United States or Faroe Islands ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Fulkerson saw the restiveness in Dryfoos's eye at the purely literary course the talk had taken; he had intended it to lead up that way to business, to 'Every Other Week; but he saw that it was leaving Dryfoos too far out, and he wished to get it on the personal ground, where everybody is at home. "Ledt me zee," mused Lindau. "Wass it in fifty-nine or zixty, Passil?
Fulkerson saw the restiveness in Dryfoos's eye at the purely literary course the talk had taken; he had intended it to lead up that way to business, to 'Every Other Week; but he saw that it was leaving Dryfoos too far out, and he wished to get it on the personal ground, where everybody is at home. "Ledt me zee," mused Lindau. "Wass it in fifty-nine or zixty, Passil?
And you think I would be the beneficiary of such a state of things?" "I'm sorry to hear you talk so, Lindau," said March; "very sorry." He stopped with a look of pain, and rose to go. Lindau suddenly broke into a laugh and into English. "Oh, well, it is only dalk, Passil, and it toes me goodt. My parg is worse than my pidte, I cuess. I pring these things roundt bretty soon.
Good-bye, Passil, my tear poy. Auf wiedersehen!" March went away thinking of what Lindau had said, but not for the impersonal significance of his words so much as for the light they cast upon Lindau himself. He thought the words violent enough, but in connection with what he remembered of the cheery, poetic, hopeful idealist, they were even more curious than lamentable.
Good-bye, Passil, my tear poy. Auf wiedersehen!" March went away thinking of what Lindau had said, but not for the impersonal significance of his words so much as for the light they cast upon Lindau himself. He thought the words violent enough, but in connection with what he remembered of the cheery, poetic, hopeful idealist, they were even more curious than lamentable.
His hairy old breast showed through the night-shirt, which gaped apart; the stump of his left arm lay upon the book to keep it open. "Ah, my tear yo'ng friendt! Passil! Marge! Iss it you?" he called out, joyously, the next moment. "Why, are you sick, Lindau?" March anxiously scanned his face in taking his hand. Lindau laughed. "No; I'm all righdt. Only a lidtle lazy, and a lidtle eggonomigal.
Good-bye, Passil, my tear poy. Auf wiedersehen!" March went away thinking of what Lindau had said, but not for the impersonal significance of his words so much as for the light they cast upon Lindau himself. He thought the words violent enough, but in connection with what he remembered of the cheery, poetic, hopeful idealist, they were even more curious than lamentable.
We canonized all that died or suffered in it, but some of them must have been self-seeking and low-minded, like men in other vocations." He found himself saying this in Dryfoos's behalf; the old man looked at him gratefully at first, he thought, and then suspiciously. Lindau turned his head toward him and said: "You are righdt, Passil; you are righdt.
"Yes, my name is Lindau," he said, slowly, while he scanned March's face. Then he broke into a long cry. "Ah-h-h-h-h, my dear poy! my gong friendt! my-my Idt is Passil Marge, not zo? Ah, ha, ha, ha! How gladt I am to zee you! Why, I am gladt! And you rememberdt me? You remember Schiller, and Goethe, and Uhland? And Indianapolis? You still lif in Indianapolis? It sheers my hardt to zee you.
Fulkerson saw the restiveness in Dryfoos's eye at the purely literary course the talk had taken; he had intended it to lead up that way to business, to 'Every Other Week; but he saw that it was leaving Dryfoos too far out, and he wished to get it on the personal ground, where everybody is at home. "Ledt me zee," mused Lindau. "Wass it in fifty-nine or zixty, Passil?
Word Of The Day