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One table, the one at which Drennen and George had sat a moment ago, with its load of virgin gold and minted coins, was now against the further counter, young Frank Marquette guarding it, that the gold upon it might go to Drennen when the fight was over. . . . "If he is alive then," he muttered, his eyes narrowing as they took note of the black rage distorting the big Canadian's face.
They waited some minutes to hear the result of the Canadian's admittance into his dwelling; but although each with suppressed breathing sought to catch those sounds of welcome with which a daughter might be supposed to greet a parent so unexpectedly restored, they listened in vain.
The day that you are ready, come and let us know, and we will follow you. I rely entirely upon you." Thus ended a conversation which, at no very distant time, led to such grave results. I must say here that facts seemed to confirm my foresight, to the Canadian's great despair.
He saw the dugong, understood the Canadian's attitude, and, addressing him, said: "If you held a harpoon just now, Master Land, would it not burn your hand?" "Just so, sir." "And you would not be sorry to go back, for one day, to your trade of a fisherman and to add this cetacean to the list of those you have already killed?" "I should not, sir." "Well, you can try."
One understands and accepts the bitter scorn of the Dutch, the hopeless anger of one's own race in South Africa is also part of the burden; but the Canadian's profound, sometimes humorous, often bewildered, always polite contempt of the England of to-day cuts a little. You see, that late unfashionable war was very real to Canada.
Two horned, downy nets rose from below the tail, that prolonged the long light feathers of admirable fineness, and they completed the whole of this marvellous bird, that the natives have poetically named the "bird of the sun." But if my wishes were satisfied by the possession of the bird of paradise, the Canadian's were not yet.
When she left Gladwyne she went on to Nasmyth's, where she waited until the doctor on leaving told her that he was perfectly satisfied with the prospect for the Canadian's recovery. It would, he said, be merely a question of lying still for a considerable time.
I didn't reply to the Canadian's proposition but kept watching the ship, which was looming larger on the horizon. Whether it was English, French, American, or Russian, it would surely welcome us aboard if we could just get to it. "Master may recall," Conseil then said, "that we have some experience with swimming.
His father, long forgotten in the obscurity of mountain history, had evidently bequeathed him the French Canadian's good-humored gayety. Zavier was a light-hearted and merry fellow, and where he came laughter sprang up. He spoke English well, and could sing French songs that were brought to his father's country by the adventurers who crossed the seas with Jacques Cartier.
I'll let the reader decide whether the Canadian's appetite was aroused by the sight of this tasty game, and whether he regretted having no rifle in his hands. He tried to make stones do the work of bullets, and after several fruitless attempts, he managed to wound one of these magnificent bustards.
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