"
We sailed away down the Gulf, through the Strait of Honduras and
into the Caribbean Sea, with quiet weather, so that the Japanese
could rope-walk in the rigging and tumble peaceable about the deck.
The only trouble was the feeling created by the vicious photographs
the tin-typer took of the crew. David used to sit quiet mostly, and
look over the sea, and scratch his spots, for some of them were put on.
Flannagan was a fiery-eyed and easy-spoken man, who had picked up
the tumblers in California and the tin-type man somewhere on the
plains. But David was a friend of his of years' standing, and he was
a dog I should call naturally gifted, and with that of a friendly
nature, sober, decent, middle-aged, comfortable, and one who took
things as they came. But Flannagan had hair that was wild and red,
and his complexion was similar. He was large and bony. His voice was
windy, his manner oratorical, and his nature sudden. The Japanese
spoke little English and couldn't be told apart, but as to that there
was no need of it. They were skilful, small, and dark, with rubber
bones and extra joints, and they could smile from a hundred and
thirteen classified and labelled attitudes.
Pages:
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184