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Updated: June 19, 2025
And you will be expected to see that these first class men are most thoroughly grounded in the boat drill. Do no spare any of them in the least because they are upper class men." "Very good, sir," Darrin answered, saluting. Midshipman Henley was one of the four assigned to Dave's crew. There was a deep scowl on Henley's face when he reported for the first boat drill under a plebe crew captain.
Sitting there on a stool while she worked, I could hear Louis bustling about in the cabin, but my mind was busy with a thousand matters requiring settlement. At last I refused to be ministered to any longer, laughing at her desire to bandage my head, and insisting that all I needed now was breakfast. As we entered the cabin, the Lieutenant stood in Henley's door.
If he had made love to Lady Teazle as this one does, she would have suspected him of weak intellect. Sheridan's Joseph was a man of culture: Mr. Henley's is a buffoon. It is not, perhaps, so much this gentleman's fault as his misfortune that his acting is without either art or craft; but then he was not compelled to play Joseph Surface.
Wrinkle came out and suddenly faced him. She caught her breath, stared in surprise for a moment, then turned into the kitchen. Henley saw her clutch his wife's sleeve and give it a warning pull. She meant to speak in an undertone, but her piping voice slipped a cog and Henley heard her say: "They didn't run off; he's back! He's out thar wash " "Sh!" came from Mrs. Henley's lips.
Had he neglected opportunities and failed to avail himself of privileges which he had unknowingly inherited? For an instant the thought disturbed Mr. Henley's equilibrium, but a moment's reflection convinced him that the idea was not worth considering. Whatever it was he had seen upon the stairs he knew was not intended for his eyes, even if it had been meant for himself.
"Talk less and fight more, Mr. Touge!" warned the referee. "Very good, sir," Dave retorted. "But it's going to be hard on Mr. Henley." "Bah!" sneered Henley. "Woof!" The latter exclamation followed when Dave's fist cut Henley's lip a bit. But that indignity stirred the first class man to swifter, keener efforts.
"Well, I really must hurry on," Dixie said, turning away. "Give my love to your wife and to Mrs. to your daughter-in-law. Good-night." The two men saw her hastening away in the thickening shadows. There was a vast throbbing within Henley's breast. The whole firmament above seemed to be shimmering with a subtle, spiritual light.
"Behold, Mademoiselle!" said she, holding up one of Lucy's latest copies, just glorified with a wide aureole of white cardboard "mounting"; "what do you think of this?" "It is very like Mr. Henley's," said Eleanor warmly. "Lucy has taken great pains, I'm sure. It's quite as good as the copy, I think."
I determined not to wait to be questioned: I asked him how he liked the song. Oh! Exceedingly! It was very fine! Very fine! The words are Mr. Henley's. I imagined as much, madam. I thought them expressive, and amused myself with putting a tune to them. I am as good as a witch! How did you like the subject? What subject, madam? Of the words. I really don't know I have forgotten
Dede and Ferguson, between them, after a patient struggle, taught Daylight poetry, so that in the end he might have been often seen, sitting slack in the saddle and dropping down the mountain trails through the sun-flecked woods, chanting aloud Kipling's "Tomlinson," or, when sharpening his ax, singing into the whirling grindstone Henley's "Song of the Sword."
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