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Updated: June 24, 2025
And with him it was suddenly as though he had known her for years as though he had always been aware of her beauty and her loveliness as though his eyes had always framed her his heart had always wished for her, and she had always been the sole and exquisite tenant of his mind. "I had no idea that we were off Scotland," he said "off Strathlone Head and so close in.
They crawl aboard ship in sight of Strathlone Head! Here's hoping it may be a yard-arm jig he'll dance!" He emptied his glass, refused more. McKay took him to the wicket and let him loose. "Well, over the top, old scout!" said Sixty-seven cheerily, exchanging a quick handclasp with McKay. And so the fog took him.
Sheer cliffs, with the bonny green grass atop all furrowed by the wind and the yellow-flowered broom and the shimmering whinns blowing. "Why, it's Scotland," he said aloud, "it's Glenark Cliffs and the Head of Strathlone my people's fine place in the Old World where we took root and O my God! Yankee that I am, it looks like home!"
"I have a house a few miles inland from Strathlone Head." "Will you take me there, Kay?" Such a sense of delight possessed him that he could not speak. "That's where we must go to make our plans," she said. "I didn't tell you in those dark hours we have lived together, because our minds were so far apart and I was fighting so hard to hold you." "Have you forgiven me you wonderful girl?"
And so they were rid of their Yankee lunatic. On the Firth Quay and along the docks all the inhabitants of Glenark and Strathlone were gathered to watch the boats come in with living, with dead, or merely the news of the seafight off the grey head of Strathlone.
And only a madman could so conduct himself toward a pannikin of steaming rum. They understood that perfectly. And, understanding it, they piled more hot blankets upon the struggling form of Kay McKay and roped him to his bunk. Toward evening, becoming not only coherent but frightfully emphatic, they released McKay. "What's this damn place?" he shouted. "Strathlone Firth," they said.
"I hear that you and Seventy-seven have entered the Service; that you are detailed to Switzerland and for a certain object unknown to myself; that your transport was torpedoed a week ago off the Head of Strathlone, that you wired London from this house of yours called Isla, and that you and Seventy-seven went to London last week to replenish the wardrobe you had lost." "Is that all you heard?"
Tell me, if you don't mind; have you been bothered at all so far by Boche agents?" "Yes," nodded Evelyn Erith. "You've already had some serious trouble?" McKay said: "Our ship was torpedoed off Strathlone Head. In Scotland a dozen camouflaged Boches caught me napping in spite of being warned. It was very humiliating, Recklow."
He caressed her hair while he spoke: "From here to Belfort," he was saying in his musing, agreeable voice, "and from Belfort to Paris; and from Paris to London, and from London to Strathlone Head, and from Strathlone Head to Glenark Cliffs, and from Glenark Cliffs to Isla Water, and from Isla Water to our home! Our home, Yellow-hair," he repeated. "What do you think of that?"
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