teeth, shaved, and made his toilet
almost transformed the place, in my imagination, into a gentleman's
dressing-room.

He talked politics and such things in the abstract--always in the
abstract--calmly in the abstract. He was an old-fashioned Conservative
of the Sir Leicester Deadlock style. When he was moved by an extra
shower of aggressive democratic cant--which was seldom--he defended
Capital, but only as if it needed no defence, and as if its opponents
were merely thoughtless, ignorant children whom he condescended to set
right because of their inexperience and for their own good. He stuck
calmly to his own order--the order which had dropped him like a foul
thing when the bottom dropped out of his boom, whatever that was. He
never talked of his misfortunes.

He took his meals at the little greasy table in the dark corner
downstairs, just as if he were dining at the Exchange. He had a
chop--rather well-done--and a sheet of the 'Herald' for breakfast. He
carried two handkerchiefs; he used one for a handkerchief and the other
for a table-napkin, and sometimes folded it absently and laid it on the
table. He rose slowly, putting his chair back, took down his battered
old green hat, and regarded it thoughtfully--as though it had just
occurred to him in a calm, casual way that he'd drop into his hatter's,
if he had time, on his way down town, and get it blocked, or else send
the messenger round with it during business hours. He'd draw his stick
out from behind the next chair, plant it, and, if you hadn't quite
finished your side of the conversation, stand politely waiting until you
were done. Then he'd look for a suitable reply into his hat, put it
on, give it a twitch to settle it on his head--as gentlemen do a
"chimney-pot"--step out into the gangway, turn his face to the door, and
walk slowly out on to the middle of the pavement--looking more placidly
well-to-do than ever. The saying is that clothes make a man, but HE
made his almost respectable just by wearing them. Then he'd consult his
watch--(he stuck to the watch all through, and it seemed a good one--I
often wondered why he didn't pawn it); then he'd turn slowly, right
turn, and look down the street. Then slowly back, left-about turn, and
take a cool survey in that direction, as if calmly undecided whether to
take a cab and drive to the Exchange, or (as it was a very fine morning,
and he had half an hour to spare) walk there and drop in at his club
on the way.