"Say, Mr. Ellins," I breaks out just then, "lemme pass the word on that, will you?"
And, when I gets the nod, I breezes out on deck and up to the Captain's stateroom.
"Cap," says I, "welcome words from the boss."
"Sailing orders?" he asks.
"Yep!" says I. "You're to tie her loose from Florida as quick as you know how, and head her straight for the wet end of Broadway. Get me? Broadway! Say, but don't that listen good?"
CHAPTER XVII
A LITTLE SPEED ON THE HOME STRETCH
And, speakin' of thrills, what beats gettin' back to your own home town? Why, say, that mornin' when we unloads from the Agnes after a whole month of battin' around, New York looked to me like it had been touched up with gold leaf and ruby paint. Things seemed so fresh and crisp, and all so sort of natural and familiar. And the sounds and the smells! It's all good.
Course, there wasn't any pelicans floatin' around in the North River, nor any cocoanut palms wavin' over West Thirty-fourth Street. As our taxis bumped us along, we dodged between coffee-colored heaps of slush that had once been snow, and overhead all that waved in the breeze was dingy blankets hung out on the fire-escapes. Also we finds Broadway ripped up in new spots, with the sewer pipes exposed jaunty.