He had queer eyes, of a thick dark blue, large, though deep set, showing a great deal of iris and very little white.
Without being good-looking he was good to look at, when you could look long enough to find all these things out.

He did not like being looked at.

If you tried to hold him that way, his eyes were all over the place, seeking an escape; but they held _you_, whether you liked it or not.
It was uncanny, that fascination.

If he had chosen to exert it in the interests of his shop he could presumably have cleaned those friendly young men out any day.

But he never did exert it.