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It was clad in a coarse, light brown wrapping gown almost in the shape of a sack with the mouth downwards, with two small holes in the upper part for the eyes. As soon as it came near the boats it was driven away by the Moors. At length Mr. Murphy made his appearance with the requisite piece of paper and eight bottles of otto of roses, for which he did not forget to ask a good price.
"Oh, it's not the hen cock I mane, sir," said the gossoon, "but the beer cock she was batin' the cock into the barrel, sir, wid the bootjack, sir." "That was decidedly wrong," said Murphy; "a bootjack is better suited to a heel-tap than a full measure." "She was tapping the beer, you mean?" said the little man.
"Know that first turn, up ahead here? If we don't have to shovel through, we'll be lucky." From the back of the sleigh where he was sitting flat, Murphy spoke suddenly. "A-ah, an' av ye don't have to saw yer trail through a down tree, ye'll be luckier sthill, I dunno. An' it's likely there ain't a saw in the hull outfit!"
How Michael J. Murphy yearned to discuss his problem with some one as loyal and devoted to the Blue Star Navigation Company as himself! His dignity as master of the Narcissus, however, bade him refrain from discussing the integrity of his owners with his mates particularly with new mates, to whom the house-flag stood for naught but a symbol of monthly revenue.
"Well," said Pete Murphy, "according to all fiction precedent, the rest of us ought to get together immediately, if not a little sooner, and murder you, Honey." "Go as far as you like," said Honey, dropping the stone into the pocket of his flannel shirt. "Only if anybody really gets peeved about this junk of carbon, I'll give it to him." For a while life flowed wonderful.
Luk out as ye go over th' fince, me la-a-ad, for if that ormadhoun of a goat sees ye, he'll ate ye alive!" This was at the breakfast table, and Neale had flushed redly, being half angry with the old fellow. "That's right, la-a-ad," went on Mr. Murphy. "Blushin' ain't gone out o' fashion where you kem from, I'm glad ter see.
Murphy demanded in much excitement. "Under the bottom of her desk?" he repeated. "The double bottom. The little traveling-desk with the little pictures on the corners. She was that contrary that she wasn't willing you should find it all fair and open. She wanted to tease you a while before you found out she'd changed her mind and give in." "Maurice," Ashe broke in, "we have overstayed our time."
Mount obeyed, chewed reflectively, and scratched his ear. "Is the Tory in? Is the Tory out? Is the Tory gone to Glo-ry? Oh, he's just come in. But he's just gone out " "Knock louder," I repeated. Murphy said he could drive the door in with his gun-butt; I shook my head. "Somebody's coming," observed Mount "Tink-a-diddle-diddle "
Here they were, fat, smiling, and healthy; and I apprehend somewhat surprised to see us, but they bluffed it out well. Murphy and the young man Pritchard were also here. Murphy and Pritchard were the members of the crew who had been left here to guard the provisions of the expedition, and to trade with the Esquimos.
Lorelei gasped, for on the front page glared black-typed head- lines of the Hammon scandal. John Merkle's name was there, too and linked with it, her own. "Jim!" she cried aghast. "They promised to kill the story." "Humph! Charley Murphy himself couldn't kill that." "What is THIS?" She ran her eye swiftly down the column. "Sure. Melcher commenced suit against Hammon this afternoon.
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