Concerning, Among Other Things, The Legs of a Gentleman-in-Powder

"But they're--dangerously tight, aren't they, Peterby?" he inquired
suddenly, speaking his thought aloud.

"Tight, sir!" repeated Mr. Barry, the tailor, reproachfully, and
shaking his gentleman-like head, "impossible, sir,--with such a leg
inside 'em."

"Tight, sir?" exclaimed Peterby, from where he knelt upon the floor,
having just finished looping and buttoning the garments in question,
"indeed, sir, since you mention it, I almost fear they are a trifle
too--roomy. Can you raise your bent knee, sir?"

"Only with an effort, John."

"That settles it, Barry," said Peterby with a grim nod, "you must
take them in at least a quarter of an inch."

"Take 'em in?" exclaimed Barnabas, aghast, "no, I'll be shot if you
do,--not a fraction! I can scarcely manage 'em as it is." Peterby
shook his head in grave doubt, but at this juncture they were
interrupted by a discreet knock, and the door opening, a
Gentleman-in-Powder appeared. He was a languid gentleman, an
extremely superior gentleman, but his character lay chiefly in his
nose, which was remarkably short and remarkably supercilious of tip,
and his legs which were large and nobly shaped; they were, in a sense,
eloquent legs, being given to divers tremors and quiverings when
their possessor labored under any strong feeling or excitement; but,
above all, they were haughty legs, contemptuous of this paltry world
and all that therein is, yea, even of themselves, for their very
calves seemed striving to turn their backs upon each other.

"Are you in, sir?" he inquired in an utterly impersonal tone.