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I remember a couple of them: an old man the one with the loud voice who wore a pleated kilt on each thigh and a jacket of green canvas with braid and buckles and straps and innumerable pockets all over it. What a man, what a power! His beard, streaming out from under his nose like the northern lights, was greenish-white, and he swore like a madman.
She is now so close to me that I feel the warmth from her. "You are welcome to lift my braid if you wish to," she says, "and if you care to look at my ring why, here it is!" I held her braid and did not take her ring because her friend had given it to her. She smiled and did not offer it to me again. "Your eyes are so bright, and how white your teeth!" she said and grew confused.
"Don't happen to have a lock of her hair with you?" says I, grinnin'. "Alas, no!" says he. "She favored me with no such mark of her esteem." "Was it kind of ginger-colored," says I, "and done in a braid round her head?" "Why er I believe it was," says he. "And didn't she have sort of droopy shoulders," I goes on, "and a trick of starin' vague, with her mouth part way open?"
On his head is a blue cap, and under the edge of the cap you catch a glimpse of dark hair. There are bands of gold braid on his sleeve, and on his breast is a large silver star. He is King of the Crossing. When he blows his whistle, all the street-cars and automobiles and carriages even if it were the carriage of the Mayor himself stop stock-still.
He liked to put on his state uniform, with its blue-grey frock, the white doeskin trousers which strapped under the patent-leather boots, the gold braid, the silver saber and the little rope of medals strung across his full, broad breast. It was thus he created awe; it was thus he became truly the sovereign, urbane and majestic.
Should he put a sovereign of his winnings on Silver Braid for the Chesterfield? Half-a-sovereign was enough! ...The danger of risking a sovereign a whole sovereign frightened him. "Now, Mr. Latch," said old Watkins, "if you want to back anything, make up your mind; there are a good many besides yourself who have business with me."
Margery Marshall had entered High School this fall. She had returned from New York with a trousseau that a bride might have envied. She was growing tall, and her beauty already was remarkable. Her little head carried its great black braid proudly. The pallor of her skin was perfectly healthy and even the Senior lads were seen to observe her with interest and appreciation.
Loose trousers of emerald-green merino were fastened with scarlet cord and tassels above gaiters of yellow beaver-skin thickly embroidered with beads of many colors. An upper garment of scarlet merino was ornamented with gilded buttons, on each of which was a shining star. The short, full skirt of this garment fell a little below the knee, and the border was embroidered with gold-colored braid.
There, you're all ironed out and your Aunt Jane can put on your white dress and braid your hair up again good and tight. Perhaps you won't be the hombliest of the states, after all; but when I see you comin' in to breakfast I said to myself: I guess if Maine looked like that, it wouldn't never a' been admitted into the Union!"
Then with a little shiver she backed away from it and sat down on the foot of the bed. She looked pale and little, as if the eye of the ring, blazing under the feeble lamp, like the evil eye, had sapped her fire and youth. The only thing about her of any size and color was the heavy braid of hair fallen over her shoulder.
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