Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 9, 2025
The boss owned the place and paid off there between moons. Credit was freely given to all fishermen in good standing, and thirdly, Mascola's emporium enjoyed full police protection. During the evening when Gregory made his first call at the Lang hill the tide of revelry at the "Red Paint" was at the flood. It was pay-day and the boss was in high good humor.
If you're looking for trouble, this is the place to find it. If you're not, you can move out to sea and get as many fish as we are. We'll not bother you. There's plenty of albacore over here to-night for everybody. If you try to break through us, it will be up to you." Mascola's anger came in a torrent of Italian words. Then he composed himself sufficiently to speak in broken English: "This Mr.
They can all make Diablo in two hours if you wire them right away. We can go over in the Richard and round them up and smash Mascola's whole fleet. What if they have shotguns? We have rifles. Come on. What are you waiting for?" Dickie Lang was breathless. Her cheeks glowed. Her eyes were shining. Gregory shook his head slowly and looked at Hawkins.
Boris entered, clumsily filling the doorway with his great bulk and bringing with him a strong odor of garlic and Jap sake. For a moment he stood on the threshold, blinking stupidly. Then he pulled the door closed with a bang. Mascola's eyes grew hard as he dropped his hand into a drawer of his desk which stood open. "Stay where you are," he commanded. "What do you want?"
Leading the way she took Gregory aboard a small fishing vessel which waited at the float below. The motor started the instant their feet touched the deck and a gruff voice growled: "We've got to go some to make the point by daybreak." The girl nodded to the dark form at the wheel. "You said it, Tom. Mascola's gang are mighty near down there by now."
Then he slowly replaced it in his pocket. The Italian might only be bluffing, but it was best to take no unnecessary chances. Mastering his anger at Mascola's insubordination, Bandrist walked again to the table. "Perhaps you are right," he said pleasantly. "Let us go on to the goose-neck."
I get damn mad. You give me job. I show you." Mascola shook his head. Leaning closer to the swaying figure, he said in a low voice: "Show me first." Boris's face became purple with rage as the import of Mascola's answer filtered into his thick skull. He clenched his huge hands and raised them above his head, mumbling all the while in his own tongue.
Gregory grasped the rail of the engine-house and braced himself for the shock. The next instant the foremost of Mascola's boats struck the Pelican a glancing blow on the bow. The heavy fishing-boat quivered from stem to stern from the impact. Then the powerful Diesel engine came into play. The drunken skipper of the Lura felt his craft being shunted to the side.
"Notice how I'm bringing him alive," he exclaimed. "He's quit 'shooting nickels' now. He's raised his sights already." They all smiled at Hawkins' enthusiasm. Then the girl's face became serious. "You know what going out to sea means," she said quietly. "It just about means Diablo. That's where Mascola's boats went this morning and I shouldn't wonder if they struck it out there.
Then the islander ceased his labor at the oar abruptly. "Head out," he whispered. "There's a launch ahead." Mascola's eyes sought to pierce the fog where the dim outline of a motor-boat loomed dark across their course. Then he swung the Fuor d'Italia about and skirting the point rowed doggedly away from the darkened stranger. The Italian's ugly temper was not bettered by the physical exercise.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking