United States or Western Sahara ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
The whole thing hung on one point to wit, what size the sweater was going to be. If it was large, then it must be for Peter; if small, then James was the lucky man. Neither dared to make open inquiries, but it began to seem almost impossible to find out the truth without them. No masculine eye can reckon up purls and plains and estimate the size of chest which the garment is destined to cover.
Jimmie took off his sheepskin-lined overcoat, and unbuttoned his sweater underneath, and from an inside pocket of his jacket took out the precious card with the due-stamps initialled by the secretaries of Local Leesville and Local Hopeland and Local Ironton. The stranger studied it, then nodded. "Good! I trust you." As he handed back the card he remarked, "My name is Kalenkin. I am Bolshevik."
He would content himself with formally seconding Councillor Didlum's excellent proposition. Councillor Weakling, whose rising was greeted with derisive laughter, said he must oppose the resolution. He moved that Mr Oyley Sweater be asked to resign and that they advertise for a man at five pounds a week. Councillor Grinder rose to a point of order.
The big car stopped, a little way out of town, in front of a long driveway bordered with maple-trees; she and the young man descended from one end-platform and Eleanor Hubert from the other, into the midst of loud and facetious greetings from the young people who had come down to meet them. Jerry was there, very stalwart, his white sweater stretched over his broad chest.
"Delightful," said Miss Forrester, looking a little surprised at finding the troupe playing a return date without having booked it in advance. "To settle a bet," said James, "will you please tell us who I should say, whom you are knitting that sweater for?" "It is not a sweater," replied Miss Forrester, with a womanly candour that well became her. "It is a sock.
"That's why I couldn't say anything about to whom I gave my sweater," explained Tom. "And, for a time, I feared Ray was guilty of poisoning the horses. His threats, and the fact that he had some time before experimented with chemicals, with me, made me suspicious. So I had a double motive in keeping silent. "At last I could stand it no longer, and I began to try and trace my cousin.
Fred put on the slicker, tied the sweater about his neck, and settled himself cross-legged beside her. The chamber was so dark that, although he could see the outline of her head and shoulders, he could not see her face. He struck a wax match to light his pipe. As he sheltered it between his hands, it sizzled and sputtered, throwing a yellow flicker over Thea and her blankets.
"I suppose they don't need it for a day or two," replied the other, trying not to feel self-conscious as he neared the crowd already on hand. "I don't see Miller, do you?" Steve shook his head, after a glance about him, and, rolling his hands in the folds of his sweater, not because the weather was cold but because that was a habit of his, seated himself at the bottom of the stand.
Well, sir, when I went back to my axe, there was the sweater where I first left it. Can you beat it? It was so damn queer I didn't like to say nothing." "What about you?" Jack asked of Shand. Shand nodded. "To-day when I walked up the shore there was something funny. I had a notion I was followed all the way. Couldn't shake it. Half a dozen times I turned short and ran into the bush to look.
That man was Adam Sweater, the Chief of the Band. The Reign of Terror. The Great Money Trick During the next four weeks the usual reign of terror continued at 'The Cave'. The men slaved like so many convicts under the vigilant surveillance of Crass, Misery and Rushton. No one felt free from observation for a single moment.
Word Of The Day