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"But about seeing this lawyer do you advise me to go?" He's squintin' at me foxy out of them shifty eyes of his, cagy and suspicious, like we was playin' some kind of a game. You know the sort of party J. Bayard is if you don't, you're lucky. So what's the use wastin' breath? I steps over and opens the front office door.
The soul of the 'Turkey merchant, we cannot doubt, will repose in peace. The worthy rector of Warham St. Mary's was an oddity deserving of passing notice. Outwardly he was no Adonis. His plain features and shock head of foxy hair, his antiquated and neglected garb, his copious jabot much affected by the clergy of those days were becoming investitures of the inward man.
They were both men one middle-aged, rather foxy in appearance and of a typically legal aspect, and the other a fine, handsome young fellow of very prepossessing exterior, though at present rather pale and wild-looking, and evidently in a state of profound agitation.
The last of these was the psalm-book; it was a fine piece, the gift of Mistress Clem, in distinct old-faced type, on paper that had begun to grow foxy in the warehouse not by service and she was used to wrap it in a handkerchief every Sunday after its period of service was over, and bury it end-wise at the head of her trunk.
Ponderous watch-chain of imitation gold. I judge that he couldn't tell the time by it, for he asked Smythe what time it was, once. He wore a coat which had been gay when it was young; 5-o'clock-tea-trousers of a light tint, and marvelously soiled; yellow mustache with a dashing upward whirl at the ends; foxy shoes, imitation patent leather. He was a novelty an imitation dude.
Forrest's letter was from a sweetheart, and after reading it a few times, he burnt it, and that was all we ever knew of its contents, for he was too foxy to say anything, even if it had not been unfavorable. Borrowstone swaggered around camp that evening in a new pair of boots, which had the Lone Star set in filigree-work in their red tops.
"All right; stick out your tongue," directed Durand and Polly promptly fell into the trap, though unluckily she happened to be looking straight past Durand at the moment, and what proved more embarrassing, right at a table occupied by Foxy Grandpa, Helen and Lily Pearl, whom Mrs. Harold had not yet met, so, of course, did not recognize.
"By gum!" quoth Stalky, uncovering as he read. "It's old Duncan Fat-Sow Duncan killed on duty at something or other Kotal. 'Rallyin' his men with conspicuous gallantry. He would, of course. 'The body was recovered. That's all right. They cut 'em up sometimes, don't they, Foxy?" "Horrid," said the sergeant briefly. "Poor old Fat-Sow! I was a fag when he left. How many does that make to us, Foxy?"
Would Dora ever be quite the same again after she had done so hard a thing? Annie pulled herself up and accused herself of getting absolutely maudlin. The idea of Tom Robinson of "Robinson's," with his middle size, matter-of-fact air, and foxy hair and moustache, entertaining such a dream and relinquishing it with a pang of mortal anguish that would leave a long sickening heart-ache behind!
"We 'aven't, sir. This is only a little drill," said the Sergeant. "But aren't they keen on it?" said McTurk, speaking for the first time, with a twinkle in his deep-set eyes. "Why aren't you in it, though, Willy?" "Oh, I'm not punctual enough," said McTurk. "The Sergeant only takes the pick of us." "Dismiss! Break off!" cried Foxy, fearing an explosion in the ranks.
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