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Updated: October 10, 2025
"This is your own little room, William," said she, "you see it opens into mine. Have you a nightshirt?" "Naw 'm, I don' need no night-shirt. I jest sleeps in my unions and sometimes in my overalls." "Well, you may sleep in your union suit to-night," said his scandalized relative, "and I'll see what I can do for you to-morrow. Can you undress yourself?"
From time to time he made mysterious appearances at the windows of the loft, usually arrayed in what looked suspiciously like a nightshirt. Sometimes I would see him holding a negative up to the light, at others manipulating a photographic printing-frame; and once I observed him with a paintbrush and a large gallipot; on which I turned away in despair, and nearly collided with the inspector. "Dr.
But the Portier was keen, and Rosa was a niece of his wife and talked more than she should. He refused the tip with a gesture. "Bitte, Fraulein!" he said through the bandage. "It is for me a pleasure to admit you. And perhaps if the Fraulein is cold, a basin of soup." The Portier was not pleasant to the eye. His nightshirt was open over his hairy chest and his feet were bare to the stone floor.
Just as the vibration of this last stroke was dying on the air the door of communication with Searle's room was flung open and my companion stood on the threshold, pale as a corpse, in his nightshirt, shining like a phantom against the darkness behind him. "Look well at me!" he intensely gasped; "touch me, embrace me, revere me! You see a man who has seen a ghost!"
It did him no particular harm, but the crash of the tin basin gave out a warlike and resonant sound that rang through the whole house. At once the door opened, admitting the manager in his nightshirt, who stood between scolding and laughing before the duelists. "You're a pair of precious old rascals," he cried, "knocking each other about without a stitch on you, like a couple of old he-goats!
The pillow-cases and the end of the sheet, which was turned down over the blankets, were clean and creaseless. He could not move. He was paralysed. They had not told her that. She saw that he wore a clean white nightshirt of coarse cotton. It must have been lent by one of the people of the hotel. His illness must have come upon him last night, when he was still up and dressed.
He said he did not want to see another child or hear another child until he got home. He wanted to forget that there were such things as children in the world. We got up to the Strand and dropped into the first theater we came to. The curtain went up, and on the stage was a small child standing in its nightshirt and screaming for its mother.
It's this girl of mine, this wee bit of girl in her little nightshirt with the frill, astonishes me most: "thinking of the tops of the mountains at night!" She has positively done the whole of this work-main part. I smiled when I left the house, to have to own our little Fredi starting us all on the road.
"My dear soul, do you suppose I claim to do that? God bless you! To convince you is impossible. You can reach conviction only by way of personal experience and suffering!" "And then it's queer logic!" grumbled the student as he put on his nightshirt.
I am perfectly willing to take great pains with a white waistcoat—in one day I learn to make a work of art of that. But why need one fuss over the back of a nightshirt? Will a man sleep any better for a wrinkle more or less? Besides, so soon it is all wrinkles. The second day I iron soft work all morning—forever men's underclothes, pajamas, and nightshirts.
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