He now took off his hat--
a new beaver hat--when I came nigh singing out with fresh surprise.
There was no hair on his head--none to speak of at least--
nothing but a small scalp-knot twisted up on his forehead. His bald
purplish head now looked for all the world like a mildewed skull.
Had not the stranger stood between me and the door, I would
have bolted out of it quicker than ever I bolted a dinner.
Even as it was, I thought something of slipping out of
the window, but it was the second floor back. I am no coward,
but what to make of this headpeddling purple rascal altogether
passed my comprehension. Ignorance is the parent of fear,
and being completely nonplussed and confounded about the stranger,
I confess I was now as much afraid of him as if it was the devil
himself who had thus broken into my room at the dead of night.
In fact, I was so afraid of him that I was not game enough
just then to address him, and demand a satisfactory answer
concerning what seemed inexplicable in him.
Meanwhile, he continued the business of undressing, and at
last showed his chest and arms. As I live, these covered
parts of him were checkered with the same squares as his face,
his back, too, was all over the same dark squares;
he seemed to have been in a Thirty Years' War, and just
escaped from it with a sticking-plaster shirt.
Pages:
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56