He was a coarse,
clean-shaven man, whose fiery face made a singular contrast with his
ivory-white bald head. He had shrewd, light-blue eyes with foxy lashes,
and he also leaned forward in silence from his chair, a fat, red hand
upon either knee, and stared critically at the young assistant. So did
the third visitor, Fawcett, the horse-breaker, who leaned back, his
long, thin legs, with their boxcloth riding-gaiters, thrust out in front
of him, tapping his protruding teeth with his riding-whip, with anxious
thought in every line of his rugged, bony face. Publican, exquisite,
and horse-breaker were all three equally silent, equally earnest, and
equally critical. Montgomery seated in the midst of them, looked from
one to the other.
"Well, gentlemen?" he observed, but no answer came.
The position was embarrassing.
"No," said the horse-breaker, at last. "No. It's off. It's nowt."
"Stand oop, lad; let's see thee standin'." It was the publican who
spoke. Montgomery obeyed. He would learn all about it, no doubt, if he
were patient. He stood up and turned slowly round, as if in front of
his tailor.
"It's off! It's off!" cried the horse-breaker. "Why, mon, the Master
would break him over his knee."
"Oh, that be hanged for a yarn!" said the young Cantab.
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