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There is no reason why anybody in America should want to kill an English lord newly landed, except for the one reason mentioned in the pink paper that the lord is paying his attentions to the millionaire's daughter. Our crop-haired friend, despite his ill-fitting clothes, must be an aspiring lover. "I know the notion will seem to you jarring and even comic; but that's because you are English.
Slim and tall and trim, with his well-cut head and figure, with his long neck and refined quiet face, he was a type common enough in Bond Street, London, or on Broadway, New York, but not so common in the Klondike. "Well, if that's so, pardner," slowly observed a thick-set, crop-haired man, edging close up to him, "you won't mind standing a drink for us?"
Hezekiah Timpson, a villainous, lean, crop-haired fellow, with a hang-dog look, and sanctimonious air, upon hearing himself charged with delinquencies, which were notorious to the whole Court, raised to heaven his eyes, which, until now, he had kept fastened on the floor, and, sighing deeply, exclaimed: "I do confess my iniquities and my sins are ever before me.
Incontinently the little kinetoscope was dropped, Graham was invited to stand in front of the machine and the tailor muttered some instructions to the crop-haired lad, who answered in guttural tones and with words Graham did not recognise.
Slowly rolled to Tallantire's feet the crop-haired head of a spectacled Bengali gentleman, open-eyed, open-mouthed the head of Terror incarnate. Bullows bent down. 'Yet another blood-fine and a heavy one, Khoda Dad Khan, for this is the head of Debendra Nath, the man's brother. The Babu is safe long since. All but the fools of the Khusru Kheyl know that. 'Well, I care not for carrion.
He rose as he saw me a short, crop-haired, clean-shaven, ruddy, jockey-faced man of fifty-five, the corners of his thin lips, usually curled up in a cheery smile, now piteously drawn down, and his bright little eyes now dim like those of a dead bird. She, buxom, dark, without a grey hair in her head, a fine woman defying her years, buried her face in her hands and sobbed afresh.
It rumbled again, and a crop-haired anaemic lad with features of the Chinese type, clad in coarse pale blue canvas, appeared together with a complicated machine, which he pushed noiselessly on little castors into the room.
Lucille had got a letter to him somehow. Lucille was not going to drop him yet in spite of having seen him a red-handed, crop-haired, "quiff"-wearing, coarse-looking soldier.... Was there another woman in the world like Lucille?
Furthermore, he had reached the stage where he was suspicious of anything out of the ordinary. He thought De Launay was ridiculing him. "Sell you my clo'es! Say, feller, what you givin' me?" A bullet-headed, crop-haired, and lowering laborer, who was leaning against the bar, uttered a snorting laugh. "Lamp de guys wit' de French heels an' de one wit' de sissy eyebrow on 'is lip, would youse?
Incontinently the little kinetoscope was dropped, Graham was invited to stand in front of the machine and the tailor muttered some instructions to the crop-haired lad, who answered in guttural tones and with words Graham did not recognise.
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