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Updated: May 25, 2025
Scott asked our president to give them a warning, and Señor Rojas he is the warning." "When will he get out?" I asked. The commandant held up the glass in the sunlight from the open air-port, and gazed admiringly at the bubbles. "Who can tell," he said. "Any day when Mr. Scott wishes. Maybe, never. Señor Rojas is an old man. Old, and he has much rheumatics.
The reorganized head clerk clicked his heels, wheeled, marched to his desk, and without delay signed John Kieran as pump-man for the Gulf voyage of the oil ship Rapidan. It lacked two minutes to sailing time, and the passenger was in the cabin mess-room, when he heard the exclamation. "Here he comes now." He looked through the air-port. Out on the deck was a huge fellow gazing up the dock.
Scott asked our president to give them a warning, and Senor Rojas he is the warning." "When will he get out?" I asked. The commandant held up the glass in the sunlight from the open air-port, and gazed admiringly at the bubbles. "Who can tell," he said. "Any day when Mr. Scott wishes. Maybe, never. Senor Rojas is an old man. Old, and he has much rheumatics.
"For just a second. He had said to himself he wouldn't go to sleep; but all at once he heard a move below him, as of somebody unscrewing an air-port, and then he heard a voice say, 'Well, here goes a ghost that will stay laid! and then a plash, a pl-m-p! and looking over quickly, he saw plain as could be the phosphorus hole in the sea, then a quarter of a second later something white as a man's face, and then it was gone into the ship's wake.
The man knew Jimmie; had greeted him the night before when he came on board, and was seeking him that he might subscribe to a pool on the run. When to his attack on Jimmie's door there was no reply, he peered through the air-port, saw on the pillow, where Jimmie's head should have been, two letters, and reported to the purser.
But now it was the fourth day out, and Hatteras was far astern, and the ship was plunging easily southward, with the white sandy shore of Florida abeam. A fine, fair day it was, with the Caribbean breeze pouring in through the air-port. The passenger shaved and washed and got into his clothes. Above him he could hear the captain dressing down somebody. He stepped out on deck.
Coming alongside one night in a cutter, Yarn, our boatswain, in some inexplicable way, contrived to slip several skins of brandy through the air-port of his own state-room.
He starts to unscrew his air-port, but come to think, it was still daylight, and so he waits for the shades of night to fall. "Well, that night three bells just gone in the mid-watch it was the marine guarding the patent life-buoy on the port side of the quarter-deck, fell into a reverie.
And he looks to see if there was an air-port handy. And there was the air-port of the flag office. 'H'm! h'm! he says. 'That's all now, Lyman, to the marine officer. Nothing more; but an hour later the marine was released from the brig nobody knew why."
"Next afternoon the admiral was on deck taking the air, and after a while he asks, 'Where was that marine guard standing when he says he heard that air-port unscrewing and that splash last night? And they dug the marine out of the brig and brought him up, and he stood on the same spot leaning over the rail, and the old man stands there and takes a look down.
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