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The show was ready for its start down the river. The "Little Nemo" had already hoisted anchor and was drifting with the current awaiting the signal to start her engines. "All ashore that's going," sang a voice on each of the two boats lying at the dock. The boats' whistles broke out in three deafening, prolonged blasts each. "Cast off!" bellowed the pilots.
"We are delayed in the river by some of the ship's papers not being ready. Such a scene at the dock gates.
"Don't do it," said Bumble; "we're coming out now, anyway. But the water is fine, to-day, isn't it, Patty?" "Glorious!" gurgled Patty, as she floundered about in her frantic endeavors to swim. Suddenly, Nan snatched off her wig, and dropped it down on the dock. Then with dramatic gestures, she wrung her hands, waved them above her head, and cried out in agonized tones: "I am desperate!
There stood a man in shirt-sleeves who had come to get the doctor to go to the dry dock to see a workman who was suffering from an attack of cart-pin in the hands of a friend with whom he had been discussing municipal politics. Fifteen minutes later Mrs. Beswick's wifely heart was gladdened by another ring.
"Isn't that tip worth something?" demanded Hogan. "Oh, I suppose so," and Mr. Emberg wrote out an order on the cashier for two dollars. Poor Hogan shuffled from the room. He was but a type of many who have outlived their usefulness. "Jump down to the Blue Star dock, Mack," the city editor said, when Hogan had gone. "Find out all you can about the Potters where they have been and where Mr.
He was soon sailing down the lake in the direction of the boathouse on the waterfront of Mr. Foger's property. It needed but a glance around the dock to show him that the RED STREAK was not there, but Tom recollected the accident to the steering gear and thought perhaps Andy had taken his boat to some wharf where there was a repair shop and there left it to return home himself. But inquiry of Mrs.
This was the landing place in the Mediterranean most dreaded by the tourists; for we had heard of jagged rocks that projected their black heads from the water, and of rough seas that on windy days broke over the rocks making the passage from the vessel to the dock very dangerous.
"Prisoner at the bar, are you guilty or not guilty of the crimes with which you stand indicted?" Potts, who stood pale and trembling and clutching the rails in front of the dock, replied earnestly though informally: "Not guilty, upon my soul, my lords and gentlemen, before Heaven, and as I hope for salvation." And overpowered by fear, he sank down on the narrow bench at the back of the dock.
The boy was accustomed to howl without provocation. He kicked his mother until she let him down. By this time they could discern only Maurie's head bobbing in the distant water. Presently he clambered up the dock and ran dripping toward the city, disappearing among the buildings. "Madam," said Uncle John, sternly, "you have cost us the best chauffeur we ever had."
Let us pause here a moment, and reflect upon the precarious tenure of life, as it is frequently affected by such scenes as the above, in the administration of justice. Here was a criminal of the deepest dye, shivering in the dock with the natural apprehension of his fate, but supported, notwithstanding, by the delay of the jury in coming to a verdict.
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