There were black rims in the orbits of his eyes, as if he gazed feebly out of unglazed spectacles, which heightened his simian resemblance, already grotesquely exaggerated by what appeared to be repeated and spasmodic experiments in dyeing his gray hair.

Without the slightest notice of Lance, he inflicted his protesting and querulous presence entirely on his daughter.
"Well! what's up now?
Yer ye are calling me from work an hour before noon.

Dog my skin, ef I ever get fairly limbered up afore it's 'Dad!' and 'Oh, Dad!'" To Lance's intense satisfaction the girl received this harangue with an air of supreme indifference, and when "Dad" had relapsed into an unintelligible, and, as it seemed to Lance, a half-frightened muttering, she said coolly,-- "Ye'd better drop that axe and scoot round getten' this stranger some breakfast and some grub to take with him.

He's one of them San Francisco sports out here trout-fishing in the branch.

He's got adrift from his party, has lost his rod and fixins, and had to camp out last night in the Gin and Ginger Woods." "That's just it; it's allers suthin like that," screamed the old man, dashing his fist on his leg in a feeble, impotent passion, but without looking at Lance.