He was an untidy stout man with green goggles and a grayish beard, probably not yet sixty years of age, and well preserved.

He kept his pants up with a belt, and his shirt bulged untidily over the top.

When he sat down you could see the ends of thick combinations stuffed into his socks.

He gave you the impression of not fitting into western clothes at all and of being out of sympathy with most of what they represent.
He was cordial enough--after one swift glance around the room.
"Brought a new acquaintance for you," said Grim, introducing me.

"I've told him how all the subalterns come to you for Palestinian lore--" "Ach! The young Lotharios! Each man a Don Juan! All they come to me for is tales of Turkish harems, of which I know no more than any one.