hich was single-breasted and velvet-collared, was
extremely swallow-tailed, presenting a remarkable contrast to the
barge-built, roomy roundabouts of the members of the Flat Hat Hunt; the
collar rising behind, in the shape of a Gothic arch, exhibited all the
stitchings and threadings incident to that department of the garment.

But if Mr. Jawleyford's coat went to 'hare,' his waistcoat was fox and all
'fox.' On a bright blue ground he sported such an infinity of 'heads,' that
there is no saying that he would have been safe in a kennel of unsteady
hounds. One thing, to be sure, was in his favour--namely, that they were
just as much like cats' heads as foxes'. The coat and waistcoat were old
stagers, but his nether man was encased in rhubarb-coloured tweed
pantaloons of the newest make--a species of material extremely soft and
comfortable to wear, but not so well adapted for roughing it across
country. These had a broad brown stripe down the sides, and were shaped out
over the foot of his fine French-polished paper boots, the heels of which
were decorated with long-necked, ringing spurs. Thus attired, with a little
silver-mounted whip which he kept flourishing about, he encountered Mr.
Sponge in the entrance-hall, after breakfast. Mr. Sponge, like all men who
are 'extremely natty' themselves, men who wouldn't have a button out of
place if it was ever so, hardly knew what to think of Jawleyford's costume.
It was clear he was no sportsman; and then came the question, whether he
was of the privileged few who may do what they like, and who can carry off
any kind of absurdity. Whatever uneasiness Sponge felt on that score,
Jawleyford, however, was quite at his ease, and swaggered about like an
aide-de-camp at a review.

'Well, we should be going, I suppose,' said he, drawing on a pair of
half-dirty, lemon-coloured kid gloves, and sabreing the air with his whip.

'Is Lord Scamperdale punctual?' asked Sponge.

'Tol-lol,' replied Jawleyford, 'tol-lol.'

'He'll wait for _you_, I suppose?' observed Sponge, thinking to try
Jawleyford on that infallible criterion of favour.

'Why, if he knew I was coming, I dare say he would,' replied Jawleyford
slowly and deliberately, feeling it was now no time for flashing. 'If he
knew I was coming I dare say he would,' repeated he; 'indeed, I make no
doubt he would: but one doesn't like putting great men out of their way;
besides which, it's just as easy to be punctual as otherwise. When I wa