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Updated: June 16, 2025
The stone came down with a thump on the white meat, and thereafter arose and fell in a sort of tom-tom accompaniment to the poet's song: "Oh! some folks boast of quail on toast, Because they think it's tony; But I'm content to owe my rent And live on abalone. "Oh! Mission Point's a friendly joint Where every crab's a crony, And true and kind you'll ever find The clinging abalone.
"And will she be likely to find your sister?" "That will depend, my dear fellow, on whether my sister remains to see her." "Exactly; but the point's whether you'll allow her to remain, isn't it?" Nick looked slightly mystified. "Why shouldn't she do as she likes?" "In that case she'll probably go." "Yes, unless she stays." "Don't let her," Peter dropped; "send her away."
We'll have smoother water to work through, once we're round, and the tide's helping her." They drove on, though it occurred to Carroll that they were not opening up the bay very rapidly. The light was growing, and he could now discern the orderly phalanxes of white-topped combers that crumbled into a chaotic spouting on the point's outer end.
"Well, then, William shall go with you, Ready; that point's settled," observed Mr Seagrave: "what is the next?" "The next is to prepare for our journey. We must take some provisions and water with us, a gun and some ammunition, a large axe for me, and one of the hatchets for William; and, if you please, Romulus and Remus had better come with us.
"Is he?" cried the lad excitedly. "Oh yes; he's up at the Cliff. Now then, why don't you fill your pockets with big stones to throw at him, or cut a big club? Oh, I see, though. You've mounted a skewer. Pull it out, and try if the point's sharp. I suppose you're going down the river to lay wait for him and kill him."
I don't care which four of you goes to sleep first, but there are only two watches of us left, and there are about four hours left to sleep in, by my reckoning. That's two hours' sleep for each man. And we'll keep clear of the guardroom. As I understand my orders, the important point's the cross-roads. I'm supposed to halt every one who comes, and to ask him his business.
Harmon Graves of Yale is a coach who has contributed much to West Point's football. "Harmon Graves is too well known now as coach to need our praise," says a West Pointer, "but it is not only as a successful coach, but as a personal friend that he lives in the heart of every member of the team and indeed the entire corps. There will always be a sunny spot at West Point for Graves."
Come over, Alec to-night if you can." "Perhaps," he called after her. "I'm up to my ears in work just now. Preparing for the Point's no joke, you know." Aunt Lucinda was serving dinner, and the girls scrambled into their places hastily. "I wish we could see the We Are Sevens to-night," Blue Bonnet said as she began the meal. "It seems like a year since I last saw them.
"And leave me," she pouted prettily, "with no word but that, my king? Am I not worth a caress not even when I beg for it?" He smiled down at her, tolerant and amused, and impulsively caught her to him. "The point's well taken," he said. "Decidedly you're worth it, Naraini. And if you were not, the show was!" And he kissed and left her, all in a breath.
But no batsman can experience that supreme emotion of 'something attempted, something done', which comes to a bowler when a ball pitches in a hole near point's feet, and whips into the leg stump. It is one crowded second of glorious life. Again, the words 'retired hurt' on the score-sheet are far more pleasant to the bowler than the batsman.
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