Chapter 4

Revolving these thoughts, he strolled on near the railings of the quay,
broad-chested, without a stoop, as though his big shoulders had never
felt the burden of the loads that must be carried between the cradle
and the grave. No single betraying fold or line of care disfigured the
reposeful modeling of his face. It was full and untanned; and the upper
part emerged, massively quiet, out of the downward flow of silvery hair,
with the striking delicacy of its clear complexion and the powerful
width of the forehead. The first cast of his glance fell on you candid
and swift, like a boy's; but because of the ragged snowy thatch of the
eyebrows the affability of his attention acquired the character of a
dark and searching scrutiny. With age he had put on flesh a little, had
increased his girth like an old tree presenting no symptoms of decay;
and even the opulent, lustrous ripple of white hairs upon his chest
seemed an attribute of unquenchable vitality and vigor.

Once rather proud of his great bodily strength, and even of his personal
appearance, conscious of his worth, and firm in his rectitude, there had
remained to him, like the heritage of departed prosperity, the tranquil
bearing of a man who had proved himself fit in every sort of way for the
life of his choice. He strode on squarely under the projecting brim of
an ancient Panama hat. It had a low crown, a crease through its whole
diameter, a narrow black ribbon. Imperishable and a little discolored,
this headgear made it easy to pick him out from afar on thronged wharves
and in the busy streets. He had never adopted the comparatively modern
fashion of pipeclayed cork helmets. He disliked the form; and he hoped
he could manage to keep a cool head to the end of his life without all
these contrivances for hygienic ventilation. His hair was cropped close,
his linen always of immaculate whiteness; a suit of thin gray flannel,
worn threadbare but scrupulously brushed, floated about his burly limbs,
adding to his bulk by the looseness of its cut. The years had mellowed
the good-humored, imperturbable audacity of his prime into a temper
carelessly serene; and the leisurely tapping of his iron-shod stick
accompanied his footfalls with a self-confident sound on the flagstones.
It was impossible to connect such a fine presence and this unruffled
aspect with the belittling troubles of poverty; the man's whole
existence appeared to pass before you, facile and large, in the freedom
of means as ample as the clothing of his body.

The irrational dread of having to break into his five hundred pounds for
personal expenses in the hotel disturbed the steady poise of his mind.
There was no time to lose. The bill was running up. He nourished the
hope that this five hundred