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Updated: June 28, 2025
"In regard to that little bit of ambition o' your'n," said Bob Corkey, as the party continued their meal, "seems to me, Watty, that you might go in for a carriage an' four, or six, when you're at it." "No, Corkey, no," returned the other, "that would be imitating the foibles of the great, which I scorn. What is your particular ambition, now, Mr Luke?
Corkey is superintending the search for the yawl and Lockwin's body. Superintending the search is but a phrase. Corkey is exhibiting his mascot, pounding on the hotel bar and accepting the congratulations of all who will take a drink. The four correspondents fall back on the Special Survivor and hope for sympathy. "We have been discharged by our papers," they cry in bitter anger and deep chagrin.
Politics is politics. Stand to the work to-day. Nothing's the matter. You've created a good feeling among the boys. I've got to give the car company some more streets anyhow. The residents are hot for facilities. So don't bother about their coming over. They will be over about three o'clock. Let Corkey have the precincts of the Second and Third.
You thought you were the sole survivor, yet how admirably the rescue of Corkey and the boy abetted your escape, Robert Chalmers. They saw David Lockwin die. They took his dying wishes. Fortunate that he could not mention the deposit at New York! But why is David Lockwin so dear? Why not forget him? Did he play a part that credits him?
And Corkey has not spoken of the matter for three weeks. One night he said he would soon be 'where he could talk." The prescription clerk is very busy. A customer wants a cigar. The druggist goes in to make a profit of three and a half cents. He returns to his window, wets it once more, begins the wiping, and is frightened by the thought of five millions of money.
He trots down a step or two and heaves the tobacco into the street, resisting, at the last moment, a temptation to hit a mark. He returns up the steps, a bunchy figure, in an enormously heavy, chinchilla, short coat, with blue pantaloons, "Step in," says the voice pleasantly. The action has begun as Corkey has not wished. He is both angry and contused. A spasm seizes his throat. He strangles.
But I could get all the money I wanted of her a free graft. Give me another slug of that budge." The druggist is filling a small graduate with whisky for Corkey. What is Corkey about to say? "They're having high old times in Russia. That was a great bomb they git in on his nobs last winter." "The czar? Yes." "I reckon they're going to git the feller they've got on top there now, too, don't you?
"No sailor likes a north wind," says Corkey. "I have no reason to like it," says Lockwin. "I'll bet he couldn't be done up so very easy after all," thinks Corkey with a quick, loud guttural bark, due to his tobacco. "I wonder why he looks so blue? It can't be they won't trade at Washington." The thought of no office at all frightens the marine reporter.
"You have a better heart than most men, Mr. Corkey." "I'd give seven hundred cases in bar gelt if he was in Congress to-day, Mrs. Lockwin." "I know you would, you poor man. God bless you for it!" Corkey is feeling in all his pockets. "Take this handkerchief, Mr. Corkey, if it will help you. God bless you always! God bless you always! Come and see me often.
"Randolph street!" yells the conductor in a great voice. The irate and insulted Corkey debarks with Lockwin. "Pardner, I wouldn't like to see him come back, though. I'd be sorry for him. Think of the racket he'd have to take!" "What time does the train start for New York?" asks Lockwin. "Panic! Panic! Panic!" is the deafening cry of the newsboys.
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