Jim and Keno had their heads thrust out of their bunks, but
the two popped in abruptly at the sight of a tall female figure. She
was homely, a little sharp as to features, and a little near together
and piercing as to eyes. Her teeth were prominent, her mouth
unquestionably generous in dimensions, and a mole grew conspicuously
upon her chin. Nevertheless, she looked, as Jim had once confessed,
"remarkly human." On her head she wore a sun-bonnet. Her black alpaca
dress was as styleless and as shiny as a stovepipe. It was short,
moreover, and therefore permitted a view of a large, flat pair of shoes
on which polish for the stovepipe aforesaid had been lavishly coated.
It was Miss Doc Dennihan. Having duly heard of the advent of a quaint
little boy, found in the brush by the miner, she had come thus early in
the morning to gratify a certain hunger that her nature felt for the
sight of a child. But always one of the good woman's prides had been
concealment of her feelings, desires, and appetites. She had formed a
habit, likewise, of hiding not a few of her intentions. Instead of
inquiring now for what she sought, she glanced swiftly about the
interior of the cabin and said:
"Ain't you lazy-joints got up yet in this here cabin?"
"Been up and hoisted the sun and went back to bed," drawled Jim, while
Keno drew far back in his berth and fortified himself behind his
blankets.
Pages:
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59