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Updated: June 28, 2025


"Ay," said Corkey, pointing to the sea astern, where the glassy surface was broken and rippled by a sharp angular object, "that's a shark a-follerin' of us now, leastwise the back fin of one. If you don't believe it, jump overboard and you'll soon be convinced." This reference to the shark was overheard by Polly, who came out of her bower to see it.

This must be what excited Corkey. Something has happened. The red fire of drowning sets up its conflagration. Lockwin has time for one regret. His estate has lost $75,000. He enters the holocaust and passes into nothingness, feeling heavy blows. He awakes to find himself still with Corkey. His brain is dizzy and he relapses into lethargy.

Corkey from this moment rejects the collectorship, and stakes all on going to Congress. Thoughts of murdering Lockwin out here in this wilderness come into the man's mind. "I wouldn't do that, nohow. Oh, I'll never be worked off none of that for me!" In Corkey's tongue, to be worked off is to be hanged. "Nixy. I'll never be worked off. But it would be easy to throw him from the deck to-night.

"Not d-d-deep!" yells the mascot with an explosion. "Sure enough!" "S-s-s-s-see the sand in the wa-wa-ter!" "Sure enough!" The idea saves Corkey and the boy. Over the side Corkey goes. He touches bottom and is swept off. The boat drags him. He catches the boy's hand. "Let her go," is the command, and, boy in arms, Corkey stands on the bottom. The sea rages as if it were a thousand feet deep.

"The gold, sissy!" "Never mind it," she says. "You think it's some good this letter don't you, sissy?" "Of course I do." "I'm much obliged to you, sissy. Let in those people, now." The doctor enters. Corkey is at ease. He sinks into the wet pillow. He closes his eyes. "Did Chalmers come?" asks the physician. "Never mind him," says Corkey faintly. The night goes on.

"Go, David," she had commanded, when she was eager with a desire to keep him or to go with him. "Shall I accompany you?" she asked, smiling and trembling. "I must return by a lake steamer, and must see Corkey alone," the husband had replied. "A lake steamer!" In October! The affair alarmed the wife. She must not let that fear be known.

It is a dark face that the Commodore carries to the bedside of David Lockwin, around on State street. Corkey sits down. Then he stands up. He concludes he will not talk, but it is a false conclusion. He will talk on the patient's case. "How slow you git on, old man." "Not at all. I am getting well," is the cheerful reply. Corkey is in trouble.

The eyes grow brighter, the face grows dark, the mouth squares, the head vibrates, the little tongue plays about a mass of jet-black tobacco the sneeze comes. "That's a bird, too," says the political boss. If Corkey is to start a labor party, why should he set out to carry a republican primary election? "Oh, well, you're asking too many questions. Will you take a drink? Come down and see the boys.

A mouthful of tobacco is gnawed from the biggest and blackest of plugs. The mascot stands by the stove. The bartender is proud to serve the only Corkey, the most famous man on the whole "Levee." While the bartender burns incense, the square mouth grows scornful, laconic, boastful. Corkey is himself again. The barkeeper goes to the oil-room for a small bottle.

The druggist is busy finding a cork for a bottle. At last he comes to the light to try the cork. He is behind a show-case. Corkey is in front of the, case holding a newspaper in hand, out of which he has been reading of the coronation. His black eyes seem to pierce David Lockwin's face. David Lockwin looks back in hope, if any feeling can show itself in that veiled countenance. "He ain't dead!

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