Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 4, 2025
Galton, who stood on the bridge at the wheel beside Caradoc, blew out a long breath and wiped the sweat from his face, Farnol Greer began a windy whistling of "Winona, Sweet Indian Maid." Madden felt as if a weight had been lifted off his brain. Hogan was humming a tune. But all eyes turned anxiously seaward, to see where the submarine would "blow."
All in all, Madden made little of the craft, so he handed the glass to Smith. The Englishman was likewise puzzled, and the binoculars went down the line of curious men. There was something in the way the youth named Farnol Greer handled the instrument that caused Madden to ask: "What do you make out, Greer?" "She is lying to, sir.
All painting had ceased, for work consumes energy, and energy consumes food. Caradoc Smith found peculiar and private grievance in the fact that Greer often whistled to himself in a windy undertone. The tune Farnol chose for these unfortunate performances was an American ragtime, that repeated the same strain over and over. Caradoc strove not to listen to this dry whistling.
During the following rounds, Caradoc stuck to the long range English method of fighting, but over and over Farnol broke through his guard and his short-arm jabs spread a sick numb feeling over Caradoc's sides and chest. The Briton deliberately worked for Greer's eyes. His first round with the silent man convinced him that he would never be able to stop that massive steel body with a knock-out.
"Are you badly hurt?" inquired the American, becoming more nearly normal himself. "Punch through my shoulder." "Were you hit in the explosion?" "One of the Panther's machine guns ricocheted, I think." "What rotten luck!" growled Madden. Smith reached his good arm to the float. "Had it all my life in little things, Madden, but the Panther that torpedo " "Boat ahoy!" called Farnol Greer suddenly.
Five hundred tons ingots reshipped." At this statement, Leonard turned and stared at Greer. "Reshipped! Reshipped! Holy cats, Farnol! Reshipped from here right here!" He jabbed a finger downward to indicate the spot in the dead Sargasso Sea occupied by the Minnie B. Greer shook his head dully. "But this is all the wildest " he made a helpless motion.
Then, when she was well in view, Farnol Greer said: "She is not the Vulcan, sir." By this time all the men had their brown faces wrinkled up against the glare of the sunshine. Now they redoubled their gaze on the distant vessel. "Faith, and sure enough she isn't!" cried Hogan. Greer was right; the strange vessel was not the tug.
The uproar in the passage was terrific as the men tried to squeeze through all together. Every moment Madden expected a rush of sea water down the passageway. Just then, he felt someone else lift at Caradoc. "Go on," said Farnol Greer's voice. "Let's get him out, sir." When the American pushed outside with his burden, a breeze swept the deck of the Vulcan with an unexpected coolness.
"Say, that's a little streak of seaweed," decided Farnol, beginning to move toward it. Then all three perceived it was merely seaweed. The shark-like illusion disappeared completely the moment someone doubted it. "Who cried out sharks anyway?" demanded Smith of Madden. "Greer there warned me he yelled 'school of sharks." "Where did you see them?" inquired Caradoc of Farnol.
Then Farnol Greer came running down the deck with another buoy and a big clasp knife. The American looked at these fellows. "Caradoc, you can't possibly hold out that distance; you're weak." "I've done ten miles in at home." Greer said nothing, but rapidly undressed. All three kept on their hats and undershirts as protection against sunburn.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking