Major Vigoureux

CHAPTER I
IN THE GARRISON GARDEN
Archelaus, said the Commandant, where did you get those trousers? Sergeant Archelaus, who, as he dug in the neglected garden, had been exposing a great quantity of back-view (for he was a long man), straightened himself up, faced about, and, grounding his long-handled spade as it were a musket, stood with palms crossed over the top of it.
Off the Lord Proprietor, he answered.
The Commandant, seated on a bench under the veronica hedge, a few yards higher up the slope, laid down his book, took off his spectacles, wiped them, and replaced them very deliberately.
The Lord Proprietor? I do not understand— His face had reddened a little, as it usually did at mention of the Lord Proprietor.
Made me a present of 'em, explained Sergeant Archelaus, curtly. You don't mean to say you haven't noticed 'em till this minute?
The Commandant put the question aside. The Lord Proprietor has no right to be offering presents to my men—least of all, presents of clothes.
If the Government won't send over stores, nor you write for any, I don't see how the man can help himself. 'Tisn't regulation pattern for the R'yal Artillery, I'll grant you: not the sort of things you'd wear on the right of the line. In fact, he told me 'tis an old pair he used to carry when he went deer-stalkin'.
They are hideous, Archelaus; not to mention that they don't fit you in the least.
They don't look so bad when I'm sitting down, said Archelaus, after a moment's thought, and with an air of forced cheerfulness.
If that's all you can say in extenuation!——