Africans I have a horror of dirt. The place was pretty filthy, but at
each landing there were two doors with well-polished handles and
brass plates. On one I read the name of Andrew Amos.

A man in his shirt-sleeves opened to me, a little man, without a
collar, and with an unbuttoned waistcoat. That was all I saw of him
in the dim light, but he held out a paw like a gorilla's and drew me in.

The sitting-room, which looked over many chimneys to a pale
yellow sky against which two factory stalks stood out sharply, gave
me light enough to observe him fully. He was about five feet
four, broad-shouldered, and with a great towsy head of grizzled
hair. He wore spectacles, and his face was like some old-fashioned
Scots minister's, for he had heavy eyebrows and whiskers which
joined each other under his jaw, while his chin and enormous upper
lip were clean-shaven. His eyes were steely grey and very solemn,
but full of smouldering energy. His voice was enormous and would
have shaken the walls if he had not had the habit of speaking with
half-closed lips. He had not a sound tooth in his head.

A saucer full of tea and a plate which had once contained ham
and eggs were on the table. He nodded towards them and asked me
if I had fed.

'Ye'll no eat onything? Well, some would offer ye a dram, but
this house is staunch teetotal. I door ye'll have to try the nearest
public if ye're thirsty.'

I disclaimed any bodily wants, and produced my pipe, at which
he started to fill an old clay. 'Mr Brand's your name?' he asked in