This was a godsend to Mr. Sponge, who accepted the
proffered hand most readily, shaking it in a way that quite satisfied Sir
Harry he was right in some one or other of his conjectures. Bugles, and all
the reeling, swaggering bucks, looked respectfully at the well-appointed
man, and Bugles determined to have a pair of nut-brown tops as soon as ever
he got back to town.
Sir Harry was a tall, wan, pale young man, with a strong tendency to
delirium tremens; that, and consumption, appeared to be running a match for
his person. He was a harum-scarum fellow, all strings, and tapes, and ends,
and flue. He looked as if he slept in his clothes. His hat was fastened on
with a ribbon, or rather a ribbon passed round near the band, in order to
fasten it on, for it was seldom or ever applied to the purpose, and the
ends generally went flying out behind like a Chinaman's tail. Then his
flashy, many-coloured cravats, stared and straggled in all directions,
while his untied waistcoat-strings protruded between the laps of his old
short-waisted swallow-tailed scarlet, mixing in glorious confusion with
those of his breeches behind.
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