When he came within the sphere of the gas lamps, those who were assisting at the fight grew silent, and gazed upon him with open eyes.

As he reached the door one of them remarked, with a little flourish of oaths as a margin or garland round his remark, that "of all the swells he'd ever seen, that 'un was the biggest, at all events." Similarly, when they in the bar saw that giant form, the blue coat and brass buttons, and, above all, the moustache (sure sign of a military man in those days), conversation ceased, and the Major then and there became the event of the evening.

He looked round as he came in, and, through a door leading inwards, he saw George Hawker himself, standing talking to a man with a dog under each arm.
The Major was not deceived as to the identity of J.Trotter.

J.
Trotter, the hero of a hundred fights, stood himself behind his own bar, a spectacle for the gods.

A chest like a bull, a red neck, straight up and down with the back of his head, and a fist like a seal's flipper, proclaimed him the prize-fighter; and his bright grey eye, and ugly laughing face, proclaimed him the merry, good-humoured varlet that he was.
What a wild state of amazement he was in when he realized the fact that Major Buckley of the -- th was actually towering aloft under the chandelier, and looking round for some one to address! With what elephantine politeness and respect did he show the Major into a private parlour, sweeping off at one round nearly a dozen pint-pots that covered the table, and then, shutting the door, stand bowing and smiling before his old pupil! "And so you are gone into business, John, are you ?" said the Major.
"I'm glad to see it.