By fragmentz on Skatehive
An old young man, or a young old man? — Mr. Grewgious’ short-sighted eyes cannot make out which. A man of about middle height; thin and scared looking; with black beard and whiskers; and hair dark as night. A pale man, with something weird and mysterious about him like a spectre, and whose eyes, hidden behind a massive pair of blue spectacles, are all the more open to terrible suspicion on that account. A voiceless man, sitting still in the chair, into which he had sunk on Mr. Grewgious’ invitation, and in which he remains motionless, with his glazed eyes fixed upon that exhausted gentleman, freezing him.“This is getting alarming,” thinks Mr. Grewgious, “and I’m on the wrong side for the bell. Besides, that boy is sure not to be at his post. But boys will be boys,” he adds, as his anger ebbs fast, “I was a boy once myself, and remember perfectly how it hurt me to have my ears boxed, and how they burned afterwards. I’ll lay it on gently, only as a matter of warning.” Then aloud, “Do you