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George bounded to his feet. Amory looked up at him in terror, and Little Cawthorne and Bennietod went a step or two after him as he sprang forward, and Rollo's lean shadowed face, obvious as his way of speech, was wrinkled in terrified appeal. "An idle claim!" St. George thundered as he strode before the dais. "Is this woman's story and mine an idle claim, and one not within your power to answer?
It was rather the name of his expression than a description of it. "Suppose," he said, "that Bennietod and I sit rocking here in this bay if it is a bay while you two rest your chins on the top of that ledge of rock up there, and look over. And about to-morrow or day after we two will venture up behind you, or you could send one of the men back "
George, "or is there a passage in the rock?" Bennietod hugged himself in uncontrollable ecstasy. "Hully Gee, a submarine passage, in under de sea, like Jules Werne," he said in a delight that was almost awe. "There is a way over the rock," said Jarvo, "partly hewn, partly natural, and this is known to the islanders alone. That way we must take.
"He made me," defensively claimed Bennietod; frowning deferentially at Little Cawthorne. "Hello, St. George," said the latter, "come on back to the office. Crass sits in your place and he wears cravats the colour of goblin's blood. Come back." "Not he," said Chillingworth, smoking; "the Dead-and-Done-with editor is too keen for that; I won't give him a job. He's ruined.
Rollo dropped his eyes, but his face brightened under, as it were, his never-lifted mask. "Oh, sir," he said humbly, "a person is always willing to do whatever makes him the most useful." "Little Cawthorne and Bennietod," went on St. George, "ten to one will take to the trail to-night, if they haven't already.
Bennietod was Bowery-born and office-bred, and this sad metropolitanism almost made of him a good philosopher. "I'd like immensely to say something," observed St. George abruptly, when his pipe was lighted. "Oh, yes. All right," shrilled Little Cawthorne with resignation, "I suppose you all feel I'm the Jonah and you thirst to scatter me to the whales." "I want to know," St.
If they ever find this out at the polls my vote'll be challenged. What?" "Aw whee!" said Bennietod, intent upon a Roman candle, "wha' do you care, Mr. Cawt'orne? You don't hev to go back fer to be a child-slave to Chillingwort'. Me, I've gotta good call to jump overboard now an' be de sonny of a sea-horse, dead to rights!" St.
To shrink from expression is a characteristic in which the extremes of cultivation and mediocrity meet; the reserve of delicacy in St. George and Amory would have been a reserve of false shame in Bennietod, and of an exaggerated sense of humour in Little Cawthorne.
George a note from Amory, who had been at Long Branch with The Aloha when the letter was posted and was coming up that noon to put ashore Bennietod. "May Cawthorne have his day off to-morrow and go with me?" the letter ended. "I'll call up at noon to find out." "Yah!" growled Chillingworth, "it's breaking up the whole staff, that's what it's doin'. You'll all want cut-glass typewriters next."
When it became evident that the lights were no will-o'-the-wisps, born of the moon and the void, but the veritable lights that shine upon harbours, Bennietod tumbled below for Jarvo, who came on deck and gazed and doubted and well-nigh wept for joy and poured forth strange words and called aloud for Akko. Akko came and nodded and showed white teeth. "To-morrow," he said only. Barnay came.
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