THE CONSUL'S YARN A week had passed since the funeral of my poor boy Harry, and one evening I was in my room walking up and down and thinking, when there was a ring at the outer door.

Going down the steps I opened it myself, and in came my old friends Sir Henry Curtis and Captain John Good, RN.

They entered the vestibule and sat themselves down before the wide hearth, where, I remember, a particularly good fire of logs was burning.
'It is very kind of you to come round,' I said by way of making a remark; 'it must have been heavy walking in the snow.' They said nothing, but Sir Henry slowly filled his pipe and lit it with a burning ember.

As he leant forward to do so the fire got hold of a gassy bit of pine and flared up brightly, throwing the whole scene into strong relief, and I thought, What a splendid-looking man he is! Calm, powerful face, clear-cut features, large grey eyes, yellow beard and hair -- altogether a magnificent specimen of the higher type of humanity.

Nor did his form belie his face.
I have never seen wider shoulders or a deeper chest.