His tread was elastic, his figure as upright as a boy's, and he swung a light cane in his hand as he walked.
As Mr.Kybird gazed he bestowed a brisk nod upon the bewildered Mr.
Smith, and crossed the road with the evident intention of speaking to him.
"How do, Smith ?" he said, in a kindly voice.
The boarding-master leaned against the shop-window and regarded him dumbly.

There was a twinkle in the shipbroker's eyes which irritated him almost beyond endurance, and in the doorway Mr.Kybird--his face mottled with the intensity of his emotions--stood an unwelcome and frantic witness of his shame.
"You're not well, Smith ?" said Mr.Swann, shaking his head at him gently.
"You look like a man who has been doing too much brain-work lately.
You've been getting the better of some-body, I know." Mr.Smith gasped and, eyeing him wickedly, strove hard to recover his self-possession.
"I'm all right, sir," he said, in a thin voice.

"I'm glad to see you're looking a trifle better, sir." "Oh, I'm quite right, now," said the other, with a genial smile at the fermenting Mr.Kybird.

"I'm as well as ever I was.

Illness is a serious thing, Smith, but it is not without its little amusements." Mr.Smith, scratching his smooth-shaven chin and staring blankly in front of him, said that he was glad to hear it.
"I've had a long bout of it," continued the ship-broker, "longer than I intended at first.