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The Firing Line by Robert W. (Robert William) Chambers
page 27 of 595 (04%)
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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