ery
broad, and had a look of power and a grace of bearing that seemed as
native to him as it is to a wild stag. In addition his face was almost
without flaw--a good face as well as a beautiful one, and when he lifted
his hat, which he did just then to a passing lady, I saw that his head
was covered with little golden curls growing close to the scalp.

"Good gracious!" I said to my friend, with whom I was walking, "why,
that fellow looks like a statue of Apollo come to life. What a splendid
man he is!"

"Yes," he answered, "he is the handsomest man in the University, and one
of the nicest too. They call him 'the Greek god'; but look at the other
one, he's Vincey's (that's the god's name) guardian, and supposed to be
full of every kind of information. They call him 'Charon.'" I looked,
and found the older man quite as interesting in his way as the glorified
specimen of humanity at his side. He appeared to be about forty years
of age, and was I think as ugly as his companion was handsome. To begin
with, he was shortish, rather bow-legged, very deep chested, and with
unusually long arms. He had dark hair and small eyes, and the hair grew
right down on his forehead, and his whiskers grew right up to his hair,
so that there was uncommonly little of his countenance to be seen.
Altogether he reminded me forcibly of a gorilla, and yet there was
something very pleasing and genial about the man's eye. I remember
saying that I should like to know him.

"All right," answered my friend, "nothing easier. I know Vincey;
I'll introduce you," and he did, and for some minutes we stood
chatting--about the Zulu people, I think, for I had just returned from
the Cape at the time. Presently, however, a stoutish lady, whose name
I do not remember, came along the pavement, accompanied by a pretty
fair-haired girl, and these two Mr. Vincey, who clearly knew them well,
at once joined, walking off in their company. I remember being rather
amused because of the change in the expression of the elder man, whose
name I discovered was Holly, when he saw the ladies advancing. He
suddenly stopped short in his talk, cast a reproachful look at his
companion, and, with an abrupt nod to myself, turned and marched off
alone across the street. I heard afterwards that he was popularly
supposed to be as much afraid of a woman as most people are of a mad
dog, which accounted for his precipitate retreat. I cannot say, however,
that young Vincey showed much avers