Altogether, he was a very quick-looking little man--a sort of
man that would know what you were going to say before you had well broke
ground. He wore no gills; and his neatly tied starcher had a white ground
with small black spots, about the size of currants. The slight interregnum
between it and his step-collared striped vest (blue stripe on a
canary-coloured ground) showed three golden foxes' heads, acting as studs
to his well-washed, neatly plaited shirt; while a sort of careless turn
back of the right cuff showed similar ornaments at his wrists. His
single-breasted, cutaway coat was Oxford mixture, with a thin cord binding,
and very natty light kerseymere mother-o'-pearl buttoned breeches, met a
pair of bright, beautifully fitting, rose-tinted tops, that wrinkled most
elegantly down to the Jersey-patterned spur. He was a remarkably well got
up little man, and looked the horseman all over.
As he emerged from the stable, where he had been mastering the ins and outs
of the establishment, learning what was allowed and what was not, what had
not been found fault with and, therefore, might be presumed upon, and so
on, he carried the smart dogskin leather glove of one hand in the other,
while the fox's head of a massive silver-mounted jockey-whip peered from
under his arm.
Pages:
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468