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"Tom, sah, was a pow'ful shahk, 'bout thirty feet long; but nobody know how ole he was. In de ol'en times big fleets ob English men-ob-war use to anchoh off Port Royal, an' dat shahk got fat on de refuse dat was frown ovahboahd. Sometimes de sailors would heah de yallow gals laughin' an' dancin' on de shoah at night an' dey longed fur to jine dem.
"Isn't that a harpoon down there in the boat?" the capitalist asked calmly. "Yes, sah, oh, yes, sah, but Lordy, sah, yo' can' do nuffin wif a sea vampa. No, sah. Why, jes' oveh yondah dey was a big schooneh towed out to sea by a vampa." "A schooner?" "Yes, sah, a seven'y-ton schooneh. Yes, sah. He mus' ha' been a big fellah an' goin' swimmin' along he struck de anchoh chain wif his hohns.
It made him mad, right mad, it did, an' he jes' heave up dat hyeh anchoh an' toted it off to sea, draggin' de ship wif him." The owner of the Golden Falcon laughed. "Can you beat that? That's the worst fish story I've heard, Colin. You tell some good ones, too!" "It's an old story," the boy answered, "and I believe it's true. They have often run away with boats."
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