The vehicle was not exactly a gig, neither was it a stanhope. It
was not what is currently denominated a dog-cart, neither was it
a taxed cart, nor a chaise-cart, nor a guillotined cabriolet; and
yet it had something of the character of each and every of these
machines. It was painted a bright yellow, with the shafts and
wheels picked out in black; and the driver sat in the orthodox
sporting style, on cushions piled about two feet above the rail.
The horse was a bay, a well-looking animal enough; but with
something of a flash and dog-fighting air about him, nevertheless,
which accorded both with the vehicle and his master.
The master himself was a man of about forty, with black hair,
and carefully combed whiskers. He was dressed in a particularly
gorgeous manner, with plenty of articles of jewellery about him--
all about three sizes larger than those which are usually worn by
gentlemen--and a rough greatcoat to crown the whole. Into one
pocket of this greatcoat, he thrust his left hand the moment he
dismounted, while from the other he drew forth, with his right, a
very bright and glaring silk handkerchief, with which he whisked
a speck or two of dust from his boots, and then, crumpling it in
his hand, swaggered up the court.
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