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Updated: June 1, 2025
I tried the pyjamas in order to be in the fashion; but I was obliged to give them up, I couldn't stand them. There was no sufficient change from day-gear to night-gear. I missed the refreshing and luxurious sense, induced by the night-gown, of being undressed, emancipated, set free from restraints and trammels.
"Oh, is that you, Phillips?" the relieved voice of the Junior Watchkeeper was heard to say. "I can't get the lead of this infernal rice-string don't wriggle, Jim it's rove so taut. . . ." "What 'normous pyjamas," said Cornelius James, suffering himself to be robed in his night-attire.
And this he carefully tore into little pieces one night when the decks were dark and there was no moon overhead; and he watched the small white bits of paper, as they floated away into the black depths of the water, and then he walked up and down the deck until the small hours of the morning, when Peter one of whose worst qualities was that he always fussed over people he cared about appeared in pyjamas and overcoat, and asked him sternly if he was trying to get another chill.
He took out his pyjamas and threw them on the bed; put his toothbrush and razor on the wash-basin, laid hairbrushes and O. Henry on the bureau. Feeling rather serio-comic he loaded his small revolver and hipped it. It was six o'clock, and he wound his watch.
Then the girl heard the old gentleman start up in bed. "What's that bell, what's that bell?" he gasped. A minute later he emerged from his cabin wearing a cork jacket and trousers over his pyjamas. "Sissy," he said, "go up and ask your pop who rang that bell." The obedient child returned. "Please, Mr. Longfellow," she said, "pa says there weren't no bell."
He repeated this process six times, so that by the time he had finished and the pyjamas were added to the pile of washed clothes, they had been beaten on the stone more than a hundred times. The process effectually expels all the dirt, but the amount of literal wear and tear to which the garment is exposed can easily be imagined.
He got out with a sudden swift movement, flung off his sleeping jacket, rolled his pyjamas up his thighs, and stole forward, unseen by the one Kanaka of the anchor-watch. His white torso, naked like a stripped athlete's, glimmered, ghostly, in the deep shadows of the deck.
"Of course I'm coming back.... Look here, Charlotte. You didn't suppose I was really going to bolt, did you?" "Were you going to change into your pyjamas at Ostend?" "My pyjamas? I brought them for Gurney." "And your sleeping draught was for Gurney?" "Of course it was." "And your razors and your toothbrush, too. Oh, John, what's the good of lying?
His hair was tousled and his beard stuck out at a grotesque angle. He was clad in pink pyjamas, and in his hand he carried a silver-backed mirror. My attitude did not seem to cause him any surprise. The door slammed behind him, with a noise of thunder, and he rushed across the room to where I knelt, and stooping, examined my finger nails at which I was staring. "Good!" he shouted. "Good!
I shall punish you very heavily. I shall certainly report the matter to the headmaster. I will not have boys rushing about the garden in their pyjamas. You will catch an exceedingly bad cold. You will do me two hundred lines, Latin and English. Exceedingly so. I will not have it. Did you not hear me call to you?" "Please, sir, so excited," said Mike, standing outside with his hands on the sill.
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