sorry to say, worked him cigar-cases. He, in return, having expended a vast
of toil and ingenuity in inventing a 'button,' now had several dozen of
them worked up into brooches, which he scattered about with a liberal hand.
It was not one of your matter-of-fact story-telling buttons--a fox with
'TALLY-HO,' or a fox's head grinning in grim death--making a red
coat look like a miniature butcher's shamble, but it was one of your
queer-twisting lettered concerns, that may pass either for a military
button or a naval button, or a club button, or even for a livery button.
The letters, two W's, were so skilfully entwined, that even a
compositor--and compositors are people who can read almost anything--would
have been puzzled to decipher it. The letters were gilt, riveted on steel,
and the wearers of the button-brooches were very soon dubbed by the
non-recipients, 'Mr. Waffles' sheep.'

[Illustration]

A fine button naturally requires a fine coat to put it on, and many were
the consultations and propositions as to what it should be. Mr. Slocdolager
had done nothing in the decorative department, and many thought the failure
of funds was a good deal attributable to that fact. Mr. Waffles was not the
man to lose an opportunity of adding another costume to his wardrobe, and
after an infinity of trouble, and trials of almost all the colours of the
rainbow, he at length settled the following uniform, which, at least, had
the charm of novelty to recommend it. The morning, or hunt-coat, was to be
scarlet, with a cream-coloured collar and cuffs; and the evening, or dress
coat, was to be cream-colour, with a scarlet collar and cuffs, and scarlet
silk facings and linings, looking as if the wearer had turned the morning
one inside out. Waistcoats, and other articles of dress, were left to the
choice of the wearer, experience having proved that they are articles it is
impossible to legislate upon with any effect.