We had taken advantage of a
stiff breeze that had sprung up about sunset, and _The Waif_ was
plunging through a moon-washed ocean, sending furrows of foam from her
forefoot while the wind snored through her canvas. I forgot the
happenings of the day as I felt the quivering vessel that seemed to
thrill with the ecstasy of life as she flung herself at the watery
wastes ahead. The tremor in her boards seemed to crawl into my body and
warm me like wine, and I felt inclined to bless Holman instead of
punching his head as I had thought of doing during the baiting I
received from Miss Barbara Herndon. The youngster had saved me from days
and nights of weary monotony in sleepy Levuka, and I welcomed him gladly
as he joined me on the poop.
"Say, you made a hit with the ladies!" he cried. "Your fame as a
story-teller is set upon a solid foundation. And I don't suppose you are
inclined to thank me for giving you the opportunity to tell of the
wonderful things that happened while you slumbered on the wharf?"
"Drop it," I growled; "I've had enough of the joke. By the way, what
position do you hold in the expedition?"
The boy laughed.
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