But whom
have we here?"
He was staring at a striking figure that had just entered, closely
followed by a crowd of admiring spectators. And, indeed, he seemed
worthy of the homage. His magnificent form was closely attired in
a velveteen jacket and trousers, with a singular display of pearl
buttons along the seams, that were absolutely lavish in their
quantity; a hat adorned with feathers and roses completed his
singularly picturesque equipment.
"Chevalier!" burst out McFeckless in breathless greeting.
"Ah, mon ami! What good chance?" returned the newcomer, rushing to
him and kissing him on both cheeks, to the British horror of Sir
Midas, who had followed. "Ah, but you are perfect!" he added,
kissing his fingers in admiration of McFeckless's Florentine dress.
"But you?--what is this ravishing costume?" asked McFeckless, with
a pang of jealousy. "You are god-like."
"It is the dress of what you call the Koster, a transplanted
Phenician tribe," answered the other. "They who knocked 'em in the
road of Old Kent--know you not the legend?" As he spoke, he lifted
his superb form to a warrior's height and gesture.
"But is this quite correct?" asked Fitz-Fulke of the doctor.
"Perfectly," said the doctor oracularly. "The renowned ''Arry
Axes'--I beg his pardon," he interrupted himself hastily, "I mean
the Chevalier--is perfect in his archaeology and ethnology.
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