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"It was just about the most horrible ten minutes I ever had, blundering about in that darkness, pressure something awful, like being buried in sand, pain across the chest, sick with funk, and breathing nothing as it seemed but the smell of rum and mackintosh. Gummy! After a bit, I found myself going up a steepish sort of slope.
We have now arrived at the time for a profound contemplation of the results of our experiments. In the meantime, I have had no dinner. I trust that the Prince of Graustark has dined so lightly that he will not decline to share my repast with me. It has already been ordered for two." "By jove, you you amaze me!" he exclaimed. "Please remove that dreadful mackintosh and touch the bell for me.
She was making a rock out of two boxes covered with a gray mackintosh as she spoke. "Now, if you could just whistle like the wind," she said. "Do you think you could, Launcelot?" "I'll try," and he did whistle, so effectively, that he did not get his breath for five minutes.
Pulling up his beast, he thrust a wet hand from under his rain poncha, then, turning in his saddle, he spoke to the woman who rode behind him, "Ethel, this is Mr. Bachelder." The alternative had happened! As a small hand thrust back the hood of mackintosh, Bachelder found himself staring at a sweet face, while an equally sweet greeting was drowned by echoing questions in his mind.
The 'motive, that is, is only one of the motives or a part of the character, and this way of speaking is one of the awkward results of turning 'motives' into 'things. The obvious answer is that which Mill himself makes to Mackintosh. Mackintosh and Butler, he thinks, personify particular 'appetites. It is not really the 'conscience' which decides, but the man.
His gaze is fixed upon the yew hedge, as if searching for gun positions or vulnerable points. Presently, however, he turns away, and coming close to Captain Mackintosh, puts his lips to his left ear. Mackintosh prepares his intellect for the reception of a pearl of strategy. But Captain Shand merely announces, in his regulation whisper, "Dam pretty girl lives in that house, old man!"
"You're pretty bad, but we won't make a tow of you this time," said auntie, merrily. "I can't say what I'll do next time, though. Now we must get off those wet clothes, and wring them out, and hang them up to dry. You can put on your mackintosh." Mackintoshes and shawls always formed part of the equipment of an all day's sail, since at any time a squall might come up.
And then without a pause he turned to one of the girls and made an obscene remark which sent them all into fits of laughter. Mackintosh started to dress. With his thin legs and thin arms he made a grotesque figure, a sinister Don Quixote, and Walker began to make coarse jokes about him. They were acknowledged with little smothered laughs. Mackintosh struggled with his shirt.
"It's going to be a moral story, after all," interjected Mrs. Ennis triumphantly. Burnaby chuckled and puffed at his cigarette. "Well," he said finally, "it's about a fellow named Mackintosh." Pollen, drowsily smoking a cigar, suddenly stirred uneasily. "Who?" he asked, leaning forward. "Mackintosh James Mackintosh! What are you looking for? An ash-tray? Here's one." Burnaby passed it over.
Some such image, some such vision of his figure on the rock, may have been in her mind as she turned her face again toward the mountain. "You are cold," he said, reaching for the mackintosh in the back of the trap. "No," she said. But she stopped the horse and acquiesced by slipping her arms into the coat, and he felt upon his hand the caress of a stray wisp of hair at her neck.
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