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Updated: May 5, 2025
The blond seaman seized his advantage and swung a slicing blow that glanced off Herriot's forehead, and felled the huge buccaneer to the deck where he lay stunned, the quick red staining his head-cloth. As the blond-haired man stepped forward to finish the business, a long, keen, straight blade interposed, caught his cutlass in an upward parry and at the same time pinked him painfully in the arm.
Yet at this, too, our blond-haired friend would no doubt rebel. One of the many things to which some will make claim as a right, is that of going unrecognised and secret whither one will. But that, so far as one's fellow wayfarers were concerned, would still be possible. Only the State would share the secret of one's little concealment.
Sykes whirled around and glared at the blond-haired cadet. "What's your name?" he snapped. "Why Cadet Manning, sir," replied Roger. "Cadet Manning, do you see this calculator?" Sykes pointed to the delicate instrument that could add, subtract, divide, and multiply, in fractions and whole numbers, as well as measure the light years in sidereal time. "Yes, sir," said Roger.
Quick!" he demanded. "Coglin, John." "Spears, Albert." "Duke, Phineas." "You call those names?" Roger snorted incredulously. "Which of you ground crawlers is radar officer?" "I am, very well," replied Spears. The blond-haired cadet stared at him in amazement. "Very well, what?" he demanded. "You said that's the correct form of address," replied Spears doggedly. Roger turned to Tom.
Nevertheless, it was quite evident that some of the men were attracted by her singular originality and a certain good comradeship in her ways. And it was on one of their riding excursions that Peter noticed that she was singled out by a good-looking, blond-haired young lawyer of the town for his especial attentions.
Victor Nevill's progress along Piccadilly was frequently interrupted by friends, fashionably dressed young men like himself, whose invitations to come and have a drink he declined on the plea of an engagement. Just beyond Devonshire House he was accosted eagerly by a fresh-faced, blond-haired boy he was no more than twenty-two who was coming from the opposite direction.
As he entered the room, he saw a figure stretched out on the floor. He stopped still, cold fear clutching at his heart. "Roger!" he called. The blond-haired cadet didn't move. Tom jumped to his unit mate's side and dropped to one knee beside him. It was dark in the room and he couldn't see very well, but there was no need for light when he felt Roger's pulse. "Frozen, by the stars!" he exclaimed.
The blond-haired M.F.H. reached for his younger brother; the infant culprit avoided him and sullenly withdrew the sucked finger but not his fascinated gaze. "I want to know who he ith," he lisped in a loud aside. "So do I," admitted a tiny maid in stickout skirts. Drina dropped the cat, swept the curly hair from her eyes, and stood up very straight in her kilts and bare knees.
By the way, speaking of Huns it was you, the neutral, who mentioned them, does it strike you there are quite a few of them on the staff of this hotel? I hope they won't poison me. Look at the head waiter, look at half the waiters round, and see that blond-haired, blue-eyed menial. Do you think he saw his first daylight in these United States?"
The big shoulders of the blond-haired fellow towered above the others; he was talking excitedly, and they were listening. When they started to cross the street, Sommers touched Dresser. "What are you doing here?" he demanded abruptly. "What are you doing? You had better get out of town along with your rich friends." He motioned sneeringly at the bag in Sommers's hand.
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