Old Dave Hinch awoke with the bitter trickle of smoke in his nose; and his first idea was that he must have fallen asleep with his pipe in his mouth, lost his grip on it and set fire to his beard. That appendage, and the whiskers and mustache which mingled with it, were dear to him; and rightly so, for they covered everything of his face except his nose and eyes and receding strip of brow. So he clapped a hand to his beard even before he sat up, and opened his eyes. Beard and whiskers and mustache were all there, and all right. Reassured on this point, yet still distressingly conscious of the tang of smoke, he hoisted head and shoulders from the pillow and opened his eyes. The room was in ut…
Your support pays for translating these classics into more languages.
Support for $12/month DonateSubscribers read with instant translation, without waiting for the free daily limit.