Explore "The Living Mummy" by Ambrose Pratt on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When Weldon woke he did one of the three things of which only gentlemen of the finest sensitiveness are capable. He gave me one quick, laughing glance, but perceiving in my solemn visage a predisposition to resent badinage, he immediately said, "Good-morning, old chap. Hope you rested well. As usual, I slept like a log -- all night." Now, who could help liking a man of that stamp? Not I, most certainly. And not satisfied with pretending to have forgotten everything, he resolutely refrained from so much as glancing at his treasured sword, which I had broken. My heart went out to him in such a flood of feeling that in order to conceal how fond of him I was and how grateful, I simply had to be insulting.
"You needn't tell me you slept," I growled. "You snored like a whole sty-full of hogs" (which was a lie). "It's a wonder to me you did not wake yourself."