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They haven't got life enough in them. They'll deliquesce like fungi, and keep a hundred eulogists mopping the spot where they left off. Only half a dozen or so have died since the world began." Such passages as this reveal a very different Thoreau from the Thoreau who is supposed to have spent his days in the company of swamp-blackbirds and woodchucks.
"Make idt tree, undt you will see how I holdt oudt!" proudly boasted the stout boy, who spent half his time mopping his red face; for the day had been a pretty warm one, so Noodles, who had to carry a third again as much weight as any of his companions, thought. "Bully boy!" exclaimed impulsive Seth, "didn't I say they had the sand to do all we tried.
But you'll notice it is Smith every time, though we always called him Old Dibs, because of the money that he had and threw around so regardless. My first sight of him was on the front porch, mopping his forehead, and asking whether he might have board and lodging by the week.
And thank you for many kindnesses, and for real patience," said Peter. He waved his hand at the dusty store in a wide-flung gesture of glad farewell. "Oh, my God! He's run plumb crazy!" cried Mr. Humphreys, mopping his brow. "I always said that boy wasn't natural!" But Peter, walking home in the bright afternoon sunlight, for the first time in his life felt young and free and happy.
He watched the first one's slow progress out across the murky waters for a moment, making a pretense of mopping his forehead with his handkerchief meanwhile. It was loaded below the water-mark! It hung so low in the water that it looked a mere smudge upon the face of it, a ribbon of sail flapping from its slender mast. Electrical tubings, eh? Faugh! a pretty story that....
The colonel pondered this a minute and then went back to his place at the table, mopping his forehead. "Pinto's right," he said; "the fellow has smuggled some fool machine into the flat, and we shall discover it sooner or later. I don't know how he controls it, or who controls it" he looked suspiciously at Crewe "or who controls it," he repeated. "You said that before," said Crewe coolly.
Gamaliel Ives sent up his card to Miss Lucretia, and was shown deferentially into the parlor, where he sat mopping his brow and growing hot and cold by turns. How would the celebrity treat him? The celebrity herself answered the question by entering the room in such stately manner as he had expected, to the rustle of the bombazine. Whereupon Mr.
M. des Amis sauntered over to him moving, thought Andre-Louis, with extraordinary grace and elasticity and stood in talk with him whilst also assisting him to complete his toilet. At last the young gentleman took his departure, mopping himself with a fine kerchief that left a trail of perfume on the air. M. des Amis closed the door, and turned to the applicant, who rose at once.
He did not raise his hat until he stood directly in front of her, and while mopping his broad, clamp brow and plump cheeks with his handkerchief, she read in his features the confirmation of her worst fears. Now in his grave voice, which sounded still deeper than usual, he uttered a curt "Well, it can't be helped," and shrugged his shoulders sorrowfully. This gesture destroyed her last hope.
The waters did not come above his waist, and when he was safe on the other side with his friends, finding he had a few more feet of film left, he took the pictures showing the fire as it raged and burned the last of the grass, and other pictures giving views of the exhausted men, women and horses in a temporary camp. "Whew! But that was hot work!" cried Mr. Bunn, mopping his face.
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