“Not too thick,” said the languid man, in a tone of utter physical exhaustion. “Man can’t ride nicely, if he don’t feel his stirrup through his boot;” and Sawyer nudged my elbow with a delighted wink, that seemed to say—“This swell, too, is a votary of Diana!”
The languid man’s silk-stockinged foot having been re-shod, he rose with great difficulty, and moved feebly in the direction of his brougham, from the window of which he adjured the shopman, in a faint voice, to forward “the tops when finished to my address at Market Harborough,” and sank back amongst the cushions, completely overcome.
The talismanic syllables raised the curiosity of my friend. “Who is it?” he whispered eagerly to the returning shopman; and that worthy, placing a chair and a fresh square of brown paper for his new customer, replied somewhat condescendingly—“_That_, sir? That’s the Honourable Crasher, sir; hunting gentleman, and _very_ particular about his tops. What can I do for _you_, sir?”
I had now an opportunity of observing the great warmth and thickness of the worsted stockings in which my friend kept his legs encased; also the stout proportions of those useful limbs, more adapted perhaps for the Highland kilt, than any other costume. Mr. Putty’s foreman saw at a glance the difficulties he would have to contend with, and prepared to subdue them.
“Very muscular gentleman!” said he; passing his tape round my friend’s calf. “Great pedestrian powers, I should say. Inconvenient in the saddle; but will endeavour to rectify that. Excuse me, sir: take the liberty of asking whereabouts you generally hunt.”
“Hunt?” repeated the customer. “Oh! Leicestershire—Northamptonshire—all about there—in the neighbourhood of Market Harborough.” Mr. Sawyer spoke in a vague general sort of way, as if he was in the habit of pervading the whole of the grazing districts.
“The Shires!” he rejoined, with a perplexed air; “that increases our difficulties very much indeed. I could have made you, now, a particular neat _provincial_ boot; but with this pattern it’s exceedingly difficult to attain the correct appearance for flying countries. I’ll show you a pair here, sir, that the Honourable Crasher sent back this very morning, because they fell away the eighth-of-an-inch at the setting-on of the leg, and the Honourable’s girth is at least two-and-a-half less than yours. You wouldn’t like a pair of Napoleons, I presume? Very fashionable just now, sir. All the gentlemen wear them in the Vale of Aylesbury.”