Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
But of Johnson's grumbling at the slop-chest I knew nothing, so that what I witnessed came with a shock of sudden surprise. I had just finished sweeping the cabin, and had been inveigled by Wolf Larsen into a discussion of Hamlet, his favourite Shakespearian character, when Johansen descended the companion stairs followed by Johnson.
He was quite spent and on the point of sinking when he caught hold of one of the canoes and could hang on and get his breath. Then he heaved himself up into the kayak, and rowed back shivering, with chattering teeth, benumbed, and frozen blue. When he reached the land Johansen put him in the sleeping-bag and laid over him everything he could find.
It took its rise out of the tittle-tattle and tale- bearing which had been the cause of Johnson's beating, and from the noise we heard, and from the sight of the bruised men next day, it was patent that half the forecastle had soundly drubbed the other half. The second dog-watch and the day were wound up by a fight between Johansen and the lean, Yankee-looking hunter, Latimer.
Elizabeth" made the acquaintance of really interesting pictures by artists such as Irving R. Wiles, Jonas Lie, Henri, Mrs. Johansen, and Brimley, of whom previously I had known nothing. From that moment I progressed. I met the work of James Preston, and of other men who can truly paint. All these, however, with all their piquant merits, were Parisianized.
As he stepped toward me I shrank back instinctively, for I saw that in his eyes which spelled death. "All right, Hump," he said in a low voice. "Where's the mate?" I shook my head. "Johansen!" he called softly. "Johansen!" "Where is he?" he demanded of Harrison. The young fellow seemed to have recovered his composure, for he answered steadily enough, "I don't know, sir.
But Lars Peter shook himself, and took it as it came. It was the auctioneer's profession to say funny things it all helped on the sale! The poor silly day laborer, Johansen, was there too. He stood behind the others, stretching his neck to see what was going on in ragged working clothes and muddy wooden shoes.
I had time to notice that the pockets of the dead man had been emptied on the deck, and that his body and his grin had been wrapped from view in canvas, the folds of which the sailor, Johansen, was sewing together with coarse white twine, shoving the needle through with a leather contrivance fitted on the palm of his hand. Wolf Larsen dropped my hand with a flirt of disdain.
As they were strolling round Johansen called out, "Hullo, the kayaks are adrift." They ran down. The wind was blowing off the land. Out on the fiord all they possessed in the world was being mercilessly carried away. "Take my watch," cried Nansen, and throwing off a few clothes he jumped into the ice-cold water, and swam after the kayaks.
"I say what I think, sir," the sailor answered courageously, not failing at the same time in ship courtesy, which demanded that "sir" be appended to each speech he made. It was at this moment that I chanced to glance at Johansen. His big fists were clenching and unclenching, and his face was positively fiendish, so malignantly did he look at Johnson.
"The fact you don't deny it will be enough for most." Johansen showed brief distaste, swallowed the rest of his drink, and rose. "I can't wish you luck, since that'd mean wishing someone else dead. But I can wish it for your clan, and I do." Nevan rose to bow. "I will pass your wishes, and word of your repayment, to the Lowrie.
Word Of The Day