There remained about him that stoical indifference to the petty; that observant nonchalance of the Indian; and there was a suggestion, faint, it was true, of a dignity common to chieftains.

He was a log of grave deference which tossed on their sea of mischievous hilarity.
He wore a pair of corduroy trousers, known to the care-free as "pants," which were held together by numerous patches of what had once been brilliantly colored calico.

A pair of suspenders, torn into two separate straps, made a belt for himself and a collar for his dog.

The trousers had probably been secured during a fit of absent-mindedness on his part when their former owner had not been looking.

Tucked at intervals in the top of the corduroys (the exceptions making convenient shelves for alkali dust) was what at one time had been a stiff-bosomed shirt.