No? Shot-guns--rifles? No! Waal, I guess you're of no use to
me, but I could do a deal with that Tom--what d'ye call him? Where d'ye
catch him? Everywhere--eh? Waal--that's nowhere. But I shall find him
some day--yes, siree."
Jorgenson, utterly disregarded, looked down dreamily at the falling
cards. "Spy--I tell you," he muttered to himself. "If you want to know
anything, ask me."
When Lingard returned from Wajo--after an uncommonly long
absence--everyone remarked a great change. He was less talkative and
not so noisy, he was still hospitable but his hospitality was less
expansive, and the man who was never so happy as when discussing
impossibly wild projects with half a dozen congenial spirits often
showed a disinclination to meet his best friends. In a word, he
returned much less of a good fellow than he went away. His visits to the
Settlements were not less frequent, but much shorter; and when there he
was always in a hurry to be gone.
During two years the brig had, in her way, as hard a life of it as the
man. Swift and trim she flitted amongst the islands of little known
groups. She could be descried afar from lonely headlands, a white
speck travelling fast over the blue sea; the apathetic keepers of rare
lighthouses dotting the great highway to the east came to know the cut
of her topsails.
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