xpressive of a certain
animalism, the mouth looked eloquent. His voice was low, of an agreeable
even quality, floating over the boxes and barrels of his shop like a
chant. His words never jarred, his views were vaguely comforting, based
on accepted conventions, expressed in round, soft, lulling platitudes.
His manner was serious, his movements deliberate, the great bulk of the
shoulders looming up in unconscious but dramatic poses in the curiously
uneven lighting of the shop. His hands gave the impression of slowness
and a moderate skill; they could make up a parcel on the counter without
leaving ugly laps; they could perform a minor surgical operation on a
beast in the fields without degenerating to butchery; and they would
always be doing something, even if it were only rolling up a ball of
twine. His clothes exuded a faint suggestion of cinnamon, nutmeg and
caraway seeds.

Festus Clasby would have looked the part in any notorious position in
life; his shoulders would have carried with dignity the golden chain of
office of the mayoralty of a considerable city; he would have looked a
perfect chairman of a jury at a Coroner's inquest; as the Head of a
pious Guild in a church he might almost be confused with the figures of
the stained glass windows; marching at the head of a brass band he would
symbolise the conquering hero; as an undertaker he would have reconciled
one to death. There was no technical trust which men would not have
reposed in him, so perfectly was he wrought as a human casket. As it
was, Festus Clasby filled the most fatal of all occupations to dignity
without losing his tremendous illusion of respectability. The hands
which cut the bacon and the tobacco, turned the taps over pint measures,
scooped bran and flour into scales, took herrings out of their barrels,
rolled up sugarsticks in shreds of paper for children, were hands whose
movements the eyes of no saucy customer dared follow with a gleam of
suspicion. Not once in a lifetime was that casket tarnished; the nearest
he ever went to it was when he bought up--very cheaply, as was his
custom--a broken man's insurance policy a day after the law made such a
practice illegal. There was no haggling at Festus Clasby's counter.
There was only conversation, agreeable conversation about things which
Festus Clasby did not sell, such as the weather, the diseases of
animals, the results of races, and the scandals of the Royal Families of
Europe. These conversati