It was not done with pomposity, but rather with the exuberance of a man whose purse and letter of credit possess an assuring circumference.
"Drink a bottle, you and your comrade," he said.
This the officer promised to do forthwith.

He returned the passports, put a hand to his cap respectfully and, followed by his assistant, walked off briskly.
Grumbach took off his derby and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

This moisture had not been wrung forth by any atmospheric effect.

From the top of his forehead to the cowlick on the back of his head ran a broad white scar.

At one time or another Grumbach had been on the ragged edge of the long journey.