He wore no vest, and had on a woman's faded pink print blouse as a shirt.

He had a linen collar that had long since lost all claims to whiteness and all pretence of dignity, and his hat was a small round boxer, with scarcely any rim.

On one of the buttons of his Beaufort hung a strip of ordinary sugar bag, on which he had written with a stub of pencil the word "Program." Mr.Nicholas Crips looked the part to the life.

He had not shaved for a week, and his lank hair was reaching out in all directions from under his ridiculous hat, and from various strands dangled fragments of his last couch under the boat shed.

Nickie had nothing of the painted, unconvincing theatrical accessories of the usual fancy dress tramp; he looked real, and his success was instantaneous and complete.
I have endeavoured to show that Mr.Crips was not a diffident man; he did not distress himself with scruples; fear of failure in an enterprise of this kind never worried him.