Suddenly Dickson was conscious of a resemblance, a resemblance to somebody whom he had recently seen.
It was Loudon.

There was the same thrusting of the chin forward, the same odd cheek-bones, the same unctuous heartiness of speech.

The innkeeper, well washed and polished and dressed, would be no bad copy of the factor.

They must be near kin, perhaps brothers.
"Good morning to you, Mr.McCunn.

Man, it's pitifu' weather, and just when the farmers are wanting a dry seed-bed.