Fred's proposal of tweaking toe-nails would not have been practical in his case, for he had none left.

His black legs, visible because he had tucked his one long garment up about his waist, were a mass of scars.

He was lean, angular, yet peculiarly straight considering his years.

As he stood before us he let his shirt-like garment drop, and the change from scarecrow to deferential servant was instantaneous.

He was so wrinkled, and the wrinkles were so deep, that one scarcely noticed his sightless eye, almost hidden among a nest of creases; and in spite of the wrinkles, his polished, shaven head made him look ridiculously youthful because one expected gray hair and there was none.
"Ask him how he lost his toe-nails, Fred," said I.
But the old man knew enough English to answer for himself.