One rather feels exactly that about him.
And now he was bound to go seedy beyond description--like the time at
Mentone when he dreamed a system for playing the little horses, after
which for a fortnight I was obliged to nurse a well-connected invalid
in order that we might last over till next remittance day. The havoc
he managed to wreak among his belongings in that time would scarce be
believed should I set it down--not even a single boot properly
treed--and his appearance when I was enabled to recover him (my client
having behaved most handsomely on the eve of his departure for Spain)
being such that I passed him in the hotel lounge without even a
nod--climbing-boots, with trousers from his one suit of boating
flannels, a blazered golfing waistcoat, his best morning-coat with the
wide braid, a hunting-stock and a motoring-cap, with his beard more
than discursive, as one might say, than I had ever seen it. If I
disclose this thing it is only that my fears for him may be
comprehended when I pictured him being permanently out of hand.
Meditating thus bitterly, I had but finished dressing when I was
startled by a knock on my door and by the entrance, to my summons, of
the elder and more subdued Floud, he of the drooping mustaches and the
mournful eyes of pale blue.
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