His name is Alfred.

He is called Alf, for short.

His mother greases his hair and he has a curl which comes over his forehead.

I have never known him when his hands were not both sticky and dirty--his hands and his lips.
On holidays he wears a velveteen suit with grease spots inked over, an imitation lace collar, and a blue make-up tie." Mr.Waddington re-opened the silver casket.
"It is Fate," he decided.

"Here are two beans." Burton folded them up in a piece of paper and placed them carefully in his waistcoat pocket.
"I felt convinced," he said gratefully, "that I should not make my appeal to you in vain.