It isn't the waistcoat that I look at.

It is the heart.

The checks in the waistcoat are but the wires of the cage.
But the heart is the bird.

Ah! How many sich birds are perpetually moulting, and putting their beaks through the wires to peck at all mankind!' This poetic figure, which Kit took to be in a special allusion to his own checked waistcoat, quite overcame him; Mr Brass's voice and manner added not a little to its effect, for he discoursed with all the mild austerity of a hermit, and wanted but a cord round the waist of his rusty surtout, and a skull on the chimney-piece, to be completely set up in that line of business.
'Well, well,' said Sampson, smiling as good men smile when they compassionate their own weakness or that of their fellow-creatures, 'this is wide of the bull's-eye.

You're to take that, if you please.' As he spoke, he pointed to a couple of half-crowns on the desk.
Kit looked at the coins, and then at Sampson, and hesitated.
'For yourself,' said Brass.