'It will either make him--or finish him!' was his own judgement, founded on a fairly exhaustive knowledge of John Fenwick; and he had waited anxiously for results.
So far no details had reached him since.

Fenwick seemed to be still exhibiting, still writing to the papers, and, as far as he knew, still selling.

But the aspect of the man before him was not an aspect of prosperity.
Watson, however, having started a subject which he well knew to be interminable, would instantly have liked to escape from it.

He was himself nervous, critical, and easily bored.

He did not know what he should do with Fenwick's outpourings when he had listened to them.
But Fenwick had come over--charged--and Watson had touched the spring.
He sat there, smoking and declaiming, his eyes blazing, one hand playing with Watson's favourite dog, an Aberdeen terrier who was softly smelling and pushing against him.