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This girl had a piano in the room, and she used to disturb it with both hands while she made noises with her mouth for hours at a time. I suppose she was practising vocal music. One day she seemed very much excited and kept looking at the clock. At eleven somebody knocked and she let in a stout, dark man with towsled black hair. He sat down at once at the piano and played while she sang for him.
All his fine clothes he dressed mighty blindin' those days were spoiled everlastin'! 'Is hair was towsled and his face what I could see of it was whiter than the ace of lilies. 'E stared once at me, and looked away as if I didn't count; an' then there were shootin' pains chasin' one another from my bitten finger into my head, and it was Gopher to the dark. That's why I wasn't at the inquest."
The door opened, and his landlady's dirty little daughter put her towsled head through the little space behind the doorpost. "They're down below; shall I send 'em up?" "Certainly, Jane. Tell the gentlemen that I shall be pleased to see them." The dirty face vanished as the door closed. Phadrig shut down the top of the big escritoire and locked it. Heavy treads sounded on the rickety stairs.
The air rapidly grew heavy with the smell of unwashed bodies and of moist tobacco, and with the peculiar oily odor of corn whisky. A short man of important bearing stepped in front of the rail and scanned the mass behind it. He easily singled out von Rittenheim, whose cropped head shone fair from among the towsled pows around him. "Oh, von Rittenheim," he called, "step out here a minute."
Bobby was becoming enthusiastic. He tugged and tugged. Sometimes when he did not let go the rope in time, he was lifted slightly off his feet. The sun was hot, but he had no thought of quitting. His hat fell off backward, his towsled hair wetted at the edges, clung to his forehead, his dull red cheeks grew redder behind their freckles, his eyes fairly closed in an ecstasy of enjoyment.
Through the bars of the double line of windows on the second and the third stories peer the murky faces and towsled heads of some of the inmates. One of the latter spits his furthest into the yard evidently with the intention of hitting myself: but all his efforts prove vain. Another one shouts with a mordant expletive: "Hi, you! Why do you keep tramping up and down like an old hen?
And in the next instant Jasper Jay thrust a towsled head through the pine-needles that screened his sleeping-place. "Who's there?" he shouted in a hoarse and angry voice. Buddy Brown-Thrasher did not answer. He kept still as a mouse. And waited for some time hoping to hear Jasper's sweet notes again but he waited in vain. But Buddy had heard them once.
He led the two women back to his own garden, where the towsled bushes of flowers of all colours stood raggedly along the path down to the field. The situation did not embarrass him, to his knowledge. "Look, Miriam; these are the white ones that came from your garden. They aren't so fine here, are they?" "No," said Miriam. "But they're hardier.
Presently, when they have drunk a little more of their poison, they will fire the barraque." Every time that the first of the two carpenters inhaled the smoke of my cigarette he spat into the embers, while the other man, a young fellow as plump as a female baker, sank his towsled head upon his breast as soon as he sat down, and fell asleep.
The strong yellow rays of the lantern dazzled before them and prevented them from seeing anything of its bearer, though the moonlight beams were still unclouded. "Mother!" Richard cried irascibly, and levelled the torch on her like a revolver. Its brightness showed the dewy roundness, towsled with perplexity, of a doe-eyed girl of Ellen's age. "Ach!" said Richard, shouting with rage. "Who are you?
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