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Updated: May 23, 2025
Blix choked with merriment over his foolery, and Condy added proudly: "Look there! I made those sandwiches!" They looked as though he had great, fat chunks of bread, the crust still on; the "devilish" ham in thick strata between; and, positively, he had BUTTERED the bread.
"You want something much more dignified. There is that about you, Condy, you like to be too showy; you don't know when to stop. But you have left off red-and-white scarfs, and I am very glad to see you wearing white shirt-fronts instead of pink ones." "Yes, yes, I thought it would be quieter," he had answered, as though the idea had come from him. Blix allowed him to think so.
"You'll see. Try it now; we've no time to lose." Blix shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. Then: "What a pretty boat that is up there, that picture on the wall. See over there, on the wall opposite? Do you notice it? Isn't she pretty? Condy, tell me what kind of a boat is that?"
They were soon out of the miniature city of the Post, and held on down through the low reach of tules and sand-dunes that stretch between the barracks and the old red fort. "Look, Condy!" said Blix. "What's that building down there on the shore of the bay the one with the flagstaff?" "I think that must be the lifeboat station." "I wonder if we could go down and visit it.
"Never!" returned Blix, in an indignant whisper. "I tell you what. We could go and then come back in five minutes. I'll forget my stick here. Savvy?" "You would probably do it anyhow," she told him. They decided this would be the better course. They got together their things, and Condy neglected his stick, hanging upon a hook on the wall.
Blix looked as he indicated. The picture was a gorgeously colored lithograph of a pilot-boat, schooner-rigged, all sails set, dashing bravely through seas of emerald green color. "You mean that schooner?" asked Blix. "That schooner, exactly. Now, listen. You ask me in a loud voice what kind of a boat that is; and when I answer, you keep your eye on the two men." "Why, what are you going to do?"
Now, what do you suppose seven thousand quart bottles of fifty-year-old whiskey would be worth? Why, twenty dollars a quart wouldn't be too fancy. So there you are; there's your treasure. Blix clapped her hands with a little cry of delight, and Condy smote a knee, exclaiming: "By Jove! that's as good as Loudon Dodds' opium ship!
There is no name for such things, no name for the mystery that spans the interval between man and woman the mystery that bears no relation to their love for each other, but that is something better than love, and whose coming savors of the miraculous. The afternoon had waned and the sun had begun to set when Blix rose. "We should be going, Condy," she told him.
But, as he was fumbling with the flies he was startled by a sharp exclamation from Blix. "Oh-Condy-I've-got-a-bite!" He looked up just in time to see the tip of her rod twitch, twitch, twitch. Then the whole rod arched suddenly, the reel sang, the line tautened and cut diagonally through the water. "You got him! you got him!" he shouted, palpitating with excitement. "And he's a good one!"
At the end, Blix's little eyes were snapping like sparks; Condy's face was flaming, his hands were cold, and he was shifting his weight from foot to foot, like an excited thoroughbred horse. "Heavens and earth, what a yarn!" he exclaimed almost in a whisper. Blix drew a long, tremulous breath and sat back upon the upturned box, looking around her as though she had but that moment been awakened.
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