A common, middle-aged, pie-faced, golf-playing high-brow, that you wouldn't keep out of a Sunday school.

A touch of the drummer, too, to show he has no dealings with your effete aristocracy.

A languishing silver-tongue that adores the sound of his own voice.

As mild, you'd say, as curds and cream.' Blenkiron got out of his chair and stood above me.

'I tell you, Dick, that man makes my spine cold.