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My Buried Treasure by Richard Harding Davis
page 33 of 54 (61%)
astuteness, the largeness of Livingstone's contribution to the
campaign fund was self- explanatory.

After her wrestling-match with the hurricane, all those on board
the SERAPIS seemed to find in land, even in the swamp land of Porto
Banos, a compelling attraction. Before the anchors hit the water,
they were in the launch. On reaching shore, they made at once for
the consulate. There were many cables they wished to start on their
way by wireless; cables to friends, to newspapers, to the
government.

Jose, the Colombian clerk, appalled by the unprecedented invasion
of visitors, of visitors so distinguished, and Marshall, grateful
for a chance to serve his fellow- countrymen, and especially his
countrywomen, were ubiquitous, eager, indispensable. At Jose's desk
the great senator, rolling his cigar between his teeth, was using,
to Jose's ecstasy, Jose's own pen to write a reassuring message to
the White House. At the consul's desk a beautiful creature, all in
lace and pearls, was struggling to compress the very low opinion
she held of a hurricane into ten words. On his knee, Henry Cairns,
the banker, was inditing instructions to his Wall Street office,
and upon himself Livingstone had taken the responsibility of
replying to the inquiries heaped upon Marshall's desk, from many
newspapers.

It was just before sunset, and Marshall produced his tea things,
and the young person in pearls and lace, who was Miss Cairns, made
tea for the women, and the men mixed gin and limes with tepid
water. The consul apologized for proposing a toast in which they
could not join. He begged to drink to those who had escaped the
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