He looked as if he had been put away and forgotten half a century before, and somebody had just found him in a lumber-closet.
Such as he was, he came slowly creeping on towards the table, until at last he crept into the vacant chair, from which, as his dim faculties became conscious of the presence of strangers, and those strangers ladies, he rose again, apparently intending to make a bow.

But he sat down once more without having made it, and breathing on his shrivelled hands to warm them, remained with his poor blue nose immovable above his plate, looking at nothing, with eyes that saw nothing, and a face that meant nothing.

Take him in that state, and he was an embodiment of nothing.

Nothing else.
'Our clerk,' said Mr Jonas, as host and master of the ceremonies: 'Old Chuffey.' 'Is he deaf ?' inquired one of the young ladies.
'No, I don't know that he is.

He an't deaf, is he, father ?' 'I never heard him say he was,' replied the old man.
'Blind ?' inquired the young ladies.
'N--no.