He wore a tattered black woolen blouse
and a pair of wide, ill-fitting trousers, fastened about his waist by
a leather strap. His boots betrayed a familiar acquaintance with the
puddles of the barrieres, and his cap was shabby and dirty, though, on
the other hand, his necktie, a pretentious silk scarf of flaming hue,
was evidently quite fresh from some haberdasher's shop. No doubt it was
a present from his sweetheart.
This uncomely being had the unhealthy complexion, hollow eyes, slouching
mien, and straggling beard common to his tribe. His yellow hair, cut
closely at the back of the head, as if to save the trouble of brushing,
was long in front and at the sides; being plastered down over his
forehead and advancing above his ears in extravagant corkscrew ringlets.
What with his attire, his affected jaunty step, his alternate raising of
either shoulder, and his way of holding his cigarette and of ejecting a
stream of saliva from between his teeth, Polyte Chupin, had he been
at liberty, would undoubtedly have proffered a paw, and greeted this
barriere beauty as a "pal."
It was the 14th of April; the weather was lovely, and, on the horizon,
the youthful foliage of the chestnut trees in the Tuileries gardens
stood out against a bright blue sky. The "ethereal mildness" of "gentle
spring" seemed to have a positive charm for the tattered "loafer" who
lazily loitered in the sunlight, dividing his attention between the
passers-by and some men who were hauling sand from the banks of the
Seine.
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