The body of this comfortable vehicle sagged slightly to one side; the paint was old and seamed with hundreds of minute cracks like little rivers on a black map; the coachman, a fat and elderly darky, seemed to drowse upon the box; but the open window afforded the occupants of the cutter a glimpse of a tired, fine old face, a silk hat, a pearl tie, and an astrachan collar, evidently out to take the air.
"There's your grandfather now," said Lucy.

"Isn't it ?" George's frown was not relaxed.

"Yes, it is; and he ought to give that rat-trap away and sell those old horses.

They're a disgrace, all shaggy--not even clipped.

I suppose he doesn't notice it--people get awful funny when they get old; they seem to lose their self-respect, sort of." "He seemed a real Brummell to me," she said.
"Oh, he keeps up about what he wears, well enough, but--well, look at that!" He pointed to a statue of Minerva, one of the cast-iron sculptures Major Amberson had set up in opening the Addition years before.