The dragons were walking backwards it was true, but they kept their eyes fixed on him none the less.

The eyes which he saw were, in truth, only the two buttons at the back of a frock-coat: perhaps some traditional memory of their meaningless character gave this half-witted prominence to their gaze.
The slit between the tails was the nose-line of the monster: whenever the tails flapped in the winter wind the dragons licked their lips.

It was only a momentary fancy, but the small clerk found it imbedded in his soul ever afterwards.

He never could again think of men in frock-coats except as dragons walking backwards.

He explained afterwards, quite tactfully and nicely, to his two official friends, that (while feeling an inexpressible regard for each of them) he could not seriously regard the face of either of them as anything but a kind of tail.