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Updated: May 1, 2025
Balfour," said he, in a fine deep voice, "and glad that ye are here in time. The wind's fair, and the tide upon the turn; we'll see the old coal-bucket burning on the Isle of May before to-night." "Captain Hoseason," returned my uncle, "you keep your room unco hot." "It's a habit I have, Mr. Balfour," said the skipper. "I'm a coldrife man by my nature; I have a cold blood, sir.
"An' I s'pose if ye said I should pay me men double wages, and put up the price o' haulin' so high that me customers couldn't pay it, so that some of yer dirty loafers could cut in an' git it, I'd have to do it, whether I wanted to or not; or maybe ye think I'd oughter chuck some o' me own boys into the road because they don't belong to yer branch, as ye call it, and git a lot o' dead beats to work in their places who don't know a horse from a coal-bucket.
They'd almost peck the seeds out of my hand, and the minit I'd turn my back they was over into that patch, right foot, left foot, kick heel and toe, and swing to pardners and you couldn't see the sun for dirt. And at every rake that rooster lifts soil enough to fill a stevedore's coal-bucket." "Why don't you shoot 'em?" advised Hiram, calmly.
My brain was in such a way, that it was several days before the perfectly obvious means of finding my way to London, since I wished to go there, at all occurred to me; and the engine went wandering the intricate railway-system of the south country, I having twice to water her with a coal-bucket from a pool, for the injector was giving no water from the tank under the coals, and I did not know where to find any near tank-sheds.
Balfour," said he, in a fine deep voice, "and glad that ye are here in time. The wind's fair, and the tide upon the turn; we'll see the old coal-bucket burning on the Isle of May before to-night." "Captain Hoseason," returned my uncle, "you keep your room unco hot." "It's a habit I have, Mr. Balfour," said the skipper. "I'm a cold-rife man by my nature; I have a cold blood, sir.
The pickaninny did so, removing the lace curtain to reveal a shiny new coal-bucket in which was a lump of ice, whereon reposed a pair of white kid gloves and a large wreath of artificial daisies. "With love," said Joe. "From Hector." And he stalked majestically out. There was a card on the wreath, which Joe had inscribed: "To announce the betrothal. No regrets."
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