Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 2, 2025
But Captain Malu sent back from Sydney two cases of the best Scotch whiskey on the market, for he was not able to make up his mind as to whether it was Captain Hansen or Mr. Harriwell who had given Bertie Arkwright the more gorgeous insight into life in the Solomons. From "A Tarpaulin Muster," BY JOHN MASEFIELD The night had fallen over the harbour before the winch began to rattle.
"Then let's charge them with dynamite," Harriwell proposed. Thrusting half a dozen sticks each into their pockets and equipping themselves with lighted cigars, they started for the door. And just then it happened. They blamed McTavish for it afterward, and he admitted that the charge had been a trifle excessive.
Harriwell said, having drawn him aside in confidence. "There's been talk of an outbreak, and two or three suspicious signs I'm willing to admit, but personally I think it's all poppycock." "How how many blacks have you on the plantation?" Bertie asked, with a sinking heart. "We're working four hundred just now," replied Mr.
"They got the other manager that way," McTavish vouchsafed. "And a dashed fine chap he was. Blew his brains out all over the veranda. You noticed that dark stain there between the steps and the door?" Bertie was ripe for the cocktail which Mr. Harriwell pitched in and compounded for him; but before he could drink it, a man in riding trousers and puttees entered.
Harriwell, cheerfully; "but the three of us, with you, of course, and the skipper and mate of the Arla, can handle them all right." Bertie turned to meet one McTavish, the storekeeper, who scarcely acknowledged the introduction, such was his eagerness to present his resignation. "It being that I'm a married man, Mr. Harriwell, I can't very well afford to remain on longer.
My idea is to sneak around on the other side and take them in flank. Strike the first blow, you know. Will you come along, Brown?" Harriwell ate on steadily, while Bertie discovered that his pulse had leaped up five beats. Nevertheless, he could not help jumping when the rifles began to go off.
Harriwell knew nothing else, he had been unaware of anything occurring, he was not in the habit of spying about and he wished it distinctly understood that he must not be mixed up in the matter, or Mrs. Harriwell either. The dear thing! thought Jones, who saw him, a tall, thin-lipped beast of a brute, with a haw-haw manner and an arrogant air. God bless him! But, Jones resumed to himself, voyons!
Harriwell pointed triumphantly at a big packing case in a dusty corner. "Well, then where did the beggar get that Snider?" harped Mr. Brown. But just then McTavish lifted the packing case. The manager started, then tore off the lid. The case was empty. They gazed at one another in horrified silence. Harriwell drooped wearily. Then McVeigh cursed.
Two sharp reports of a rifle from without, interrupted the discourse, and Brown, entering, reloaded his rifle and sat down to table. "The cook's dead," he said. "Fever. A rather sudden attack." "I was just telling Mr. Arkwright that there are no antidotes for native poisons " "Except gin," said Brown. Harriwell called himself an absent-minded idiot and rushed for the gin bottle.
The box at the left was the Harriwells'. At the late hour, an attempt to communicate with the former had failed, but over the wire, Mr. Legrand Harriwell stated that the deceased had come in during the third act, that he had spoken to Mrs. Harriwell, after which he had moved back and had either gone, or remained in the rear of the box. Mr.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking