laughed politely, exchanged wavy distant farewells with his comrades,
touched a breast-pocket for his case of cigars, pulled forth one,
obtained 'the loan of a light,' blew clouds and fell into the anticipated
composure, quite understanding the case and his office.

Both agreed as to the fine morning it was. Woodseer briefly assented to
his keeper's reiterated encomium on the morning, justified on oath. A
fine morning, indeed. 'Damned if I think I ever saw so fine a morning!'
Potts cried. He had no other subject of conversation with this hybrid:
and being equally disposed for hot discourse or for sleep,
the deprivation of the one and the other forced him to seek amusement
in his famous reading of character; which was profound among the biped
equine, jockeys, turfmen, sharpers, pugilists, demireps. He fronted
Woodseer with square shoulders and wide knees, an elbow on one, a fist on
the other, engaged in what he termed the 'prodding of his eel,' or
'nicking of his man,' a method of getting straight at the riddle of the
fellow by the test of how long he could endure a flat mute stare and
return look for look unblinking. The act of smoking fortifies and partly
covers the insolence. But if by chance an equable, not too narrowly
focussed, counterstare is met, our impertinent inquisitor may resemble
the fisherman pulled into deep waters by his fish. Woodseer perused his
man, he was not attempting to fathom him: he had besides other stuff in
his head. Potts had naught, and the poor particle he was wriggled under
detection.

'Tobacco before breakfast!' he said disgustedly tossing his cigar to the
road. 'Your pipe holds on. Bad thing, I can tell you, that smoking on
an empty stomach. No trainer'd allow it, not for a whole fee or double.
Kills your wind. Let me ask you, my good sir, are you going to turn?
We've sat a fairish stretch. I begin to want my bath and a shave, linen