Have you read Pickwick Papers and met Mr Jingle?

He was about the middle height, but the thinness of his body, and the length of his legs, gave him the appearance of being much taller. His green coat was buttoned closely up to his chin, at the risk of splitting the back; and an old stock, without a trace of a shirt collar, ornamented his neck. His scanty black trousers displayed here and there those shiny patches which tell of long service, and were strapped very tightly over a pair of patched and mended shoes, distinctly visible. His long black hair escaped in negligent waves from beneath each side of his old pinched-up hat; and glimpses of his bare wrist might be observed, between the tops of his gloves, and the cuffs of his coat sleeves. His face was thin and haggard….

Pickwick and his friends first meet Jingle as they board the stagecoach on their way to Rochester:

‘Heads, heads, take care of your heads,’ cried the stranger, as they came out under the low archway, which in those days formed the entrance to the coachyard. ‘Terrible place—other day—five children—mother— tall lady, eating sandwiches—forgot the arch—crash—- knock—children look round—mother's head off—sandwich in her hand—no mouth to put it in—shocking, shocking.’

Soon the conversation turns to sporting dogs:

‘Ah! you should keep dogs—fine animals—wise creatures—dog of my own once—pointer—surprising instinct—out shooting one day—entering enclosure— whistled—dog stopped—whistled again—Ponto—no go; stock still—called him—Ponto, Ponto—wouldn't move— dog transfixed—staring at a board—looked up, saw an inscription— “Gamekeeper has orders to shoot all dogs found in this enclosure” —wouldn't pass it—wonderful dog—valuable dog that—very.’

And a little later he tells the sad story of the suicide of Don Bolaro Fizzgig:

‘Sudden disappearance—talk of the whole city— search made everywhere—without success—public fountain in the square suddenly ceased playing—weeks elapsed—still a stoppage—workmen employed to clean it—water drawn off—Don Bolaro discovered sticking head first in the main pipe—took him out, and the fountain played away again, as well as ever.’