He was magnificent in his expenditure, powerful in his doings, successful in his business, and the world around him therefore was not repelled.
Fisker, on the other hand, was a shining little man,--perhaps about forty years of age, with a well-twisted moustache, greasy brown hair, which was becoming bald at the top, good-looking if his features were analysed, but insignificant in appearance.

He was gorgeously dressed, with a silk waistcoat, and chains, and he carried a little stick.

One would at first be inclined to say that Fisker was not much of a man; but after a little conversation most men would own that there was something in Fisker.

He was troubled by no shyness, by no scruples, and by no fears.

His mind was not capacious, but such as it was it was his own, and he knew how to use it.
Abchurch Lane is not a grand site for the offices of a merchant prince.