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But there's always that bright little bit of Bobby Burns to be reckoned with. You know: 'The best laid schemes of mice and men, et cetera that bit. But the Yard's got them, and they'll never leave the country now. Take them, Mr. Narkom, they're yours!" "How did I guess it?" said Cleek, replying to the Major's query, as they sat late that night discussing the affair.
He called her 'Miss, too, an' I judged that 'Miss' was one o' them poultice words to her. "'I donno, s'she, 'but don't it look cheerful? The yard's all lit up nice, like fer comp'ny, she says, rill pleased. "It sort o' uncovered my nerves to hear her so unconcerned. I never hed understood her none of us hed.
Taken with this modesty on the part of the Yard, I resolved to improve the Yard's acquaintance. My good opinion of the Yard's retiring character was not dashed by nearer approach. It resounded with the noise of hammers beating upon iron; and the great sheds or slips under which the mighty men- of-war are built, loomed business-like when contemplated from the opposite side of the river.
Plying his almost unequalled strength of wing, he ascended high and higher in the air, by short gyrations, that the hawk might gain no vantage ground for pouncing at him; while his spiked beak, at the extremity of so long a neck as enabled him to strike an object at a yard's distance in every direction, possessed for any less spirited assailant all the terrors of a Moorish javelin.
If Chalamel opens his budget of proverbs, which mean nothing, we are in for it. Come, tell us what you know of this new servant." "The day before yesterday I was out in the yard: she had her back toward one of the windows of the ground-floor." "The yard's back?" "What stupidity! No, the servant's.
They came to a second clearing, a broad savanna this time. "We'll have to run for our very lives," gasped Clif. For if they failed to reach shelter before the Spaniards came up the former situation would be just reversed and the Spaniards could hide and fire in safety. And so the men set out at breakneck speed, as if they were in a hundred yard's dash. "I think we can make it," thought Clif.
About four o'clock in the afternoon of the second day after the storm, while the Indian was sitting at the bow of the sloop, a school of porpoises was seen approaching in as regular order as a company of British soldiers to a charge. When the fish had approached to within a hundred yard's of the sloop, the Indian threw up his hands and uttered a most mournful wail, and staggered backward.
True, Jacob Farnum arrived at the shed earlier than he was accustomed to do, but those of the workmen who were not in the secret thought nothing of that. Half an hour later Josh Owen, a peculiar, gleaming look in his eyes, showed his head at the manhole opening over their heads. "Good morning, Mr. Farnum," he called. "Good morning, Owen," answered the yard's owner. "Come right down."
"Make for the surface, Captain Benson," directed the owner. When the passengers aboard the submarine stood once more on the platform deck, the yard's owner signaled for the shore boat to lay alongside. Into this small boat he took his guests. The boat was rowed away two or three lengths, immediately after which the "Pollard" again sank. Two or three minutes passed.
I want to be on hand to watch whatever might happen." Power was applied to raise the anchor. "You take the wheel, Benson, since you had it during the launching," said the yard's owner. "Somers, stand by on deck. Hastings, you go below and stand with Mr. Andrews." "Give the go-ahead at slow speed," directed David Pollard, nervously.
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