black, failure of remittances from Fauqueeah, and other casualties by
wind an' flood, have put ole Beau away down. He's a institution of his
country and must be sustained!"

The laughter was general and cordial amongst the Southerners, while
the intruder pressed hard upon Mr. Reybold. He was a singular object;
tall, grim, half-comical, with a leer of low familiarity in his eves,
but his waxed mustache of military proportions, his patch of goatee
just above the chin, his elaborately oiled hair and flaming necktie,
set off his faded face with an odd gear of finery and impressiveness.
His skin was that of an old _roué's_, patched up and calked, but the
features were those of a once handsome man of style and carriage.

He wore what appeared to be a cast-off spring overcoat, out of season
and color on this blustering winter day, a rich buff waistcoat of an
embossed pattern, such as few persons would care to assume, save,
perhaps, a gambler, negro buyer, or fine "buck" barber. The assumption
of a large and flashy pin stood in his frilled shirt-bosom. He wore
watch-seals without the accompanying watch, and his pantaloons, though
faded and threadbare, were once of fine material and cut in a style of
extravagant elegance, and they covered his long, shrunken, but
aristocratic limbs, and were strapped beneath his boots to keep them
shapely. The boots themselves had been once of varnished kid or fine
calf, but they were cracked and cut, partly by use, partly for
comfort; for it was plain that their wearer had the gout, by his
aristocratic hobble upon a gold-mounted cane, which was not the least
inconsistent garniture of his mendicancy.

"Boys," said Fitzchew Smy, "I s'pose we better come down early.
There's a shillin', Beau. If I had one more sech constituent as you, I