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New York: John F. Trow, Printer & Publisher, 50 Greene street, between Broome & Grand. 1864. An excellent little work, intended to impart some of the rudimentary branches of learning to that interesting class of our fellow beings who can neither speak nor hear.
The girl, Arúna student at Somerville College was reclining among vast blue and pink cushions in the bows, pensively twirling a Japanese parasol, one arm flung round the shoulders of her companion a fellow-student; fair and stolid and good-humoured. Broome summed her up mentally: "Tactless but trustworthy.
To those choral celebrations ladies go, just as they are accustomed to enter any metropolitan church; and after service they can take a turn in the gardens of either Society, without drawing upon themselves unpleasant attention. So also, unattended by men, ladies are permitted to inspect the floral exhibitions with which Mr. Broome, the Temple gardener, annually entertains London sightseers.
It is easy to see by the light of subsequent events that we should probably have had something not unlike Erewhon sooner or later, even without the Russian lady and Sir F. N. Broome, to whose promptings, owing to a certain diffidence which never left him, he was perhaps inclined to attribute too much importance.
"Upon the quarter deck of the Shark paced the figure of Captain Broome, with his long, swinging gorilla-like arms. Suddenly he stopped, put his hand to his mouth and shouted an order to the men in the bow of the ship. Then came the quick move of one of the men.
"When Captain Broome gets done with her?" questioned Berwick slyly. "Perhaps sooner; I dunno," said Jim gloomily. They beached their long, low, black craft on the sands below the restaurant of Herr and Frau Scheff, and from that base of supplies laid in a liberal stock of provisions, enough to last for a day at least. There was some ham, a loaf of bread, butter and an apple pie.
Jim glided aft and crouched low near the capstan, where he was hard to be distinguished from a coil of rope. He saw the squat figure of Captain Broome with the long, swinging, gorilla-like arms revealed in the light which shone from the interior of the cabin, and then he slammed the door and strolled forward towards the bridge. Jim held his breath, hoping he would not come his way.
They reach the door of the banquet hall, and then they are quick to act, and with good reason. "What durned son of thunder broke that thar glass?" There was no doubt whose voice that was. It belonged to the redoubtable Captain Broome, and to no other. It was his stopping to look at the broken glass that gave the two comrades their chance.
From here he continued his course north till he reached Roebuck Bay, a few leagues to the south of the scene of his first visit, and where is now the town of Broome. The Eastern Extension Telegraph Cable Company's alternative cable from Banjoewangi comes in here, and the town has additional importance as being the harbour for a large pearling fleet.
"Not a sound was heard, not a funeral note," added the engineer, with his usual whimsical humor. "I bet that there will be a few funeral notes for that fellow who let go the rope," put in Jim. "Not to speak of what would happen to us if old Broome should get his hand on we 'uns," remarked the engineer casually. "He's just mad enough to chaw iron," grinned Jim.
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