As Jim towered high above his friend--his height, if anything, accentuated by the clinging folds of his dressing-gown--the little man gazed admiringly up at the Long ’Un, and deep down in his heart perhaps, heaved a little sigh because of his own smallness. For, alas! Koko had finished growing. He was thirty, and already bald; he was years older than Jim--so was it likely he would grow now? And this was why, and quite naturally, George Somers, reporter on a sporting newspaper--this little, bald, quiet, unassuming man--had come, at first, to notice Jim Mortimer, and afterwards, when they got to know one another, to like him, and, finally, when they became close friends, to give him his whole heart in that sterling regard which men sometimes have for men, when each is sure that the other is worthy of such unflinching esteem. Koko was neat and dapper in his dress, with nothing awry about him. He was excellently and attractively tidy, with the tidiness that little people have. So well proportioned was he, that his small stature never seemed ridiculous, even when viewed in close juxtaposition to the Long ’Un’s great length. Koko was, in countenance, well favoured, with a small, neatly trimmed dark moustache, and rather large, mild eyes. Though generally impassive, his face would at times light up with a wonderful, sudden smile--a smile that it did you good to look upon, a smile that told you that Koko’s nature was all gold. And Koko, you must know, had for some years been inspired with the feeling that it was his particular mission in this world to look after the Long ’Un. Though he had many other duties, and one other hobby, he always found time to keep an almost maternal eye on Jim Mortimer. "By the way, old boy," said Koko, after a time, "have you unpacked?" "Only my pyjamas and dressing-gown," said Jim. "Shall I lend you a hand?" Mortimer gave a deep laugh. "Anybody would think I was a blooming kid, Koko, by the way you talk," he said. "So you are," said Koko, as he made his way to the adjoining bedroom, "in a great many things." In a leisurely manner the Long ’Un followed after his friend, who was already bending over the unstrapped portmanteau. Mortimer was in a lazy mood, the beer he had consumed having filled him with a feeling of lethargy. Sitting on the end of his bed, he smoked and watched Koko as the latter endeavoured to find his way through the hurly-burly before him--as he took the socks out of the boots in which it was the Long ’Un’s custom to pack them, rescued a tin of tooth-powder from the toe of a dancing pump--wherein it had been wedged to ensure safe travelling--fished a razor and shaving-brush out of the sponge-bag, and a sixpenny popular novel from the folds of a fancy waistcoat, put everything into its proper place in the chest of drawers or wardrobe, and at length paused, his task accomplished, in a somewhat flushed and heated condition.