The Firing Line by Robert W. (Robert William) Chambers
page 27 of 595 (04%)
page 27 of 595 (04%)
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the glasses climbing into your boat--"
"What a busy little beast you are, Malcourt," observed Hamil, annoyed, glancing down at the small boat alongside. "'Beast' is good! You mean the mere sight of her transformed Louis into the classic shote," added Portlaw, laughing louder as Hamil, still smiling through his annoyance, went over the side. And a moment later the gig shot away into the star-set darkness. From the bridge Wayward wearily watched it through his night glasses; Malcourt, slim and graceful, sat on the rail and looked out into the Southern dusk, an unlighted cigarette between his lips. "That kills our four at Bridge," grumbled Portlaw, leaning heavily beside him. "We'll have to play Klondike and Preference now, or call in the ship's cat.... Hello, is that you, Jim?" as Wayward came aft, limping a trifle as he did at certain times. "That girl had a good figure--through the glasses. I couldn't make out her face; it was probably the limit; combinations are rare," mused Malcourt. "And then--the fog came! It was like one of those low-down classical tricks of Jupiter when caught philandering." Portlaw laughed till his bulky body shook. "The Olympian fog was wasted," he said; "John Garret Hamil 3d still preserves his nursery illusions." "He's lucky," remarked Wayward, staring into the gloom. |
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