His dripping hat lay at his feet.

A shock of straight, close-clipped vigorous hair stood up grey above his seamed forehead.

Bushy iron-grey eyebrows drawn close together thatched a pair of burning, unquenchable eyes.

A square, deep jaw, lightly stubbled with grey, was clamped so tight that the cheek muscles above it stood out in knots and welts.
Then the match burned his thick, square fingers, and he dropped it into the darkness that ascended to swallow it.
"Who was singing that song ?" he cried harshly.

Nobody answered.
"Who was that singing ?" he demanded again.
By this time I had recovered from my first astonishment.
"I was singing," said I.
Another match was instantly lit and thrust into my very face.