The friendliest man to him was Mr.Yorke, whom Keith found to be a jovial, sensible little man with kindly blue eyes and a humorous mouth.

His chief cross-examiner was a Mr.Kestrel, a narrow-faced, parchment-skinned man with a thin white moustache that looked as if it had led a starved existence on his bloodless lip.
"Those people down there are opposed to progress," he said, buttoning up his pockets in a way he had, as if he were afraid of having them picked.
"I guess the Wickershams have found that out.

I don't see any money in it." "It is strange that Kestrel doesn't see money in this," said Mr.Yorke, with a twinkle in his eye; "for he usually sees money in everything.

I guess there were other reasons than want of progress for the Wickershams not paying dividends." A few days later Norman informed Keith that the money was nearly all subscribed; but Keith did not know until afterwards how warmly he had indorsed him.
"You said something about sheep the other day; well, a sheep is a solitary and unsocial animal to a city-man with money to invest.

My grandfather's man used to tell me: 'Sheep is kind of gregarious, Mr.
Norman.