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He was, I knew, abroad, but I was glad at having obtained two very important clues: first, the address of the mysterious yachtsman, Woodroffe, alias Hornby, and, secondly, ascertaining that the young girl I sought was somewhere in the vicinity of the town of Abo, the Finnish port on the Baltic. "Poor Elma, you see, speaks in her letter of some secret, Mr. Gregg," my companion said.
They were not the only ones to suffer in those days. Captain Gerry Poland could not drive Viola from his mind. To the yachtsman, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met, and he wondered if fortune would ever make it possible for him to approach her again on the subject that lay so close to his heart. And then there was Bartlett.
The thought entered my head that perhaps it was my fault, that my head was swimming or that something I had eaten had disagreed with me. But I glanced at Charmian and her sad walk, and even as I glanced I saw her stagger and bump into the yachtsman by whose side she walked. I spoke to her, and she complained about the antic behaviour of the land.
I have often had a fancy for writing a romance about an English yachtsman who slightly miscalculated his course and discovered England under the impression that it was a new island in the South Seas. I always find, however, that I am either too busy or too lazy to write this fine work, so I may as well give it away for the purposes of philosophical illustration.
Furthermore, she's got a great big hole in her bottom, where she was stove in by running afoul of Mount Arrus-root, I believe it was called when Captain Noah went cruising with that menagerie of his." "That's an unmitigated falsehood!" cried Noah, angrily. "This man talks like a professional amateur yachtsman.
I am at this moment reminded of an episode which still tickles my memory, and, much as a worthy yachtsman may scorn it, I confess that this moment is more to me than that of any dash into deep water which I can at present recall. It was a summer Saturday, the half-holiday that is the reward of a week's hard labor.
Amateur deep sea yachtsman before the war. He's awfully gone on Cecily." "'Counts for him hanging round your neck, I s'pose," commented the student of human nature. "Sort of 'dweller-near-the-rose' business. Heave that suit-case over unless you can find any more of your cousin's admirers sculling about the country. P'raps they'll load this truck for us and shove it to the boat. Ah, here's Podgie!"
It was the habit of our three friends Bob Mabberly, John Barret, and Giles Jackman during their residence at Kinlossie, to take a stroll together every morning before breakfast by the margin of the sea, for they were fond of each other's company, and Mabberly, as a yachtsman, had acquired the habit of early rising.
I told you I wasn't well. I'm feeling bad. I'm feeling mighty bad." His looks confirmed his words. In the last few moments since the angry flush had passed, the old man's face had faded to a sicklier yellow than Petro had ever seen upon it except one day, long ago, when Peter Rolls, Sr., had tried to be a yachtsman in order to please Ena and the weather had been unkind.
I'll attend to you when we get ashore. Now you row after that 'vampa, as you call it, and as quick as you know how." The negro was about to refuse, but he did not dare. "Oh, Lordy, boss," he cried, "don' go any neaheh. Yas, sah, yas, sah," he added as he saw the yachtsman make a move towards him, "yas, sah, Ah'll row. But we all gwine to be smoddehed alive. Ah jes' knows it."
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