[Illustration: MR.]
[Illustration: M^R.] FADDLE is a distinguished member of the Stock
Exchange, and decidedly one of the "fastest men" in the City. He makes
his appearance in the City at about half-past eleven every day; strolls
about the neighbourhood of the Bank, with his hands in the pockets of
his coat-tails; takes a sandwich at the Auction Mart, or oysters in
Finch Lane; and goes away about three, with the idea that he has been
very busy. We first met him at the Hanover Square Rooms. His dress was
rather peculiar; and at the first glance you said (to yourself), "This
is no common man;" and it is rather singular that the more you knew of
him, the more you became confirmed in that opinion. His coat was very
long in the waist, with singularly capacious sleeves; his neckcloth very
narrow; and his whiskers a triumph of art in the curling line. His
waistcoat was considerably larger than any you ever saw, except on an
ostler; his shirt was embroidered and very transparent, with some pink
substance underneath, that made one fancy he had recently been using the
flesh-brush very vigorously. His trousers were very tight about the
legs; and his boots very tight about the feet. The first remark he made
was on a young lady, who he said was "a good stepper." He next stated
that he had been at the "Corner" all day: on our inquiring where that
was, he said, with a contemptuous look, "Tattersall's, to be sure!" He
then told us that Lord Levant's "Wide Awake" was a likely horse for the
Leger; and said, if we were doing anything on it, we had better not lay
out our money on Captain Spavin's "Flare Up." His next inquiry was if we
knew Tom Spraggs? and upon our answering in the negative, he ejaculated,
quite loud, "Don't he drive cattle, that's all?" We fancied at first
that Mr. Spraggs might be a drover, but abandoned the idea in favour of
its being some technical term we did not understand. Here the
conversation flagged, and to resuscitate it we made a remark on Mr.
Faddle's coat-studs, and asked what they were made of? "Teeth," he said.
"Teeth!" we could not help exclaiming; "what teeth?" "Why, foxes' teeth,
to be sure," he said, turning away with an air of infinite disgust, and
never spoke to us again.
We watched him at supper, and found he did not wait on other people
much, but took great care of himself. We heard him offer to get a
spaniel of some extraordinary breed for a young lady; but he never
thought of asking her if she would take anything, though he was eating
all the while himself. His appetite, in fact, was rather extensive. He
partook largely of the substantials, then addressed himself to the
plovers' eggs and lobster salads, and finished with a deep tankard of
beer, which he called "malt." Later in the evening we thought a strong
odour of tobacco pervaded the hall, and going out we found the "fast
man" with a "weed in his off-cheek," as he elegantly expressed it, just
preparing to start. His dog-cart was at the door, he jumped in, the
small tiger (quite a portable boy) climbed up behind, Mr. Faddle blew a
few loud notes with his post-horn, and we saw him no more.