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Bruce Foulkes as a beautiful Spanish senorita, Constant Meese, W. Levintritt, F. W. Boole and C. H. Matlage as "Four Dainty Kewpies," Edward C. Wagner as an oiler, and Carl Westerfeld was a regular devil. Of course, Mrs. A. Gee, Mrs. A. B. Luther, Mrs. Washburn, Mrs. Wheeler, Mrs. Boole, Mrs. Wood, Mrs. Shannon and Mrs. Grady looked charming, as usual.
When Oiler and I came downstairs, two little glasses of sherry and a plate of biscuits were hospitably waiting for us. There was something distinctly English in the atmosphere of the room and in the demeanor of the two prim ladies who stood by. It roused my curiosity. Finally one of them said: "Are you English, gentlemen?" "No," we replied; "Americans."
The gong rang again when all these preparations had been made, and the Havana steamed slowly up the channel towards the bay. The oiler appeared to have finished his work for the present. He was a more intelligent man than the others of his color on board, and seemed to understand his duties.
"Now, honey," he returned with a deprecatory shake of his head, "I got my own wu'k 'tend to; an' I ain't nevah ax nobody what 'twas, an' I ain't goin' ax 'em. An' lemme jass beg you f oiler de ole man's advice: you do de same, 'case nobody ain't goin' tell you. All I know is dat it come later and were somep'n 'bout dat riprarin Crailey Gray.
But our hero knew a thing or two about racing, though he had not long been a motor-boat owner. He adjusted the automatic oiler on the cylinders to give more lubrication, as he intended to get more speed out of his engine. Then he opened the gasoline cock a trifle more and set his timer forward a few notches to get an earlier spark.
You could hear that laugh of Thomas Jefferson's three blocks away, and sunshine in winter couldn't bring more cheer than the sound of it. He looked at me for a moment, and then said: "Bobby, I'll go!" It wasn't forty-eight hours before Thomas Jefferson had a first mortgage on every soul aboard the "Sleeping Sealer," from the cap'n to the oiler down in the engine-room.
She looked up bravely and smiled. "It's pretty bad," she said with a quiver. "It hurts, doesn't it?" Then noticing for the first time that Thornly was less protected than she, for he wore only his heavy overcoat, which was crusted thick with ice, she forgot her own agony in genuine alarm. "Take off those frozen things!" she commanded; "you must be drenched through and through without an oiler.
He was reminded by suddenly finding himself sprawling upon his back, and regaining his feet, found their prisoner also racing off at top speed. The oiler darted after, but quickly gave it up. He was no match for the light-footed cowman. Seeing the pistol still in Alex's hand, he cried, "Shoot! Shoot him!" Alex raised the revolver, faltered, and lowered it. "No. I can't," he said. "I can!"
Oiler and I went through an opening in a canvas partition into that part of the great shed where the wounded were being unloaded from the trains. In width, this part measured four hundred feet, but in length it ran to eight hundred.
Half over the division, we took a siding for the "Cannon Ball." We cleared her ten minutes and I had time to oil around while Dennis cleaned his fire. I climbed up into the cab, wiping the long oiler and glanced at the clock. The "Eyes" were looking wild alarm "do something quick."
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