Prev | Current Page 614 | Next

Whitman, Walt, 1819-1892

"Complete Prose Works Specimen Days and Collect, November Boughs and Goodbye My Fancy"

His appearance was youthful. He might have been twenty-one
or two years old. His countenance was intelligent, and had the air
of city life and society. He was dress'd not gaudily, but in every
respect fashionably; his coat being of the finest broadcloth, his
linen delicate and spotless as snow, and his whole aspect that of one
whose counterpart may now and then be seen upon the pave in Broadway
of a fine afternoon. He laugh'd and talk'd with the rest, and it must
be confess'd his jokes--like the most of those that pass'd current
there--were by no means distinguish'd for their refinement or purity.
Near the door was a small table, cover'd with decanters and glasses,
some of which had been used, but were used again indiscriminately, and
a box of very thick and very long cigars.
One of the sailors--and it was he who made the largest share of the
hubbub--had but one eye. His chin and cheeks were cover'd with huge,
bushy whiskers, and altogether he had quite a brutal appearance.
"Come, boys," said this gentleman, "come, let us take a drink. I know
you're all a getting dry;" and he clench'd his invitation with an
appalling oath. This politeness was responded to by a general moving
of the company toward the table holding the before-mention'd decanters
and glasses. Clustering there around, each one help'd himself to a
very handsome portion of that particular liquor which suited his
fancy; and steadiness and accuracy being at that moment by no means
distinguishing traits of the arms and legs of the party, a goodly
amount of the fluid was spill'd upon the floor.


Pages:
602 603 604 605 606 607 608 609 610 611 612 613 614 615 616 617 618 619 620 621 622 623 624 625 626