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"Aye, an w'ot come of th' Vulcan's crew?" "Could a sea serpent put out a sea anchor?" retorted Leonard. The men stared doggedly at their chief. "We don't know, sor." "You do know that it is impossible!" "If there ain't no such thing, sor, 'ow do we know w'ot it can do?" questioned Gaskin. "Then do you want to go back and stay on the dock and starve?" cried Madden at the end of his patience.
"Learned it in my engineering course," explained the lad. The two passed on to the bow, when the sailor on the tug starting waving once more. Mate Malone watched the man until he had finished spelling out the message, then he turned to Leonard and asked: "Know w'ot 'e said?" "Parker's sick and they need you," translated the American.
Catch us? Who is there to catch us?" Malone stared as if at two ghosts. "Say! Say!" he said hoarsely. "You don't mean to say you ain't caught? You don't mean you run th' tug up 'ere an' boarded us! You don't mean " He turned and whispered hoarsely inside: "It's th' lads off th' dock, though 'ow they got 'ere, an' w'ot they're douse th' light, some o' you fellows."
God let me get to them and tell 'em what I know, then I don't care what happens!" "Th' signal book! Get the signal book!" bawled Greer amid the uproar. "W'ere is it?" "In the flag locker! Chuck the flags out, too! Scatter 'em out!" "W'ot you want to signal?" "Submarine tell 'em to look out for submarines!"
They've been looking in their packs for their note-books with the descriptions of these sections in them. Then they piled out for the boss. If I know anything at all, the boss'll make tracks for Detroit." "W'ot you do?" asked Injin Charley curiously. "I got to get to Detroit before they do; that's all." Instantly the Indian became all action.
Came a medley of drunken questions: "W'ot's th' matter? Who bloodied your bloomin' eyes? W'ot 'appened?" "That Hamerican chap!" bawled Galton savagely. "'E 'it me for 'elpin' 'im make a fire! Goin' to see me run over an' killed?" "Faith Oi didn't see nawthin'," panted Malone, fresh from his dance "Won't you stan' by a Hinglishman?" shouted the battered one. "Sure we will!" "We're Hinglish!"
Grimes," said Adam solemnly, "but what wi' people's legs, an' cheer legs, an' the legs o' tables, not to mention sideboards an' cab'nets, which, though not 'aving no legs, ain't to be by no manner o' means despised therefore, w'ot wi' this an' that, an' t'other, I am that con-fined, or as you might say, con-fused, I don't know which legs is mine, or yourn, or anybody else's. Mr.
The tramp picked it up, and found it to be a new black silk stocking, long and fine and slender. It crunched crisply, and yet with a luxurious softness, between his fingers. "Ther bloomin' little skeezicks!" said Whistling Dick, with a broad grin bisecting his freckled face. "W'ot d' yer think of dat, now! Mer-ry Chris-mus! Sounded like a cuckoo clock, da'ts what she did.
"Nothin' but a furnace in th' hold " "W'y don't hit smoke?" "'Ow do I know?" "Hit ain't a fire!" "W'ot is hit?" "Phosphescence, didn't you 'ear Mister Madden say!" "Will hit sink 'er?" Deschaillon gave a sharp laugh. "What sauvages!" By this time it became clear to everyone that it was not a fire.
Belloo sir, an' Master Georgy!" "Well, Adam, how are the hops?" "'Ops sir, there never was such 'ops, no, not in all Kent, sir. All I'm wishin' is that they was all safe picked, an' gathered. W'ot do you make o' them clouds, sir, over there, jest over the p'int o' the oast-house?" Bellew turned, and cast a comprehensive, sailor-like glance in the direction indicated.
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