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McClintock whistled. "Oho!" he said. "So she got away as far as this, eh? But where does she come in?" The doctor recounted that side of the tale. "And so I want the boy out of the way," he concluded. "She in intensely impressionable and romantic, and probably she is giving the chap qualities he doesn't possess. All the talk in the world would not describe Ruth. You have to see her to understand."
"Never had anything worse than measles and doesn't remember them." "What I'd like to know," said the doctor, "would be his opinion after several weeks of something unpleasant. He might feel more like blaming the devil. What does he think doctors are fighting? God? By Jove, I must have this out with McClintock!
"Did you bring me down here to crucify me?" cried Spurlock, in passionate rebellion. "No, lad," said McClintock, his tone becoming kindly. "Only, what you have done is out of all human calculation. You did not marry her because you loved her; you did not marry because she might have had money; you did not marry her out of gratitude; you did not marry her because you had to. You just married her!
Besides, by the time they were off his hands, old McClintock would be dropping in to have his liver renovated. All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own. Perhaps he had heard of this Enschede.
Just about this time a group of Philadelphia physicians, headed by Doctor Samuel McClintock Hamill, which had formed itself into a hygienic committee for babies, waited upon Bok to ask him to join them in the creation of a permanent organization devoted to the welfare of babies and children.
And I don't want anything of yours destroyed, Hoddy. Those were dreams." "All right, then." He shifted the pages together, rolled and thrust them under her arm. "But don't ever let me see them again. By George, I forgot! McClintock said there was a typewriter in the office and that I could have it. I'll dig it up. I'll be feeling fine in no time.
The next day Toolooah returned to the island off the mouth of the little bay, and brought on the things he had abandoned there; while we searched the vicinity with the hope of finding the second boat place, which the natives mentioned as being about a quarter of a mile from the one seen by McClintock.
For McClintock was certain that Spurlock was a hunted man. Well, well; all he himself could do would be to watch this singular drama unroll. The night before they made McClintock's Ruth and Spurlock leaned over the rail, their shoulders touching.
There is a strange sort of originality about McClintock; he imitates other people's styles, but nobody can imitate his, not even an idiot. Other people can be windy, but McClintock blows a gale; other people can blubber sentiment, but McClintock spews it; other people can mishandle metaphors, but only McClintock knows how to make a business of it.
He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. "That's a good story, lad. You've caught the colour and the life. But it sounds too real to be imagined. You've never seen a typhoon, have you?" "No." "Well, imagination beats me!" "It's something Ruth saw. She told me the tale the other night, and I've only elaborated it." "Ah, I see."