Above all things, he was delighted with himself. You
would not have thought it, from his uneasy manners and troubled,
struggling utterance; but he loved himself to the marrow, and was
happy and proud like a peacock on a rail.
His self-esteem was, indeed, the one joint in his harness. He
could be got to work, and even kept at work, by flattery. As long
as my wife stood over him, crying out how strong he was, so long
exactly he would stick to the matter in hand; and the moment she
turned her back, or ceased to praise him, he would stop. His
physical strength was wonderful; and to have a woman stand by and
admire his achievements, warmed his heart like sunshine. Yet he
was as cowardly as he was powerful, and felt no shame in owning to
the weakness. Something was once wanted from the crazy platform
over the shaft, and he at once refused to venture there--"did not
like," as he said, "foolen' round them kind o' places," and let my
wife go instead of him, looking on with a grin. Vanity, where it
rules, is usually more heroic: but Irvine steadily approved
himself, and expected others to approve him; rather looked down
upon my wife, and decidedly expected her to look up to him, on the
strength of his superior prudence.
Yet the strangest part of the whole matter was perhaps this, that
Irvine was as beautiful as a statue.
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