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Updated: May 16, 2025
And the d d gamblers were no friends of mine or of the Church." There was one, a little dark-moustached Spaniard, who was listening and peering at him, with eyes black and pointed as a chincapin, and, murmuring softly in Spanish, turned and went away. "What did that d d black-muzzled whelp say?" Larry asked. "I don't understand their d d lingo."
Of course, as the platform was crowded, nobody seems to have taken any notice of the dark-moustached little man; and the porter doesn't know where he went nor when only that he never saw him again. But I know where he went, Mr. Narkom, and I know, too, what was in that portmanteau.
Her step-daughter who had not heard of the phantasm, sees the same pale dark-moustached face, 'peeping round the folding doors'. She is then told Mrs W.'s story. Her little brother, later, sees the figure simultaneously with herself. She also hears the voice say, 'I can't find it, at the same moment as Mrs. W. hears it. A year later, she sees the figure at the porch, in a tall hat!
This was a stout young man, black- eyed, dark-moustached, with a thick and heavy look about him. She would not catch his mood. "I am sure when I ask you " "Well, you're jolly well wrong, you know," he laughed; "'cause I ain't going." Mary flushed slightly; moved to the hearthrug where sat David and Angela, her small charges, watching, from their toys, the scene. It occurred to Mr.
He arrived all alone, and was in no end of a temper because the carriage was dirty; had it swept out, and stood waiting while it was being done. After that the porter says he found him laughing and talking with a dark-moustached little man, apparently of continental origin, dressed in a Norfolk suit and carrying a brown leather portmanteau.
To her young eyes he looked rather appallingly neglected. She gazed with interest at the hollows in his cheeks, and the furrows in his brow, and the lips, dark-moustached and bearded, so tightly compressed, even in sleep. Being holy didn't make a man happy, it seemed!
Against this rude form of domesticity were opposed the chromo-tinted dresses and extravagant complexions of a few single unattended women happily seen more often at night behind gilded bars than in the garish light of day and an equal number of pale-faced, dark-moustached, well-dressed, and suspiciously idle men. A dozen rivals of Thompson's Saloon had sprung up along the narrow main street.
Her audience consisted of an ugly little man, with greyish hair, who stood at a bookcase in the corner and made his remarks over his shoulder; a gloomy young man, who sat in a reclining chair, with his arm hanging listlessly by his side; and a tall dark-moustached handsome man, broadly built, who sat on the edge of a table smoking a wooden pipe, and who, from his observations, had evidently accompanied her home from the theatre after the second act.
The youngest of the four assembled at the table was the Italian, a rather thin, keen-faced, dark-moustached man of refined appearance. "Madonna mia!" he cried, raising his face to the Frenchman, "why, what has happened? This is unusual. Besides, why should we wait? I've only just arrived from Turin, and haven't had time to go to the hotel. Let us get on. Avanti!"
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