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And, of course, Mallow laughed and dragged along the gambler whenever he found a chance to see Elsa at close range. "There's a woman. Gad! that beach-comber has taste." "I tell you to look out for her," Craig warned again. "I know what I'm talking about." "What's she done; slapped your face?" "That kind of woman doesn't slap. Damn it, Mallow, she rammed a hat-pin into me, if you will know!
"and the beach-comber drank, in silence, to the illustrious dead. "Who shot him?" "A scientific kind of poop, a botanizing shaloot that was travelling around with a tin box on his back, collecting beetles and bird-skins. Poor Thompson! this was how it happened. He was the strongest fellow I ever saw; he could tear a whole pack of cards across with his hands. That man was all muscle.
The beach-comber then produced a piece of luggage like a small Gladstone bag, which he habitually carried, and thence he extracted a cigar about the size of the butt of a light trout-rod. The process was a long one, and reminded me of the arts by which the beach- comber's native friends fire the root of a tree before they attack it with their stone tomahawks.
The soberer fellows sneaked off into the bush, the others lay and snoozed till the Coast tribe came out of hiding, and gave it to them pretty warm with throwing sticks and the flat side of waddies. I guess the belief in taboo won't die out of that Bush tribe in a hurry." "It was like the companions of Odysseus devouring the oxen of the Sun," I said. "Very likely," replied the beach-comber.
"Well, he's awake, at any rate," remarked Jack with a grin, "now to find out where the boat is." As the wretched figure of the beach-comber appeared Jack hailed him roughly. "Where's that boat, Hank?" "Been cruising off and on here since eleven o'clock," rejoined the other sullenly, "ah! there she is now off to the sou'west."
I must confess that I felt a bit scared. It was a pretty hot day. I didn't know but maybe the heat had overcome the fellow and he had gone crazy. "How dare you come here with such a tale as this, you dirty beach-comber?" he demanded, shaking his fist in my face. "If Colonel Hefferan was here I don't doubt he'd kick you out of the place. And you'd better go quick, as it is.
In the twinkling of an eye, I was transformed from a sailor into a "beach-comber" and a hide-curer; yet the novelty and the comparative independence of the life were not unpleasant. Our hide-house was a large building, made of rough boards, and intended to hold forty thousand hides.
Don't you worry; no beach-comber like that can stand up long in front of me. He threatened on board that he was going to collect that fifty pounds. He hasn't been very spry about it." "I should like to be with you when you meet." Mallow grinned. "Not above seeing a pal get walloped, eh? Well, you get a ring-side ticket. It'll be worth it."
"Hypercriticism!" said the Beach-comber. "What happened next might be hyperaesthesia I suppose you mean abnormal intensity of the senses but how could hyperaesthesia see through a tweed coat and lining?" "Well, what happened next?" "Bolter's firm used to get sheep by every mail from , and send them regularly to their station, six miles off.
All had, indeed, some touch of the poetic; for the beach-comber, when not a mere ruffian, is the poor relation of the artist.
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