,
faintly discoloured round the collar and fretted at the cuffs, fitted
him easily and loosely like the character of an old crony; it was as if
it had grown up with him, and had expanded with his girth. His head was
a little bald on the top, but there was still a great deal of mixed
brown and greyish hair at the back and the sides, and the moustache,
hanging straight down with an effect recalling the mouth of a seal, was
plenteous and defiant--a moustache of character, contradicting the full
placidity of the badly shaved chin. Darius Clayhanger had a habit, when
reflective or fierce, of biting with his upper teeth as far down as he
could on the lower lip; this trick added emphasis to the moustache. He
stood, his feet in their clumsy boots planted firmly about sixteen
inches apart, his elbows sticking out, and his head bent sideways,
listening to and answering his companion with mien now eager, now
roguish, now distinctly respectful.

The older man, Mr Shushions, was apparently very old. He was one of
those men of whom one says in conclusion that they are very old. He
seemed to be so fully occupied all the time in conducting those physical
operations which we perform without thinking of them, that each in his
case became a feat. He balanced himself on his legs with conscious
craft; he directed carefully his shaking and gnarled hand to his beard
in order to stroke it. When he collected his thoughts into a sentence
and uttered it in his weak, quavering voice, he did something wonderful;
he listened closely, as though to an imperfectly acquired foreign
language; and when he was not otherwise employed, he gave attention to
the serious business of breathing. He wore a black silk stock, in a
style even more antique than his remarkable headgear, and his trousers
were very tight. He had survived into another and a more fortunate age
than his own.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

FOUR.

Edwin, his heavy bag on his shoulders, found the doorway blocked by
these two. He hesitated with a diffident charming smile, feeling, as he
often did in front of his father, that he ought to apologise for his
existence, and yet fiercely calling himself an ass for such a sentiment.
Darius Clayhanger nodded at him carelessly, but not without a
surprising benevolence, over his shoulder.

"This is him," said Darius briefly.

Edwin was startled to catch a note of pride in his father's voice.