Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: August 20, 2024
And, Polhemus, perhaps you'd better overhaul them cork jackets; some o' them straps seemed kind o' awkward on practice yesterday they ought to slip on easier; guess they're considerable dried out and a little mite stiff." Green nodded his head in respectful assent and left the room.
Isaac Polhemus and Tom Morgan Tom sailed with me on my last voyage and maybe Tod." "Archie's Tod?" asked Jane, replacing her scissors and searching for a spool of cotton. "Archie's Tod," repeated the captain, nodding his head, his big hand stroking Ellen's flossy curls. "That's what brought me up. I want Tod, and he won't go without Archie. Will ye give him to me?"
Along this beach, now stopping to get their breath, now slanting the brim of their sou'westers to escape the slash of the sand and spray, strode Tod and Polhemus, their eyes on and beyond the tumbling surf, their ears open to every unusual sound, their Costons buttoned tight under their coats to keep them from the wet.
Behind her stood Max Feilding. "Friends," said the captain, in a low, restrained voice, every trace of his grief and excitement gone, "I've got to ask ye to git considerable way back and keep still. We got Doctor John here and Miss Jane, and there ain't nothin' ye kin do. When there is I'll call ye. Polhemus, you and Green see this order is obeyed."
A few feet away the doctor was stripping the wet clothes from the rescued man and piling the dry coats over him to warm him back to life. His emergency bag, handed in by Polhemus through the crack of the closed doors, had been opened, a bottle selected, and some spoonfuls of brandy forced down the sufferer's throat.
"The tide's just beginnin' to make flood, and all that cord-wood'll come a-waltzin' back. Never see nothin' like it!" The front door now burst in and another shout went ringing through the house: "Schooner in the breakers!" It was Tod. He had rejoined Polhemus the moment before he flared his light and had made a dash to rouse the men.
Isaac Polhemus came first: Sixty years of age, silent, gray, thick-set; face scarred and seamed by many weathers, but fresh as a baby's; two china-blue eyes peep-holes through which you looked into his open heart; shoulders hard and tough as cordwood hands a bunch of knots; legs like snubbing-posts, body quick-moving; brain quick-thinking; alert as a dog when on duty, calm as a sleepy cat beside a stove when his time was his own.
"Who's on the beach, I say?" he shouted again. "Fogarty and Uncle Ike," someone answered. "Polhemus! Good! All hands on the cart, men; boat can't live in that surf. She lies to the north of us!" And he swung himself out of the door and down the stairs. "God help 'em, if they've got to come through that surf!" Parks said, slinging on his coat.
Carl Polhemus, who played the organ at church, had begun a wandering improvisation on the piano, evidently so taken with certain various chords and runs that he could not resist playing them passionately over and over. A dangerous laugh, started among the younger set, began to strangle and stifle his audience.
Such men as Martie and Sally had been able to list as eligible the new young doctor from the Rogers building, little Billy Frost, the Patterson boys, home from college for Thanksgiving, Reddy Johnson, and Carl Polhemus answered not at all, as is the custom with young men.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking