He has the craft of a conjurer and the subtlety of a serpent.

I believe he is a Red Indian, myself." "Oh, Ralph, he isn't! He is as white as you are." "He isn't white at all," Ralph declared, "outside or in.

Outside he is the colour of a mangold-wurzel, and inside he is as black as ink.

You will never get that cake made if you don't go." "Oh, bother!" Dot swung open the door for the last time, turned to depart, and then exclaimed in a very different tone, "Why, Bertie, so here you are! We were just talking of you." A straight, well-made youth, with a brown face that laughed good-temperedly, was advancing through the hall.
"Hullo!" he said, halting at the doorway.

"Awfully nice of you! What were you saying, I wonder?
Hullo, Ralph! Only just down, you lazy beggar?
Ought to be ashamed of yourself." He stood, slapping his riding-boots with a switch, looking at Dot with the direct eyes of good-fellowship.