“I’ve got a Jap servant and his wife that I’d like to take abroad with us,” said the captain to his savior, as they descended into the town, where not even a Jap private was in evidence. “They’re over yonder in that white building,” and he pointed to the schoolhouse. “And wait,” added the captain, while the officer despatched an orderly from the landing, “Could he fetch along my—my—pet Newfoundland dog, as well?”
Remarked the younger man from Maine, as the two watched from the gunboat the clean hills fold over the straw roofs of Chinnampo: “If there’s trouble from all this, that’s for the dudes in Washington to fix. Spies is spies, but them pine trees is pine trees, and valuable, as we ought to know. Too bad about old Kuropatkin, though most orderlies would be afraid of bears—Hello! Look!”
He pointed to the water. Aport, a black oblong rippled the surface of the river—Kuropatkin swimming out to the vessel.
“Hi, Pat! Sic ’em, sic ’em!” shouted the captain.
When the ship had heaved to and started again, the captain’s face was salt and wet against a shaggy brown coat.
Also wet were the faces of a light-haired youth, and a little teacher of English as she is Japped.
Where the Road Dips
HENRY FLETCHER HARRIS
Post-Oak and hickory talk in air,
And mutter where the roadway dips;