Mr. Chichester was seated at the table with a glass beside him, but
Barnabas looked past him to his companion who sprawled on the other
side of the hearth--a sleepy, sighing gentleman, very high as to
collar, very tight as to waist, and most ornate as to waistcoat;
young he was certainly, yet with his first glance, Barnabas knew
instinctively that this could not be the youth he sought.
Nevertheless he took off his hat and saluted him with a bow that for
stateliness left the "stiff-legged gentleman" nowhere.
"Sir," said he, "pray what might your name be?"
Instead of replying, the sleepy gentleman opened his eyes rather
wider than was usual and stared at Barnabas with a growing surprise,
stared at him from head to foot and up again, then, without changing
his lounging attitude, spoke:
"Oh, Gad, Chichester!--is this the--man?"
"Yes."
"But--my dear Chit! Surely you don't propose to--this fellow! Who is
he? What is he? Look at his boots--oh, Gad!"
Hereupon Barnabas resumed his hat, and advancing leaned his clenched
fists on the table, and from that eminence smiled down at the speaker,
that is to say his lips curled and his teeth gleamed in the
candle-light.
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