I was amazed at the number of able-bodied fellows about, considering that you couldn’t stir a mile on any British front without bumping up against a Glasgow battalion. Then I realised that there were such things as munitions and ships, and I wondered no more. 

 A stout and dishevelled lady at a close-mouth directed me to Mr Amos’s dwelling. “Twa stairs up. Andra will be in noo, havin’ his tea. He’s no yin for overtime. He’s generally hame on the chap of six.” I ascended the stairs with a sinking heart, for like all South Africans I have a horror of dirt. The place was pretty filthy, but at each landing there were two doors with well-polished handles and brass plates. On one I read the name of Andrew Amos. 

 A man in his shirt-sleeves opened to me, a little man, without a collar, and with an unbuttoned waistcoat. That was all I saw of him in the dim light, but he held out a paw like a gorilla’s and drew me in. 

 The sitting-room, which looked over many chimneys to a pale yellow sky against which two factory stalks stood out sharply, gave me light enough to observe him fully. He was about five feet four, broad-shouldered, and with a great towsy head of grizzled hair. He wore spectacles, and his face was like some old-fashioned Scots minister’s, for he had heavy eyebrows and whiskers which joined each other under his jaw, while his chin and enormous upper lip were clean-shaven. His eyes were steely grey and very solemn, but full of smouldering energy. His voice was enormous and would have shaken the walls if he had not had the habit of speaking with half-closed lips. He had not a sound tooth in his head. 

 A saucer full of tea and a plate which had once contained ham and eggs were on the table. He nodded towards them and asked me if I had fed. 

 “Ye’ll no eat onything? Well, some would offer ye a dram, but this house is staunch teetotal. I door ye’ll have to try the nearest public if ye’re thirsty.” 

 I disclaimed any bodily wants, and produced my pipe, at which he started to fill an old clay. “Mr Brand’s your name?” he asked in his gusty voice. “I was expectin’ ye, but Dod! man ye’re late!” 

 He extricated from his trousers pocket an ancient silver watch, and regarded it with disfavour. “The dashed thing has stoppit. What do ye make the time, Mr Brand?” 

 He proceeded to prise open the lid of his watch with the knife he had used to cut his tobacco, and, as he examined the 

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