'Oh!' replied Mr Folair, beating his slippers together, to knock the
dust out; 'I CAN come it pretty well--nobody better, perhaps, in my own
line--but having such business as one gets here, is like putting lead on
one's feet instead of chalk, and dancing in fetters without the credit
of it. Holloa, old fellow, how are you?'

The gentleman addressed in these latter words was a dark-complexioned
man, inclining indeed to sallow, with long thick black hair, and very
evident inclinations (although he was close shaved) of a stiff beard,
and whiskers of the same deep shade. His age did not appear to exceed
thirty, though many at first sight would have considered him much older,
as his face was long, and very pale, from the constant application of
stage paint. He wore a checked shirt, an old green coat with new gilt
buttons, a neckerchief of broad red and green stripes, and full blue
trousers; he carried, too, a common ash walking-stick, apparently
more for show than use, as he flourished it about, with the hooked end
downwards, except when he raised it for a few seconds, and throwing
himself into a fencing attitude, made a pass or two at the side-scenes,
or at any other object, animate or inanimate, that chanced to afford him
a pretty good mark at the moment.

'Well, Tommy,' said this gentleman, making a thrust at his friend, who
parried it dexterously with his slipper, 'what's the news?'

'A new appearance, that's all,' replied Mr Folair, looking at Nicholas.

'Do the honours, Tommy, do the honours,' said the other gentleman,
tapping him reproachfully on the crown of the hat with his stick.