very small. He had no chin. He was wearing a bright blue velvet
waistcoat with brass buttons, and over his black shoes there shone white
spats.

Hugh had never seen white spats before. Mr. Pidgen shone with
cleanliness, and he had supremely the air of having been exactly as he
was, all in one piece, years ago. He was like one of the china ornaments
in Mrs. Lasher's drawing-room that the housemaid is told to be so
careful about, and concerning whose destruction Hugh heard her on at
least one occasion declaring, in a voice half tears, half defiance,
"Please, ma'am, it wasn't me. It just slipped of itself!" Mr. Pidgen
would break very completely were he dropped.

The first thing about him that struck Hugh was his amazing difference
from Mr. Lasher. It seemed strange that any two people so different
could be in the same house. Mr. Lasher never gleamed or shone, he would
not break with however violent an action you dropped him, he would
certainly never wear white spats.

Hugh liked Mr. Pidgen at once. They spoke for the first time at the
mid-day meal, when Mr. Lasher said, "More Yorkshire pudding, Pidgen?"
and Mr. Pidgen said, "I adore it."

Now Yorkshire pudding happened to be one of Hugh's special passions just
then, particularly when it was very brown and crinkly, so he said quite
spontaneously and without taking thought, as he was always told to do,

"So do I!"

"My _dear_ Hugh!" said Mrs. Lasher; "how very greedy! Fancy! After all