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"'O ho! does you credit; pretty girl, curly-head, good manners. Well, she's off. Good trick, too. She was the decoy. Banin stood in the shadow with club. She brought gentleman into alley, friend did work. That's Banin's story. Perhaps a lie. You have a brother in Algiers? Thought so. Girl went out there once? So I was told. Probably there now. African officers say not; but they're a sleepy lot.
"Josephus," wrote curly-head; "Groceries," he added; "Ice," he concluded; A, B, C, D and so on, with a tail the wrong way on J. It is a memory that robs politics of its bitterness. Lockwin opens the door and kisses his wife affectionately. After all, he is a most fortunate man. If there were a decent way he would let Harpwood go to Congress and be rid of him.
Won't the girls be delighted with those pictures of the basket ball teams! See, ah, there is the page of photographs. You suggested that the editors should appear as the babies they used to be forty years or so ago. What a dear little curly-head you were at the age of two, Berta! I want to hug you." The embarrassment began to fade from Berta's expression as she gazed at the baby faces before her.
"It is not you, curly-head!" said the school-master, rapping him over the hand with a roll of paper. "Who is it, then?" asked others. "Who is it? Yes; who is it?" "He will find that out who has the number," replied the school-master, sternly. He would have no more questions. "Now go home nicely, children. Give thanks to your God and gladden your parents.
"You got hair grow on your chin, too? That is fonny thing. Ot'er day I watch the curly-head one scrape his face. He not see me. What for you want scrape your face?" Sam blushed. "Oh, it looks like a hobo if you don't," he stammered. She repeated the word with a comical face. "What is hobo?" "Oh, a tramp, a loafer, a bum." "I on'erstan'," she said. "We got hoboes, too.
My, what a time she must have had! Do you think she she'd like to hear I'm sorry?" "What a darling you are!" thought the lame girl. "I don't wonder everyone loves you so much." But aloud she merely answered heartily, "I think it is a beautiful plan, dear. When she understands that you have tried your best to please her, I am sure she will be kind to my little curly-head."
They did not know that he was saying for one whom but that morning he had called "his curly-head at home" the prayer that is common to Virginia and to Delaware, to North and to South, and which no wars can silence and no victories cause to be forgotten. The soldier's voice now was growing almost inaudible. He spoke between long-drawn breaths. "'If I should die before I wake."
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