjusted his dress, or rather the
dress of Mr. Winkle; and, accompanied by Mr. Tupman,
ascended the staircase leading to the ballroom.

'What names, sir?' said the man at the door. Mr. Tracy
Tupman was stepping forward to announce his own titles, when
the stranger prevented him.