But what style! English from the tips of his pointed shoes to the horseshoe scarfpin in his necktie.

One would say that he was a horse-jockey dressed in his Sunday best.

What was this comical Gustave doing now?
Nothing.

His father has made two hundred thousand pounds' income dabbling in certain things, and Gustave is getting acquainted with that is all--which means to wake up every morning toward noon, with a bitter mouth caused from the last night's supper, and to be surprised every morning at dawn at the baccarat table, after spending five hours saying "Bac!" in a stifled, hollow voice.

Gustave understands life, and, taking into consideration his countenance like a death's-head, it may lead him to make the acquaintance of something entirely different.