Edgar was born in London, in a frightful den,
between two hiccups of whiskey. As a boy he was
a vagabond, a beggar, a thief, and a jail-bird.
Later, having the requisite physical deformities
and the most crapulous instincts, he was pitched on
for a groom. From ante-room to stable, rubbing
against all the trickery, all the rapacity, all the
vice prevailing among the servants of a grand
establishment, he became a "lad" in the Eaton
stud. And he strutted about in a Scotch cap, a
yellow and black striped waistcoat, and light
pantaloons, loose at the thighs, tight at the calves,
and wrinkled at the knees in the form of a screw.
When scarcely an adult, he looked like a little old
man, with frail limbs and furrowed face, red at the
cheek-bones, yellow at the temples, with worn-out
and grimacing mouth, with thin hair brushed over
his ears in the form of a greasy spiral. Ina
society which the odor of horse-dung causes to
swoon with delight Edgar was already a personage
less anonymous than a workingman or a peasant,—
almost a gentleman.
At Eaton he learned his trade thoroughly. He knows how to groom a stylish horse, how to take care of it when it is sick, and what detailed and complicated toilets are most suitable to the color of its coat. He knows the secret of the intimate washings, the refined polishings, the expert pedicurings, and the ingenious processes of make-up,