No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. Mr. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness. "Where can I hide myself?" he added, glancing round the room in search of a closet. Ennison’s acquaintance.
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