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I have slept on the various beds of the world, in a hammock, in a pew, on German feathers, on a bear-skin, on a mat, on a hide; all, all give but a feeble, restless, unrecreating slumber, compared to the spruce or hemlock bed in a forest of Maine. This is fragrant, springy, soft, well-fitting, better than any Sybarite's coach of uncrumpled rose-leaves.
I seen he was sore when the dame turned him down, too, and started right off wondering if maybe it wasn't a jealousy plant. I seen this sorta thing happen before. Not that I blame him for feeling cut up: that was one swell piece of goods you bundled into numba two-thirty." P. Sybarite's cigar dropped unheeded from his lips. "What!" he cried. The detective started.
On the seventh day the course pricked on the chart placed the Sybarite's position at noon as approximately in mid-Atlantic. Contemplating a prospect of seven days more of such emptiness, Lanyard's very soul yawned. And nothing could induce Captain Monk to hasten the passage. Mr.
"Nothing, as far as I know; unless it was Brian Shaynon's doing " "A-ah!" "You know that old blighter?" "Slightly very slightly." "Friend of yours?" "Not exactly." The accent of P. Sybarite's laugh rendered the disclaimer conclusive. "Glad to hear that," said the boy gravely: "I'd despise to be beholden to any friend of his ..." "Well.... But what's the trouble between you and old man Shaynon?"
Into this constricted space were huddled two imposing roll-top desks, P. Sybarite's high counter, and the small flat desk of the shipping clerk, with an iron safe, a Remington typewriter, a copy-press, sundry chairs and spittoons, a small gas-heater, and many tottering columns of dusty letter-files.
Perhaps, too, this other spacious building adjacent to the great hall, and connected with it by a ruinous covered way, had been the sybarite's "harem"; for "Blackbeard" like that other famous gentleman whose beard was blue collected from his unfortunate captive ships treasure other than doubloons and pieces of eight, and prided himself on his fine taste in ladies.
It were cowardly to contemplate knockin' the block off'n P. Sybarite; the disparity of their statures forebade; moreover, George entertained a vexatious suspicion that P. Sybarite's explanation on his recent downfall had not been altogether disingenuous; he didn't quite believe it had been due solely to his own clumsiness and an adventitious foot.
If he felt any uneasiness or dismay on account of P. Sybarite's steadily augmented mountain of chips, he betrayed it not at all overtly. "The game is closed," he announced evenly, with a slow smile. "Sir" directly to P. Sybarite "although it lacks the resources of Monte Carlo, this establishment nevertheless imitates its protective measures.
What good is this gun without it?" "For your present purpose, it's better than if loaded," Peter asserted complacently. "For purposes of intimidation which is all you want of it grand! And it can't go off by accident and make you an unintentional murderer." P. Sybarite's jaw dropped and his eyes opened; but after an instant, he nodded in entire agreement.
Immediately the two came together; the shoulder of P. Sybarite in the paunch of Respectability, evoking a deep grunt of choleric surprise and bringing the gentleman to an abrupt standstill. Upon this, P. Sybarite's mouth relaxed; he smiled faintly, almost placatingly. "Well, old top!" he cried with malicious cordiality. "Who'd think to meet you here! What's the matter?
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