Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man,
and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he
entertained for good liquor and good living. He had a quick, shrewd,
merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good
humour. It was easy to discover that he was a knave, but equally easy to
perceive that he was a pleasant fellow; a combination of qualities by no
means of rare occurrence. So far as regards his attire, Baptist was not
seen to advantage. No great lover of state or state costume at any time,
he was generally, towards the close of an evening, completely in
dishabille, and in this condition he now presented himself to his
subjects. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose
ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into
a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into
a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. A white apron was tied
round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon,
which looked very much like a rolling-pin.

The Master of the Mint was accompanied by another gentleman almost as
portly as himself, and quite as deliberate in his movements. The costume
of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a
masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour
forbidden any such supposition. It consisted of a close jerkin of brown
frieze, ornamented with a triple row of brass buttons; loose Dutch
slops, made very wide in the seat and very tight at the knees; red
stockings with black clocks, and a fur cap. The owner of this dress had
a broad weather-beaten face, small twinkling eyes, and a bushy, grizzled
beard. Though he walked by the side of the governor, he seldom exchanged
a word with him, but appeared wholly absorbed in the contemplations
inspired by a broadbowled Dutch pipe.