United States or Bahamas ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
But whose could have been the broken ragged shoes?" he asked, suddenly taking up another train of thought. "Hank Handcrafts, the beach-comber's," suggested Tubby. "Gee Whillikens! I'll bet a cracker that's the solution," cried Andy, "and now I come to think of it I heard, before we left, that Jack and his gang had gone camping." "Where?" "Up around the Upper Inlet somewhere.
The other had halted in an incipient charge to take note of the odd proposition. He blinked at the flash of the watch's battered gold case in the sunshine. For the first time, he seemed a trifle irresolute. This eel-like antagonist, with such eccentric ideas as to sport, was something outside the beach-comber's experience. Puzzled, he stood scowling. "How about it?" queried Brice.
Some four inches of the file portruded from his lips. Moran took this end and drew it out between the beach-comber's teeth, then pushed it back slowly. The hideous rasp of the operation turned Wilbur's blood cold within him. He looked away out to sea, down the beach anywhere, so that he might not see what was going forward. But the persistent grind and scrape still assaulted his ears.
A man who's got a speaking acquaintance in every port from Acapulco to Melbourne, who knows every den and every longshoreman in it from a South American tienda to a Samoan beach-comber's hut, what does he want with society?"
Later on in the day he held solemn service, and after this all the hauntings and ghost-walkings at Froda ceased, while Thurid recovered from her sickness and became well again. Spiritualistic Floating Hands. Hands in Haunted Houses. Jerome Cardan's Tale. "The Cold Hand." The Beach-comber's Tale. "The Black Dogs and the Thumbless Hand."
You must be seeing things. I hope you ain't drinking." "You you scoundrel, you!" roared the old captain, almost beside himself with rage, and dancing with clenched fists toward Hank. The beach-comber's filthy hand slipped into his rags in a minute, and the next instant he was squatting back on his haunches in the corner of the hut, like a wildcat about to spring.
While the man was groping for the right hold, Gavin threw all his own power into a single move. Tightening his underhold, and drawing in on the small of the giant's back, he raised himself on his toes, and pressed the top of his head, with all his might, against the bottom of the beach-comber's chin. The trick was not new. But it was fearsomely effective.
Belatedly, he knew what had happened, and he renewed his vise-grip. But he was too late. Eel-like, Gavin had slithered out of the imprisoning arms. And, as these arms came together once more, in the bear-hug, Brice shot over a burning left-hander to the beach-comber's unguarded jaw.
But we once had some, we white men, in one of the islands. And that led to Bolter's row with me." "What about?" "Oh, about his young woman. I told her the story; it was thoughtless, and yet I don't know that I was wrong. After all, Bolter could not have been a comfortable fellow to marry." In this opinion readers of the Beach-comber's narrative will probably agree, I fancy. "Bad moral character?"
Word Of The Day