“Was you cal’latin’ to buy one of them turnovers, bub?” casually inquired Mr. Clark, ceasing to gaze at his steaming boots, which were planted against the bulging centre of the station stove, and turning toward the boy at the lunch counter. “Yes, sir,” said the boy. He had taken off one worsted mitten and held a five-cent piece clutched tightly in his red fist.…
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.