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"He and his master must settle that point between them," Grant paused and spread out his hands forcibly. "You have heard what the country west of old Fort Garby it's Winnipeg now was like thirty years ago. Do you suppose all the men who made it what it is got paid for what they did? Canada couldn't raise the money, and quite a few of them got frozen to death."
Whistler gave Torrance the glass and went aft himself to relieve Ikey at the helm. "You're a fine garby," called Donahue to Rosenmeyer. "Lose your head mighty easy. That chaser isn't chasing us." "How do you know she isn't?" returned Ikey. "She certainly is following us," Whistler said. "But until she bespeaks our attention with her forward gun I guess we need not worry," and he smiled grimly.
Mother won't own up she's reconciled to my being in the Navy," and Whistler grinned suddenly. "But she listened to all I told them, too. She was just as eager to hear about it as Phoebe and Alice." "Guess you made yourself out to be some tough garby," chuckled Torrance, using the term the seamen themselves employ to designate a sailor.
When the cutter drew near, her ship's company cheered and jeered the bluejackets on the destroyer with good-natured enthusiasm. The destroyer was then steaming away with the U-boat in tow. "Something's fouled your patent log!" yelled one seaman aboard the cutter. "Hey, there, garby!" shouted another. "What's that the cat brought in?"
Bobby, as the sailor lad, came on with a rolling gait that would have done credit to any "garby" in the Navy. Jess, as the swashbuckling hero, swaggered about the stage in a delightful burlesque of such a character, as the author intended the part to be played.
There isn't room for hammocks on one of these chasers. Why, even the officer commanding has to sleep on a hammock slung out over the stern in pleasant weather." "Good-night!" gasped Al Torrance. "Where does he sleep when it isn't pleasant?" "He doesn't sleep at all or anybody else, as you'll probably find out to-night, garby," was the reply.
"Hey, garby! where d'you sleep on this hooker?" demanded one of the strangers, hoarsely and behind the sharp of his hand, of a member of the chaser's crew. "Or do you go ashore at nights?" "If we can't get ashore for the watch below," was the perfectly serious reply, "every man gets a hook to hang on." "You mean to hang his hammock on?" "No such luck!
"Did Hansie say he'd go?" cried the other sailor boy. "Bet he's sore as he can be because he's not with the Colodia and Lieutenant Lang." "He'd never 've taken this furlough, he says, if his mother hadn't begged so hard. Did you ever see a garby so stuck on a gold stripe as Seven Knott is on Lieutenant Commander Lang?" said Torry, rather scornfully. "I don't know. Mr.
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