claret glass, and, having slapped a sporting solicitor on the back and
dug in the ribs a gentleman jockey who has been warned off the course,
he will tread on the toes of an inoffensive stranger who has allowed
himself to be elected a member of the Club under the mistaken impression
that it was the home of sportsmen and the sanctuary of honest boxers.
After duly characterising the stranger's eyes and his awkwardness, the
Patron will resume his seat near the ropes, and will stare vacuously at
the brilliant gathering of touts, loafers, parasites, usurers,
book-makers, broken-down racing men, seedy soldiers, and over-fed City
men who are assembled round the room. Inspired by their society with the
conviction that he is assisting in an important capacity in the revival
of a manly sport, he will adjust his hat on the back of his head, rap
with his gold-headed cane upon the floor, and call "Time!"--a humorous
sally which is always much appreciated, especially when the ring is
empty. After witnessing the first three rounds of the next competition,
he will rise to depart, and observing a looking-glass, will excite the
laughter of his friends and the admiration of the waiters by sparring
one round with his own reflection, finally falling into the arms of a
companion, whom he adjures not to mind him, but to sponge up the other
fellow.

After this exploit a supper-club receives him, and he is made much of by
those of both sexes who are content to thrive temporarily on the money
of a friend. He will then drive a hansom through the streets, and,
having knocked over a hot potato-stall, he will compensate the
proprietor with a round of oaths and a five-pound note.

In appearance the Patron of Sport is unwholesome. The bloom of youth
vanished from his face before he ceased to be a boy; he assumes the worn
and sallow mask of age before he has fairly begun to be a man. His hair
is thin, and is carefully flattened by the aid of unguents, his dress is
flashy, his moustache thick. In order the more closely to imitate a true
sportsman, he wears a baggy overcoat, with large buttons. Yet he abhors
all kinds of honest exercise, and, in the days of his prosperity, keeps
a small brougham with yellow wheels. Soon after he reaches the age of
thirty, he begins to feel the effects of his variegated life. He fails
in landing a big _coup_ on the Stock Exchange, and loses much money over
a Newmarket meeting, in which he plunges on a succession of rank