these, as they caught and reflected the light, were brighter and more
startling than any eyes could have been. He was dressed in a long
surtout, which he wore closely buttoned, high dickey, and high
black-silk stock, which covered his throat to his chin. His iron-gray
hair was brushed somewhat pompously backward over his forehead, and
his whole effect was that of a gentleman of the generation which wore
bell-crowned hats and carried enormous canes with tassels. But what
attracted Mr. Bixby's particular attention were the wrinkles of his
face. These were in all places where wrinkles should not be. One ran
straight through the centre of his forehead, continuing the line of
the nose upward to the hair. Two others, starting from the bridge of
the nose, ran diagonally down to the nostrils. He was close-shaven,
and his lips were straight and thin. These peculiarities of his
visitor Mr. Bixby had barely time to mark when the gentleman said:

"Ah, Mr. Bangs, I am glad to find you in!"

Mr. Bixby never in his life more desired to be alone, and yet there
was something in this old man which so attracted him that he could not
correct his mistake. He felt a sudden fascination and desire to know
more of him. Bangs was away and could not be seen. The gentleman could
not be very well acquainted with Bangs, very probably never had seen
him, or he would not have made such an error. But nothing but the
influence which seemed to proceed from his visitor could have induced
Mr. Bixby to answer as he did.

"Thank you, sir. Pray, take this chair."

As he said this, he arose and wheeled an easy-chair to the other side
of the table.

The elderly gentleman sat down.

"You have a very cheerful apartment here, Mr. Bangs."

"Yes. I always like to be comfortable."

"Of course," said the elderly gentleman.

"Will you remove your overcoat, sir?" asked Mr. Bixby, and immediately
repented it.

"Oh, no, I shall stop but a moment."

There was an interval of silence. A block of coal broke open in the
grate and fell apart. A jet of gas burst forth and burned, then
sputtered and went out. Mr. Bixby wondered on what business he had
come, and why he did not open the subject at once, if he was only
intending to stop a moment.

"It is very disagreeable weather out," said the man with the pompous
forelock, interrupting his reflections.

"Snowing?" asked Bixby.

"No--sleet."

"Very unpleasant to have far to go such a night," suggested Bixby,