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"She proposes to marry Constantine," I answered, and added quickly to Hogvardt: "What's the game with those knives, Hog?" "Well, my lord," said Hogvardt, surveying his dozen murderous instruments, "I thought there was no harm in putting an edge on them, in case we should find a use for them;" and he fell to grinding one with great energy. "I say, Charlie, I wonder what this yarn's about?
Dennis, however, could not see the humor. "Why, Abe," said he, "that yarn's just a lie." "P'raps so," answered the small boy, "but if it is, it's a mighty good lie." As a matter of fact Abe had very few books. His earliest possessions consisted of less than half-a-dozen volumes a pioneer's library. First of all was the Bible, a whole library in itself, containing every sort of literature.
Toughs as they were, these two men fully appreciated the company they were in. Holy Dick was one of the most desperate men in Rocky Springs, and, as for O'Brien, well, no one had ever been known to get "gay" with Dirty O'Brien and come off best. Pete strove to grin the insult aside. "Wal," he said, with a yawn, "I guess Fyles has 'some' feller to handle, if your yarn's right, Dirty.
Mary-'Gusta, was there anybody else except David in that parlor along with you? Was there?" Mary-'Gusta looked at the floor. "Yes, sir," she faltered. "So? I kind of had an idea there might be. Who was it?" Again the look and then: "I I ain't goin' to tell." Con laughed once more. "You bet she ain't," he exclaimed. "She can't. The whole yarn's a lie. Don't pay no attention to it, Pop."
I dunno whether the yarn's true or no, but the skipper believed it, for the upshot of it was that Cap'n Stenson who, I might say, was the owner of the Yorkshire Lass hustled around and got a general cargo for Cape Town, after dischargin' which we took in ballast and sailed in search of this here treasure.
"When the yarn's finished we can send it to her, explain just how the whole thing happened, and ask permission to call. She's got a sense of humour, I'll swear!" "Balmy!" retorted Falstaff. "She'd probably be frightfully fed because you bagged her letter! 'S a hell of a thing to do, crib a lady's letter!" "It's a hell of a thing to do to leave it lying around!" cried Forbes, impenitent.
"Sometimes the yarn's always snarling and your drag weights are always burning off and the stuff is full of kinks and the sliver's badly pieced up that's the drawing minder's fault and a bad drawing minder means work for me. Your niece, Sarah, is a very good drawing minder, Mrs. Northover.
Red-haired and a spotty face." "That's Hamilton, all the way. By Jove! Skipper, we've saved our bacon. His yarn's quite true. They did change names. Hamilton's a rich young ass that's been painting England red these last three years." "But, tell me, what did the little chap go overboard for?" "Got there himself. Uneasy conscience, I suppose. He seems to have been a poor sort of assassin anyway.
We've lost hundreds of acres by fire already." "My yarn's the same." Jean nodded and turned back to the fire. "Say," he went on, "have you heard of the things going on? The thing that's happening?" "You mean the outfit working it?" "Yes. It's a political labour gang. Leastways that's the talk of 'em. They call 'em 'Bolshies, whatever that means. They're chasing these forests through.
"Oh, oh!" exclaimed the captain, fixing his eyes on the lieutenant; "you thought to capture me and hang me at your yard-arm; but the yarn's not spun nor the bullet cast which is to take my life. I might order you on deck and run you up to the yard-arm before five minutes are over; but I intend to have the satisfaction of shooting you myself."
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