He forgot his attitude of the early part of the evening when he had drawn attention to himself with his wonderful clothes.

Now his comic actor's face, with its brownish-red cheeks, protuberant ears and horizontal slit of a mouth, was overcast with gravity.

His bald forehead was seamed with the wrinkles of responsibility.

He drew Annixter into one of the empty stalls and began an elaborate explanation, glib, voluble, interminable, going over again in detail what he had reported to the committee in outline.
"I managed--I schemed--I kept dark--I lay low----" But Annixter refused to listen.
"Oh, rot your schemes.

There's a punch in the harness room that will make the hair grow on the top of your head in the place where the hair ought to grow.