The Message

The Message

Warden gradually became aware that these ineptitudes were by way of comment. He turned and read the weatherprophets label at a glance. But life was too gracious at that moment, and he was far too welldisposed toward all men, that he should dream of inflicting a snub. Ive got a glass, he announced. Gev three[2] pun ten for it, but theres a barrowmeter in my bones thats worth a dozen o them things. Ill back rheumatiz an a side o bacon any day to beat the best glass ever invented. Yes, sir. Nothing to ekal it. I was in the trade, so I know wot Im talkin about. And, when you come to think of it, why not? Pig skin an saltone of em wont have any truck wi dampdoesnt want it an shows itan tother sucks it up like a calf drinkin milk. Ive handled bacon in tons, every brand in the market, an you cant smoke any of em on a muggy day. Then Warden, left at peace with the world, devoted himself again to the exquisite panorama of Cowes on a sunlit Monday of the towns great week. In front sparkled the waters of the Solent, the Bond Street of ocean highways. A breath of air from the west rippled over a strong current sweeping eastward. It merely kissed the emerald plain into tiny facets. It was so light a breeze that any ordinary sailing craft would have failed to make headway against the tide, and the gay flags and bunting of an innumerable pleasure fleet hung sleepily from their staffs and halyards. Yet it sufficed to bring a covey of whitewinged yachts flying back to Cowes after rounding the East Lepe buoy. Jackyard topsails and bowsprit spinnakers preened before it. Though almost imperceptible on shore, it awoke these gorgeous butterflies of the sea into life and motion. Huge 23meter cutters, such as White Heather II, Brynhild and Nyria, splendid cruisers like Maoona,[4] errymaid, Shima, Creole, and Britomart, swooped grandly into the midst of the anchored craft as though bent on selfdestruction. To the unskilled eye it seemed a sheer miracle that any of them should emerge from the chaos of yachts, redwings, launches, motorboats, excursion steamers, and smaller fry that beset their path. But Cowes is nothing if not nautical. Those who understood knew that bowsprits and dinghies of moored yachts would be cleared magically, and even spinnaker booms topped to avoid lesser obstruction. Those who did not understandwho heard no syllable of the full and free language that greeted an inane rowboat essaying an adventurous crossing of the coursegazed breathlessly at these wondrous argosies, and marveled at their escape from disaster. Then the white fleet swept past the mouth of the river, and vanished behind Old Castle Point on the way to far distant buoy or lightship that marked the beginning of the homeward run. And that was alla brief flight of fairy shipsand Cowes forthwith settled down to decorous junketing. ......Buy Now (To Read More)

Product details

Ebook Number: 47113
Author: Tracy, Louis
Release Date: Oct 14, 2014
Format: eBook
Language: English

Contributors

Illustrator: Chase, Joseph Cummings, 1878-1965