Going down the steps
I opened it myself, and in came my old friends Sir Henry Curtis
and Captain John Good, RN. They entered the vestibule and sat
themselves down before the wide hearth, where, I remember, a
particularly good fire of logs was burning.
'It is very kind of you to come round,' I said by way of making
a remark; 'it must have been heavy walking in the snow.'
They said nothing, but Sir Henry slowly filled his pipe and lit
it with a burning ember. As he leant forward to do so the fire
got hold of a gassy bit of pine and flared up brightly, throwing
the whole scene into strong relief, and I thought, What a splendid-looking
man he is! Calm, powerful face, clear-cut features, large grey
eyes, yellow beard and hair -- altogether a magnificent specimen
of the higher type of humanity. Nor did his form belie his face.
I have never seen wider shoulders or a deeper chest. Indeed,
Sir Henry's girth is so great that, though he is six feet two
high, he does not strike one as a tall man. As I looked at him
I could not help thinking what a curious contrast my little dried-up
self presented to his grand face and form. Imagine to yourself
a small, withered, yellow-faced man of sixty-three, with thin
hands, large brown eyes, a head of grizzled hair cut short and
standing up like a half-worn scrubbing-brush -- total weight
in my clothes, nine stone six -- and you will get a very fair
idea of Allan Quatermain, commonly called Hunter Quatermain,
or by the natives 'Macumazahn' -- Anglic/CHAR: e grave/, he who
keeps a bright look-out at night, or, in vulgar English, a sharp
fellow who is not to be taken in.
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