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"Dead as Julius Cæsar, captain," said Gelid coolly. Dead enough, thought I, and left the cabin to go on deck. At the foot of the companion-ladder, I stumbled over something. "What the deuce is this?" growled I. "It's me, sir." "Me and who's me?" "Reefpoint, sir." "Gracious God! what are you doing here youngster? You're not wounded, I hope." "A little, sir; a scratch from a splinter, sir.

When wintry blasts grew chill, and snow and ice covered deep the desolate fields and country roads, then he prepared with zest and with delight for his gelid time of outing, his Arctic red-letter day, his greatest social pleasure of the entire year.

Borne along the waters, the shouts and the hymns of swarming thousands from the land shook, like a blast, the gelid air of the Wolf month. All space seemed filled and noisy with the name of Harold the King. Fast rowed the rowers, on shot the boat; and Hilda's face, stern and ominous, turned to the still towers of the palace, gleaming wide and white in the wintry sun.

"Lower away the boat, and pipe away the yaulers, boatswain's mate." Presently the Captain and I were on the Wave's deck, where I was much surprised to find no less personages than Pepperpot Wagtail, and Paul Gelid, Esquires. Mr Gelid, a conch, or native of the Bahamas, was the same yawning, drawling, long legged Creole as ever.

When we boarded the slaver, we left on board our vessel the helmsman Peter Mangrave, the black quarter-master Pearl, five negroes who were on board as passengers, little Reefpoint, who was wounded, and Bangs, Gelid, and Wagtail.

Bang drew him out, and had him to talk on all his favourite topics in a most amusing manner. All at once Gelid lay back on his chair. "My God," said he, "I have broken my tooth with that confounded hard biscuit terrible really: ah!" and he screwed up his face, as if he had been eating sourcrout, or had heard of the death of a dear friend.

Atlantic Avenue was deserted. The lights at the main entrance of the Union Station glowed frigidly. Opposite, a single arc-lamp on the corner of Cypress Street cast a white, cheerless light on the gelid pavement. The few stores along the avenue were dark, with the exception of the warmly lighted White Star restaurant directly opposite the Stygian spot where Spike's car was parked.

"Really I do not," said Pepperpot, "I have had so many good feeds there." "Why," continued Gelid, "Lord love you, Wagtail, not remember that calipeever, so crisp in the broiling?" "No," said Wagtail, "really I do not." "Lord, man, it had a pudding in its belly." "Oh, now I remember," said Wagtail.

"A most noble Jew fish," said I. "A Jew fish!" responded Wagtail. "A Jew fish!" said Aaron Bang. "A Jew fish!" said Paul Gelid. "My dear Cringle," continued Wagtail, "when do you dine?" "At three, as usual."

The night was cold and windy, dense nimbus clouds hovered just above the mountain peaks, and threatened a heavy downpour of rain, but the driving gale scattered them into the gelid regions of space, and after sunrise we had a perfectly clear sky. I intended this morning to push through what seemed now, as it had always seemed from the first moment I saw this range, a main gap through the chain.