They had the same bushy eyebrows, the same healthy colour in their cheeks, the same thick shoulders, and brisk way of speaking, and clear, sharp, though kindly, eyes; only Tom was cast in larger proportions than Andrew, and had gotten the grey furniture of Time for his natural wear.

Perhaps, too, a cross in early life had a little twisted him, and set his mouth in a rueful bunch, out of which occasionally came biting things.

Mr.Andrew carried his head up, and eyed every man living with the benevolence of a patriarch, dashed with the impudence of a London sparrow.

Tom had a nagging air, and a trifle of acridity on his broad features.

Still, any one at a glance could have sworn they were brothers, and Jonathan unhesitatingly proclaimed it at the Aurora bar.
Mr.Andrew's hands were working together, and at them, and at his face, the old gentleman continued to look with a firmly interrogating air.
'Want to know what brings me, Tom?
I'll tell you presently.