Looks ter me like a goat had a moufful outer dis yere sleeve, but I dassent tell er so.

Lot o' dem butters wanderin' roun' dat Marsh market lookin' fer sumpin' to eat; lemme gib dem boots anudder tech." Todd skipped downstairs with the boots and St.George continued dressing; selecting his best and most becoming scarf; pinning down the lapels of his buff waistcoat; scissoring the points of his high collar, and with Todd's assistance working his arms between the slits in the silk lining of the sleeves of his blue cloth, brass-buttoned coat, which he finally pulled into place across his chest.
And a well-dressed man he was in spite of the frayed edges of his collar and shirt ruffles and the shiny spots in his trousers and coat where the nap was worn smooth, nor was there any man of his age who wore his clothes as well, no matter what their condition, or one who made so debonair an appearance.
Pawson was of that opinion to-night when St.George, his toilet complete, joined him at the bottom of the stairs.

Indeed he thought he had never seen his client look better--a discovery which sent a spasm of satisfaction through his long body, for he had a piece of important news to tell him, and had been trying all day to make up his mind how best to break it.
"You look younger, Mr.Temple," he began, "and, if you will allow me to say so, handsomer, every day.

Your trip to the Eastern Shore last spring did you no end of good," and the young attorney crooked his long neck and elevated his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth in the effort to give to his sinuous body a semblance of mirth.
"Thank you, Pawson," bowed St.George, graciously.

"You are really most kind, but that is because you are stone blind.