"It was November in London. The great city was buried under a dank, yellow fog. Traffic was temporarily checked; foot passengers groped their way by the light of the street lamps, and the hoarse shouts of the link boys running before cabs and carriages with blazing torches rang at intervals above the muffled rumble of countless wheels. "In the coffee-room of a quiet hotel on the Strand a young man stands by the window, looking pensively out on the misty street. He is quite young, with light hair that falls half over his forehead, and a drooping, golden mustache, and in rather startling...
"It was November in London. The great city was buried under a dank, yellow fog. Traffic was temporarily checked; foot passengers groped their way by t...
-I say, Ned, this is beginning to grow wearisome, - drawled Randy Moore as he tipped his chair against the wall, and crossed his feet on the low railing in front of him. -Clay promised to be here half an hour ago, - he went on in an injured tone, -and if he doesn't come in a few minutes I'm going to have a spin on the river. It's aggravating to sit here and do nothing. I can count a dozen boats between the railroad bridge and Bushy Island.- -I wouldn't mind being out myself, - said Ned Chapman, -but we have important business to transact to-night, Randy, and I think it would be wiser to let...
-I say, Ned, this is beginning to grow wearisome, - drawled Randy Moore as he tipped his chair against the wall, and crossed his feet on the low raili...
