Isn't
it a trifle tight about the shoulders? Beware! when I wore it, it
went a bit in the back." Man in gorgeous uniform makes his way to
the vacant Stall next to me. I am a bit flustered until he salutes me
heartily with--"How d'ye do? How are you?" Why, it's--well, no matter
who it is. I have met him everywhere for years; we are the best of
friends. I knew he is something; somewhere in the City, but not much
anywhere else, and at all events he is no more a military man than I
am a courtier, but when he confides to me that he was once upon a time
in the Dampshire Yeomanry, and that this uniform has served him for
years, and looks uncommonly well at night though it wouldn't bear the
light of day, I begin to comprehend the entire scene.
My friend--we will call him TOMMY TUCKER, (for I have frequently
encountered him at supper, and am aware of his capacity)--is full of
information. Some of our neighbours of an inquiring turn are asking
one another who _that_ is, and who _this_ is, and so forth; and when
the answers are incorrect, or even before the answers can be given,
TOMMY TUCKER has replied in a low voice, with a view to imparting
general information gratis, that So-and-So, in scarlet and silver, is
Mr.
Pages:
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46