"If all you say is true," says Monaghan, "then it must 'a' been a grand place for an hour or two—that plaza this day. And yourself and myself and that husky bridegroom-elect standin' elbow to elbow this day—man, but 'tis talkin' of us in the cantinas they would be for a full generation to come. And, 'stead o' that, here was I, a man of my tonnage an' speed under forced draft, lyin' here useless as an old cruiser in ordinary."
From the little motor-boat, the same being navigated in devious ways back to the pier, I could hear McWarrish:
"Oh, my luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June;
Oh, my luve's like the melodie—"
Always, or so I've thought, there's something disposing to romance, or maybe melancholy, in the quiet that lies o'er great waters, and something, it may be, softening to large voices.
Anyway, 'twas a lovely, moonlit tropic night—fitting close to a blessed day.
A Bale of Blankets
They were holding what was almost a public reception in the ward-room of the Missalanna. The Honorable J. J. Flavin, having appeased his hunger and slaked his thirst, signalled the Filipino mess-boy for a smoke; and having decided as to what was the most expensive cigar on the tray, he took two, and moved on to where, through a shining air-port, a fresh sea-breeze might find its cooling way to his beaded brow, for it was a warm summer's day and at trencher-play the Honorable Flavin had been no laggard.
As the Honorable J. J. smoked, so did he take the time to observe; and, observing, he vouchsafed the opinion to a thin-faced, high-shouldered young fellow who happened to halt near him: "These navy fellows must have a fat time of it, huh, Carlin?"
Carlin flashed a glance on Flavin. "How do you figure that?"