A piece of wire is added to his entrance at night. He would say that that will keep out the tread of a dog and a newspaper reporter.
Not even one book.
He would read the history written on the brow of a star, he will say if I ask him why.
Every side was patched by pictures and a medley of paper clippings. Is there anything sweeter to muse upon than personal knick-nacks?
O such a dust!
I swept it.
But I thought philosophically afterward, why should people be so fussy with the dust, when things are but another form of dust. What a far-away smell the dust had! What an ancient colour!
I observed on the wall an odd coat and boots that dear old Santa Claus might have lost.
“Klondyke costume!” I exclaimed.
I undressed myself, and tried them on.