| Author: | George Manville Fenn | ISBN: | 9781465621146 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria | Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | George Manville Fenn |
| ISBN: | 9781465621146 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria |
| Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
Steve Young, who was walking first, suddenly stooped down and took up a handful of sand, which was so hot, fine, and dry that it began to trickle between his fingers like that in the kitchen egg-boiler at home, as he trotted softly to the edge of the wharf and looked over, to find exactly what he expected: the boat made fast to one of the cross timbers, with a big swarthy man in a blue jersey asleep in the stern, and a rough-looking, shock-headed boy also asleep in the bows, the hot sunshine having a soporific effect on both. As Steve reached the edge he looked sharply back and saw that the Norwegian captain had returned, and Captain Marsham and the doctor had turned to see what he wanted. That was Steve’s opportunity, and going down on one knee he reached over where the shock-headed boy lay with the side of his head resting upon the boat’s gunwale ten feet below, and one ear turned up as if listening while its owner slept. Steve Young calculated pretty well in trying to get his hand exactly over that ear, and then let a little sand trickle down. It fell right into the ear, for there was not a breath of wind; but the boy slept on. Steve let a little more go down, and this time there was a tiny stone as well, which struck the open organ and made it twitch, just as a dog’s ear does when it is tickled. But the boy slept on, and Steve tried again, letting more sand fall. This time the boy raised his hand and gave his ear a vicious rub. Then the hand dropped, and he slept again. More sand, and a stone or two about half the size of peas, one of which dropped right into the opening of the ear, and resulted in the boy making a rapid dash with his hand past his head, as if striking at something. He subsided once more with a grunt, and more sand fell in company with tiny pebbles. This time the boy made three or four savage blows in the air, but without raising his head or opening his eyes. “Bother the flees!” he muttered, and Steve waited. Then down went the trickling sand. “Bother the flees, I say!” cried the boy, opening his eyes now, and making a few more angry strokes with his hand. Again he closed his eyes, and, practice making perfect, Steve dropped a tiny pebble right into the boy’s ear, and drew back out of sight; for this time the lad sprang up and looked sharply round.
Steve Young, who was walking first, suddenly stooped down and took up a handful of sand, which was so hot, fine, and dry that it began to trickle between his fingers like that in the kitchen egg-boiler at home, as he trotted softly to the edge of the wharf and looked over, to find exactly what he expected: the boat made fast to one of the cross timbers, with a big swarthy man in a blue jersey asleep in the stern, and a rough-looking, shock-headed boy also asleep in the bows, the hot sunshine having a soporific effect on both. As Steve reached the edge he looked sharply back and saw that the Norwegian captain had returned, and Captain Marsham and the doctor had turned to see what he wanted. That was Steve’s opportunity, and going down on one knee he reached over where the shock-headed boy lay with the side of his head resting upon the boat’s gunwale ten feet below, and one ear turned up as if listening while its owner slept. Steve Young calculated pretty well in trying to get his hand exactly over that ear, and then let a little sand trickle down. It fell right into the ear, for there was not a breath of wind; but the boy slept on. Steve let a little more go down, and this time there was a tiny stone as well, which struck the open organ and made it twitch, just as a dog’s ear does when it is tickled. But the boy slept on, and Steve tried again, letting more sand fall. This time the boy raised his hand and gave his ear a vicious rub. Then the hand dropped, and he slept again. More sand, and a stone or two about half the size of peas, one of which dropped right into the opening of the ear, and resulted in the boy making a rapid dash with his hand past his head, as if striking at something. He subsided once more with a grunt, and more sand fell in company with tiny pebbles. This time the boy made three or four savage blows in the air, but without raising his head or opening his eyes. “Bother the flees!” he muttered, and Steve waited. Then down went the trickling sand. “Bother the flees, I say!” cried the boy, opening his eyes now, and making a few more angry strokes with his hand. Again he closed his eyes, and, practice making perfect, Steve dropped a tiny pebble right into the boy’s ear, and drew back out of sight; for this time the lad sprang up and looked sharply round.
