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The crockery having been removed, the table with the green baize cover was carried out into the centre of the room, and the business of the evening was commenced by a little emphatic man, with a bald head and drab shorts, who suddenly rushed up the ladder, at the imminent peril of snapping the two little legs incased in the drab shorts, and said
Since I was a child there has not been either lightning or thunder in Egypt at this time of year." "Then you will see something new to-day," said Kallias, laughing; for a large drop of rain has just fallen on my bald head, "the Nile-swallows were flying close to the water as I came here, and you see there is a cloud coming over the moon already. Come in quickly, or you will get wet.
Roger, who has the sugar bowl near him, and is helping himself from it generously, laughs a little. Julia is a person who, if you wore a smoking cap even once in your life, would tell you it would make you bald; or if you went out without a veil, you would have freckles for the rest of your life and so on. "Don't eat any more," says Julia, imploringly; "you can't like that nasty white stuff."
We were now travelling along the foot of Bald Mountain seen from the hill on Monday, and passing what is known by the trappers as North Pole Rapid, which was the wildest of the rapids so far. The travelling was still rough, and the men were in a hurry. I could not keep up at all. George wanted to carry my rifle for me, but I would not let him. I was not pleased with him just then.
If a novelist were to describe me, he would write me down a stout little old gentleman, with a bald head and a mild countenance; mentally weak in expression, active in habits, and addicted to pipes and loose clothing.
And as none of these animals ever died, they could no longer lie in wait for the body which the shepherd threw to the eternal laughter of the torrent. And the wolves were resigned. Their fur, bald as the rock, was pitiable. A sort of miserable grandeur reigned in this strange abode.
Then the bald heights of Starcross Moor rose up before me, and Grace came lightly across the heather chanting a song, with her hat flung back, and the west wind kissing her face into delicate color, until a tramp of footsteps drew nearer down the track.
No comforting of the good Rolf, no devout soothing lays, were of any avail; and the castellan, with his fierce, scarred features, his head almost entirely bald from a huge sword-cut, his stubborn silence, seemed like a yet darker shadow of the miserable knight.
The Canon Lucien Bonaparte was a funny looking, fat little man, as bald as he was good-natured, and that was very bald, and with a smooth, ordinary-appearing face, only remarkable for the same sharp, eagle-like look that marked his nephew Napoleon when he, too, became a man. Napoleon looked at his uncle the canon with indignation and denial on his face.
A withered, wiry little man, dressed in dark grey, stood holding a lighted candle, which flickered in the draught. His head was nearly bald; his sallow, hairless face might have been of any age from twenty to a hundred years; his eyes between their narrow red lids were glittering and inscrutable as those of a snake.
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