rarely abandoned it. He preferred silk hats with ample rich brims, often
a trifle large for him by modern ideas, and he wore them at various
angles to his axis; his taste in trouserings was towards fairly emphatic
stripes and his trouser cut was neat; he liked his frock-coat long and
full, although that seemed to shorten him. He displayed a number of
valuable rings, and I remember one upon his left little finger with a
large red stone bearing Gnostic symbols. "Clever chaps, those Gnostics,
George," he told me. "Means a lot. Lucky!" He never had any but a black
mohair watch-chair. In the country he affected grey and a large
grey cloth top-hat, except when motoring; then he would have a brown
deer-stalker cap and a fur suit of esquimaux cut with a sort of boot-end
to the trousers. Of an evening he would wear white waistcoats and plain
gold studs. He hated diamonds. "Flashy," he said they were. "Might as
well wear--an income tax-receipt. All very well for Park Lane. Unsold
stock. Not my style. Sober financier, George."

So much for his visible presence. For a time it was very familiar to
the world, for at the crest of the boom he allowed quite a number
of photographs and at least one pencil sketch to be published in the
sixpenny papers.

His voice declined during those years from his early tenor to a flat
rich quality of sound that my knowledge of music is inadequate to
describe. His Zzz-ing inrush of air became less frequent as he ripened,
but returned in moments of excitement. Throughout his career, in spite
of his increasing and at last astounding opulence, his more intimate
habits remained as simple as they had been at Wimblehurst. He would
never avail himself of the services of a valet; at the very climax of
his greatness his trousers were folded by a housemaid and his shoulders
brushed as he left his house or hotel. He became wary about breakfast