"Look here, Sonnie-Boy. Here's a man says your papa is the greatest man ever was in his line."
JAMES B. CONNOLLY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK :::::::::::::::::::::: 1913
Copyright, 1913, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Published September, 1913
|"Look here, Sonnie-Boy. Here's a man says your papa is the greatest man ever was in his line"
|"And of course your brother is laying great plans to assure his future?"
|"That two-faced chairman of yours—he never tipped me off you could fight any way except with your hands."
|The Orion proved to us that she was faster off the wind than we were by rounding Cape Cod before us.
|It was Drislane she had, his head cuddled on her knees till the tug came and got us.
|"Just then one came right under her forefoot and another under her counter. And I looks back to the gunboat."
|The strangers out with revolvers, back my men into the fo'c's'le, and lock them in.
|'Twas me she walked home with.
The man with the gold-headed cane had been headed for the cottage, but espying the boy at the water's edge, he changed his course. He crept to within a few paces of the lad before he hailed: "Halloo, little boy! I'll bet I know who your papa is."
The boy looked casually around. Seeing that it was a stranger, he faced about and stood respectfully erect.
"Mr. Welkie's little boy, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir. But I'm 'most six."
"Oh-h, I see—a big boy now. But what have you got there?"
The boy held up the toy steamer with which he had been playing.
"Oh-h, I see now. What are you going to do with it?"
The boy looked sidewise out to where in the bay a fleet of battle-ships were lying to anchor.
"Load it with sugar and pineapples, and ship 'em to the States, are you?"
"But it's a gun-ship. See—where the turrets 'n' the fighting-tops will be when papa makes them."
"Oh! and so you want to be a great merchant?"
"I want to be a fighter"—articulating slowly and distinctly—"on a big gun-ship."
"Well, if ever you do, little man, I'll bet you'll be a game one, too. Is your papa home?"
"No, sir, but Aunt Marie is."
"And is Aunt Marie busy, do you think?"
"I don't know, sir, but she's making a battle-flag for my gun-ship."
"That so? I think I will call on Aunt Marie, then."
Swinging his cane and advancing leisurely, the stranger headed for the screened veranda door.
Marie Welkie, because of having to keep an eye on her nephew from the veranda, could not avoid noticing the stranger. The clothing, the jewelry, the air of assurance, had disturbed and half amused