He fronted Woodseer with square shoulders and wide knees, an elbow on one, a fist on the other, engaged in what he termed the 'prodding of his eel,' or 'nicking of his man,' a method of getting straight at the riddle of the fellow by the test of how long he could endure a flat mute stare and return look for look unblinking.

The act of smoking fortifies and partly covers the insolence.

But if by chance an equable, not too narrowly focussed, counterstare is met, our impertinent inquisitor may resemble the fisherman pulled into deep waters by his fish.

Woodseer perused his man, he was not attempting to fathom him: he had besides other stuff in his head.

Potts had naught, and the poor particle he was wriggled under detection.
'Tobacco before breakfast!' he said disgustedly tossing his cigar to the road.