The_Son_of_His_Father

‘I can’t come in to-day,’ said John, blushing a little, yet not without
a sense that all this applause was pleasant, ‘for I’m waiting for my
sister who has gone into one of these shops. I am glad I did not go
after her, or I should not have seen you; but I will come another time
to see you and the little girl.’

‘Do,’ said Montressor. He was a person who could not be called
unobtrusive: his hat had a cock upon his head, and his elbow against his
side, which called the attention of the passersby. His shaven face with
its deep lines, and mobile features, and even his way of standing about,
occupying much more than his proper share of the pavement, aroused the
attention. John felt unpleasantly that the people who passed stared, and
that one or two lingered a little, contemplating the old actor, with
that frank curiosity which the British public permits itself to
display. John, being young and shy, did not like these demonstrations;
but they pleased the object of them, who stood aside a little, and said
to his young companion, ‘They remember Montressor. Though the managers
consider me _passé_, sir, me old admirers, those that have once flocked
to see me in my favourite parts, have not forgotten me. The public makes
up for the injustice of the officials; me kind friends--me good friends!
This would be sweet to the heart of me faithful partner, Mr. May.’