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I even saw that he was met there by a friend." "Indeed! Did you see that person distinctly?" "Quite distinctly." "Can you describe his appearance?" "I think so. He was short and very slight, sandy-haired, with a bushy mustache and beard, and he wore a closely fitting suit of gray tweed. His age I should take to be about thirty-eight or forty." "Did Mr.

But how about the man with the waxed mustache?" "He'll praise me." "And slit the playwright's ears. Well, I will not complain. What will the 'Free Lance' do the one who accepts bribes and cares for his crippled daughter like an angel what will he do?" "Well, that depends. Do you know him?" "I do not, and don't care to.

The newcomer's laugh showed a glistening line of the whitest teeth under a closely-cropped dark mustache. "I have run away," he declared. "My honored father is, of course, furious, but Europe was desolate and so " He shrugged his shoulders. Then, noting Benton's half-amused, half-annoyed smile, he bowed and saluted. "Ah, Benton," he said. "How are you?

Several times during that period we sighted vessels, all outward bound, and once we were within communicating distance of a steam cargo boat on her way to Venezuela. She lay to and sent her first mate over to see what could be done. He was a slim little man with dark eyes and a small mustache above a cheerful mouth.

The bills just leaked out of my hand on to the floor. The Bachelor Beauty had come home, Mag, and nabbed the poor Princess, instead of her catching him napping. He wasn't a beauty either a big, stout fellow with a black mustache. His hand on my shoulder held me tight, but the look in his eyes behind his glasses held me tighter. I threw out my arms over the desk and hid my face. Caught!

"An expedition, sir?" asked the steward, whose roses began to change into lilies. "We are going to return to the service, Mouston," replied Porthos, still trying to restore his mustache to the military curl it had long lost. "Into the service the king's service?"

He decided, however, to wait till one o'clock, to be sure. At half past twelve, a man came in out of the field with a team a short man, with curly hair, curly chin beard, and mustache. He walked with a little swagger, and his legs were slightly bowed. Morris called him "a little feller," and catalogued him by the slant on his hat.

Presently a man with a gnawed yellow mustache and a shifty eye walks out of one of the offices, and perceives our friend. "Howdy, Mr. Hopper?" says he. Eliphalet extends a hand to be squeezed and returned. "Got them vouchers?" he asks. He is less careful of his English here.

He had black eyes, keen and bright, swarthy complexion, black hair and mustache. A keen observer might have seen about him some signs of a jeunesse orageuse, but his manner was frank and pleasing. Sinclair looked him in the face, puzzled for a moment. "Don't you remember Foster?" asked the man. "Of course I do," replied Sinclair. "For a moment I could not place you.

His cap was cocked to one side; his mustache with one end turned up the other drooping made his face seem crooked, and it was disfigured by a dull, dead grin. His left hand held a saber, his right waved broadly in the air. His heavy, firm tramp was audible. The crowd gave way before him.