"It's just awfu' to think
on."
"But, see, my friend," persisted Duprez, "you would not be permitted to
follow your own funeral, not possible,--_voila_! You _are_ permitted to
kiss the pretty one in the winding-sheet. It _is_ possible. Behold the
difference!"
"Never mind the Taverne de l'Enfer just now," said Errington, who had
finished his breakfast hurriedly. "It's time for you fellows to get your
fishing toggery on. I'm off to speak to the pilot."
And away he went, followed more slowly by Lorimer, who, though he
pretended indifference, was rather curious to know more, if possible,
concerning his friend's adventure of the morning. They found the pilot,
Valdemar Svensen, leaning at his ease against the idle wheel, with his
face turned towards the eastern sky. He was a stalwart specimen of Norse
manhood, tall and strongly built, with thoughtful, dignified features,
and keen, clear hazel eyes. His chestnut hair, plentifully sprinkled
with gray, clustered thickly over a broad brow, that was deeply furrowed
with many a line of anxious and speculative thought, and the forcible
brown hand that rested lightly on the spokes of the wheel, told its own
tale of hard and honest labor.
Pages:
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70