He was addressing certain critical remarks to his companions when an interruption appeared in the form of a young man whose first words announced his relation to the group.
'I say, you're very late! There'll be no getting a decent seat, if you don't mind.

Leave Sir Job till afterwards.' 'The statue somehow disappoints me,' observed his father, placidly.
'Oh, it isn't bad, I think,' returned the youth, in a voice not unlike his father's, save for a note of excessive self-confidence.

He looked about eighteen; his comely countenance, with its air of robust health and habitual exhilaration, told of a boyhood passed amid free and joyous circumstances.

It was the face of a young English plutocrat, with more of intellect than such visages are wont to betray; the native vigour of his temperament had probably assimilated something of the modern spirit.

'I'm glad,' he continued, 'that they haven't stuck him in a toga, or any humbug of that sort.