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Maybe you've seen a tug-boat bobbin' alongside a big liner in a heavy sea. I expect we must have looked something like that. Even so, that flossy bunch of lady typists showed poor taste in cuttin' loose with the smothered snickers as we wobbles past. And I could get a picture of myself towin' the Señora Concita Maria What's-Her-Name, alias Bonnie Sutton, through the Plutoria corridors.
"Huh!" says I, taking a glance. "Señora Concita Maria y Polanio. All of that, eh? Must be some whale of a female?" "Whale is near it," says Vincent. "You ought to see her." "The worst of it is," says I, "I gotta see her." He's no exaggerator, Vincent. This female party that I finds bulgin' Old Hickory's swing desk chair has got any Jonah fish I ever saw pictured out lookin' like a pickerel.
Come sospinto suol da Borca o d'Ostro Venir lungo navilio a pigliar porto," Canto x. st. 100. Improved from Ovid, Metamorph. lib. iv. 706 "Ecce velut navis præfixo concita rostro Sulcat aquas, juvenum sudantibus acta lacertis; Sic fera," &c. As when a galley with sharp beak comes fierce, Ploughing the waves with many a sweating oar.
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