She was not alone; for on the other
side of the fireplace, sitting bolt upright in a high-backed chair,
was a man in threadbare black clothes, with a back almost as
long and stiff as that of the chair itself, who caught Sam's most
particular and especial attention at once.
He was a prim-faced, red-nosed man, with a long, thin
countenance, and a semi-rattlesnake sort of eye--rather sharp,
but decidedly bad. He wore very short trousers, and black cotton
stockings, which, like the rest of his apparel, were particularly
rusty. His looks were starched, but his white neckerchief was not,
and its long limp ends straggled over his closely-buttoned waistcoat
in a very uncouth and unpicturesque fashion. A pair of old,
worn, beaver gloves, a broad-brimmed hat, and a faded green
umbrella, with plenty of whalebone sticking through the bottom,
as if to counterbalance the want of a handle at the top, lay on a
chair beside him; and, being disposed in a very tidy and careful
manner, seemed to imply that the red-nosed man, whoever he
was, had no intention of going away in a hurry.
To do the red-nosed man justice, he would have been very far
from wise if he had entertained any such intention; for, to judge
from all appearances, he must have been possessed of a most
desirable circle of acquaintance, if he could have reasonably
expected to be more comfortable anywhere else.
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