Those who had been most intimately acquainted with Mr. Scadgers of Newman Street had never known him under any circumstances devote a portion of his valuable time to sacrificing to the Graces. He was popularly supposed to sleep in his clothes; and as those garments were seldom entirely free from fluff or "flue," there were probably some grounds for the supposition; but he could not have slept in his big high-boots, though no one had ever seen him without them, save Jinks. Jinks had more than once seen his master with slippered feet, and trembled; for Mr. Scadgers' boots were to him what those other Ingoldsby-celebrated boots were to the Baron Ralph de Shurland, what his hair was to Samson, what his high-heels were to Louis Quatorze. Without his boots, Mr. Scadgers was quite a different man; he talked of "giving time," of "waiting a day or two," of "holding-off a bit;" this was in his slippers: but when once his boots were on, in speaking of the same debtor he told Jinks to "sell him up slick, and clear off all his sticks." He always seemed to wear the same suit of black, and all the washing that he was ever known to indulge in was by smearing himself with the damp corner of a towel, which he kept in the office between the chemist's bottles, one of which held the water; while his toilette was completed by running a pocket-comb through his close-cropped hair, and then smoothing it down with the palms of his hands, whisking his boots with his red-silk pocket-handkerchief, and putting sharp spiky points to his nails by the aid of a vicious-looking buck-handled penknife. Thoroughly accustomed to his patron's appearance, Jinks was, then, struck with wonderment on beholding him one morning enter the office in comparatively gorgeous array. Through the folds of a white waistcoat there protruded a large shirt-frill, certainly of rather a yellow hue, and not so neat in the plaits as it ought to have been, but for all that an undeniable frill, such as adorned the breasts of the dandies of the last generation; his usual napless greasy hat had been discarded for a very elegant article in white beaver, which had apparently been the property of some other gentleman, and acquired by its present owner in that species of commercial transaction known as a "swop," as it was much too large for Mr. Scadgers, and obliterated every sign of his hair, while a corner of the red-silk pocket-handkerchief fell out gracefully over the back of his head. In his hand Mr. Scadgers carried one damp black-beaver glove, and a thick stick like an elongated ruler, with a silver top and a silk tassel. Mr. Jinks was so overpowered at this apparition that he sat gazing with open mouth at his master, unable to speak a word; he had one comfort, however,--Mr. Scadgers had his boots on, so that under all this frivolity there lurked an intention of stern business.