eight o'clock
He was transported back into the England of the old coaching days , and found himself seated on the box-seat of the Ipswich coach , next a stout , red-faced , elderly coachman , his throat and chest muffled by capacious shawls , who said to him : `` If ever you are attacked with the gout , just you marry a widder as had got a good loud woice with a decent notion of using it , and you will never have the gout agin ! '' Then suddenly the film of the smart coach , with passengers inside and out , faded away , and Ralph found himself drinking hot brandy and water with Mr. Pickwick , in a room of a very homely description , apparently under the special patronage of Mr. Weller and other stage coachmen , for there sat the former smoking with great vehemence . The vision flashed out into darkness . Then came deep , early morning sleep from which a sharp knock at his door aroused him , and a valet entered with a hot-water can and a cup of tea , saying : `` Beg pardon , sir , eight o'clock , sir , thank you , sir . '' Ralph 's first inclination was to say '' _ Thank you _ , '' but he restrained himself from this in time to save upsetting the foundations of British social life , and instead he asked : `` What kind of a morning is it ? '' `` Oh , sir , thank you , sir , if I should say that it is a nasty morning , sir , I should be telling the truth indeed , foggy and raining , sir , thank you , sir . '' All the time he was quietly taking up Ralph 's clothes , which were scattered in convulsions around the room .