"Rope aboard!" he gasped. "They're tyin' on legs o' mutton now."
Yet again he was waylaid on the floor above. Hard pressed for wind, he wheezed forth consolation.
"Just goin' to haul the bottled beer aboard," he grunted.
It would never to do pass the hospital without a word.
"Beef-tea an' port wine swimmin' here," he panted.
Brand was peering through the lantern door, awaiting this unwashed Mercury, who caught sight of the lighthouse-keeper 'ere his shaggy head had emerged from the well.
The man stopped, almost spent. He gave an offhanded sailor's salute.
"Haul away, sir!" he yelled, and his voice cracked with excitement. Indeed, they who remained quite coherent on the Gulf Rock, on the ships, and even on the cliffs nine miles away, were few in number and to be pitied exceedingly. There are tunes when a man must cheer and a woman's eyes glisten with joyous tears, else they are flabby creatures, human jellyfish. The steamboats snorted with raucous siren-blasts, and although the hoarse shouting of men and the whistling of steam were swept into space by the north wind in its rage, those on shore could read the riddle through their glasses of the retreating boat and the white vapor-puffs.
The first to grasp Stanhope's hand when he swung himself onto the deck of the tender was Mr. Cyrus J. Traill.
"Well done, my lad!" he cried, brokenly. "I thought it was all up with you. Did you see her?"