SEARCH
0-9 A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Prev | Current Page 200 | Next

Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"Trailin'!"

"
"Yo ho!" answered the voice of the singer, and approached booming:

"The parson he did come, he did come;
The parson he did come--did come.
The parson he did come,
He looked almighty glum,
He talked of kingdom come--.
Damn your eyes!"

Shorty loomed in the doorway and caught his hand to his forehead in a
nautical salute. He had one bad eye, and now it squinted as villainously
as if he were the real _Sam'l Hall_.
"Righto sir. What'll you have, mate?"
"Don't mate me, you igner'nt sweepin' of the South Sea, but trot up some
red-eye--and gallop."
The ex-sailor shifted his quid so that it stuck far out in the opposite
cheek with such violence of pressure that a little spot of white
appeared through the tan of the skin. He regarded Lawlor for a silent
moment with bodeful eyes.
"What the hell are you lookin' at?" roared the other. "On your way!"
The features of Kilrain twitched spasmodically.
"Righto, sir."
Another salute, and he was off, his voice coming back less and less
distinctly.

"So up the rope I'll go, I will go;
So up the rope I'll go--I'll go.


Pages:
188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212