The features were not irregular, but they were of the strength that
denotes cultivated weaknesses. His chin was square and strong, heavily
stubbled with a two days' growth of beard. Eyes that were black and
sullen, stood well out in their sockets; the lids were red and thick,
and there were narrow pouches below them; the whites were bloodshot
and indefinite. He was flashily dressed in the mode of the day,
typical of his calling. A silk hat tilted rakishly over his brow. His
waistcoat was a loud brocade, his necktie a single black band, knotted
once. There was a great paste diamond in his soiled shirt-front. A
long checked coat, with tails and sidepockets, trousers of the same
material, completed his ordinary makeup. Tonight, on account of the
rain, he wore high gum boots outside of the trouser-legs.
You could hardly have mistaken his calling in those days, unless you
might have suspected him of being a gambler. In which you would not
have been wrong.
The line between his eyes seemed to deepen as he turned from the group
to join his wife in the "green room" of the tent. As the flap dropped
behind him, Grinaldi turned to the boy, who had started to unlace the
striped overshirt.
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