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As he came up the Rue Saint Ange, he saw their landlord, a blue apron tied about his portly waist, busily brushing the pavement in front of the hotel with a yellow broom. "Well?" he said eagerly, "well, Monsieur Poulain, any news?" Poulain looked up at him and shook his head. "No, Monsieur Gerald," he said sullenly, "no news at all." Nancy Dampier sat up in bed.
With his father, too, of course, he had special bonds of union; for little Jon also meant to be a painter when he grew up with the one small difference, that his father painted pictures, and little Jon intended to paint ceilings and walls, standing on a board between two step-ladders, in a dirty-white apron, and a lovely smell of whitewash.
Fanfar was alive, but he would certainly be killed now, as his torpidity was so great that he would not utter a cry or a groan until the instruments touched some vital organ. The door opened and Dr. Albant, a handsome old man, entered with smiles and nods. He removed his coat and tied on a large apron.
Grandma shook her head mournfully at the degeneracy of the age, while sister Anna spoke sneeringly of Mr. Talbott's cracked piano. Next day, arrayed in my Sunday red merino and white apron a present from some cousin out West I went to see Carrie; and truly, the music she drew from that old piano charmed me more than the finest performances since have done.
There was something in the general air of this young woman which indicated that she should have worn a little apron with pockets, and that her hands should have been jauntily thrust into those pockets; but her dress included nothing of the sort. The hall lamp was now lighted, and I could see that her attire was extremely neat and becoming.
The gutters were crowded with noisy children, and the street with traffic. A fat butcher stood before his shop, with his thumbs in the string of his apron. When he spied Purt and his close companion, he gave vent to an exclamation of satisfaction and reached for the Central High boy with a mighty hand. "Here!" he said, hoarsely, his fat face growing scarlet on the instant.
Wiggs laughed with the rest, but only for a moment, for she spied Miss Hazy tottering toward them, and she hastened forward to relieve her anxiety. "It's his peg-stick!" she shouted. "P-e-g-stick!" This information, instead of bringing relief to Miss Hazy, caused a fresh burst of tears. She sat down on the track, with her apron over her face, and swayed backward and forward.
Blower up from the fire opposite the bar, and stewpans and griddles empty and idle on the bench beside it, among the unwashed bowls and dishes. Oyster trade nearly over. Bar still busy. Here comes Rollins in his shirt-sleeves, with an apron on.
Jerome, or, better still, the study of an Erasmus, it nevertheless resembled in its least details the dim sanctum of a German Weinstube, and all the more so when a young man in a blue apron, a stone-cutter's helper, who might equally well have been a wine-cellar keeper, brought in a bottle of old Rhine wine and several coloured hock glasses.
It was a little trying it was, indeed. My girl sat down in a corner, with her apron over her head, quite broken-hearted. Foolish of her, you will say. She might have waited till he openly accused her. Well, being a man of just an equal temper, I admit that. Still Mr. Superintendent might have remembered never mind what he might have remembered. The devil take him!
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