An air of great geniality pervaded him.

His hands were strong and energetic, with oddly spatulate fingers; and the manner in which his nails had been gnawed down and his mustache likewise chewed, bespoke a highly nervous temperament belied by his ruddy, almost boyish face.

His age might have been thirty-five, but he looked one of those men who never fully grow up, who never can be old.
"Well, what's doing now ?" demanded he, fixing blue eyes on his host.
He produced a cigarette and lighted it, inhaled smoke deeply and blew a thin gray cloud toward the ceiling.

"Something big, eh?
by the way you routed me out of a poker-game where I was already forty-seven dollars and a half to the good.

You don't usually call a fellow, that way, unless there's something in the wind!" "There is, now." "Big ?" "Very." "So ?" The newcomer's eyes fell on the pistol.