“I am so thankful that everybody is asleep,” said the blonde, aside. “What a disgrace?”
“Spoo-it!” snored Sanford.
Bit by bit, piece by piece, the dislocated charms were picked up and shoved into a traveling bag, and the young woman retired to the toilet room, from which she emerged an hour later, looking as pert and as grand as ever, just as if nothing unusual had happened, every rat, or curl, in its place.
Sanford, Roark and their new friend, the man who arrived late, disputed over recent baseball scores.
JAN PIER—THE SHOESHINE
Jan Pier, the little Frenchman, who came here several months ago from Norfolk, is going back to the Atlantic coast, where he can hear the roar of the mighty waters as they break upon the American shores, and see the ships as they come and go.
One morning, about ninety days ago, as I approached the square, on East Trade, I beheld a shock-headed boy, bowing low shining a shoe. Beneath the auburn locks shone the skin of an Anglo-Saxon.
“A white shoe-shine?” said I to Chris Karnazes, the fruit dealer, at the Central Hotel corner.