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"On my part I'm shaking hands with myself because we were smart enough to camouflage our ship with green stuff for that pilot passed over and could have glimpsed our crate lying half hidden here, and through his glasses which I understand they all carry made out how it didn't match up with any of the aircraft they use in their business." "Thanks to you, partner," Perk hastened to confess.
As one sits in a brilliantly illuminated, comfortable, warm theatre, having just come from a cosy and luxurious restaurant, just think of some poor devil half-way along those corduroy boards struggling with a crate of biscuits; the ration "dump" behind, the trenches on in front.
Also he pointed to the Chinese characters on the wooden lid of the crate. "What does these hen scratches mean?" demanded Scraggs. "This man is named Ah Ghow and he belongs to the Hop Sing tong." "How about his pal here?" "That man is evidently Ng Chong Yip. He is also a Hop Sing man." Captain Scraggs wrote it down. "All right," he said cheerily; "much obliged.
"I sloshed around town for a couple of days just to give those people a change from the usual run of Randolph street romps, then I hit the hummer for bleeding Kansas and Emporia. "Say, I had a great first entrance into that burg and nothing else; but a crate of lemons got off to crab the act.
Once before I was caught and put in one, but I broke out and got away. This time they have been too strong for me. But you can help me to escape." "How?" asked Mappo. "Listen!" whispered the tiger, putting his big mouth, filled with sharp teeth, close to the side of his cage, and nearest to Mappo's crate. "Listen! Your paws are like hands and fingers.
Finally, as if summoning his courage, the avaricious marshal snapped the key, threw back the catches on each end of the crate and then slowly and gingerly and at arm's length began to lift the lid. With the top an inch ajar he paused, waited a moment or two, and then began sniffing as if searching for an odor. Ned saw him. "It doesn't smell," he explained quickly, "but it's there. Look out!"
"'Taint him, anyway, that's dead sure, Jack, I guess I ought to know a Lockheed-Vega crate, no matter how far away, or by what tricky moonlight either, 'cause you see I used to run one o' that breed for nearly a year when I took a whirl at the air-mail business up north out o' Chicago till I had a bad crash an' quit cold."
Ned noticed with satisfaction that the lid was properly locked. Jellup noticed it too. Without a word, he turned and easily found Ned's keys. Again he approached the crate, looking over the keys. "Jellup," exclaimed Ned in alarm, "there's gas in that box, and if you go near it with a light you'll blow us all up." "Gas, eh?" answered the eager Jellup. "Don't run no sich bluffs on me."
"It's making me thin," she ventured as she shook a little shower of tears off her black lashes and again smilingly regained control of her own hands, but displaying a slender blue-veined wrist for his sympathetic inspection. "Help!" exclaimed David, taking possession of the wrist and circling it with his thumb and forefinger. "Let me send for a crate of eggs and a case of the malt-milk!
Hurry them things off, Tom," he called, and himself seized a huge crate from the back of the coach and flung it on his shoulder. He had his cargo on in a jiffy, clucked to his horses, and they turned into the familiar road to Coniston just as the sun was dipping behind the south end of the mountain.
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