She produced what she knew of William Pepper.

She told Helen that he always called on Sundays when they were at home; he knew about a great many things--about mathematics, history, Greek, zoology, economics, and the Icelandic Sagas.

He had turned Persian poetry into English prose, and English prose into Greek iambics; he was an authority upon coins; and--one other thing--oh yes, she thought it was vehicular traffic.
He was here either to get things out of the sea, or to write upon the probable course of Odysseus, for Greek after all was his hobby.
"I've got all his pamphlets," she said.

"Little pamphlets.

Little yellow books." It did not appear that she had read them.
"Has he ever been in love ?" asked Helen, who had chosen a seat.
This was unexpectedly to the point.
"His heart's a piece of old shoe leather," Rachel declared, dropping the fish.