A Book of Modern Short StoriesDorothy Brewster |
Common terms and phrases
A. E. Coppard ain't asked aunt Aunt Georgiana began boat Boaz Brady breath captain Carterville chair chief mate Christopher Alexander cook dark dinner door dress everything eyes face father feel felt Fletcher footfalls gentleman from San George girl gone hair hand head hear heard Henchy Henry Ieronim Julie Gregg Karaki Katherine Mansfield kitchen knew Lally laughed light listening looked Ma Parker Miss Fancourt morning mother moved never nigger night O'Connor Ognev oiler once Paul Overt Pellett Phœbe Red Willow County Rémy round seemed Sephora Sherwood Anderson ship shoulders silent smiled stared stood story strange suddenly Sunstreak sure talk tell Thalia there's thing thought tion told took turned voice waiting walked watched wave whispered wife Winchester wind wondered young
Popular passages
Page 203 - re-echoed ominously under the towering shadow of Koh-ring as if I had shouted in a mountain gorge. And then I watched the land intently. In that smooth water and light wind it was impossible to feel the ship coming-to. No ! I could not feel her. And my second self was making now ready to slip out and lower himself overboard. Perhaps he was gone already . . . ? The great black mass brooding over our very mastheads began to pivot away from the ship's side silently. And now I forgot the secret stranger...
Page 157 - I never more shall see my own, my native land : Take a message, and a token to some distant friends of mine; For I was born at Bingen...
Page 162 - He dragged ashore the cook, and then waded towards the captain, but the captain waved him away, and sent him to the correspondent. He was naked, naked as a tree in winter, but a halo was about his head, and he shone like a saint. He gave a strong pull, and a long drag, and a bully heave at the correspondent's hand. The correspondent, schooled in the minor formulae, said: "Thanks, old man.
Page 153 - If I am going to be drowned — if I am going to be drowned — if I am going to be drowned, why, in the name of the seven mad gods who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus far and contemplate sand and trees?
Page 169 - He remained as mute as a fish, too. He made no motion to get out of the water, either. It was inconceivable that he should not attempt to come on board, and strangely troubling to suspect that perhaps he did not want to. And my first words were prompted by just that troubled incertitude. "What's the matter?" I asked in my ordinary tone, speaking down to the face upturned exactly under mine. "Cramp," it answered, no louder. Then slightly anxious, "I say, no need to call any one." "I was not going...
Page 150 - A bath towel was by some weird chance in the boat, and, tying this on the stick, the captain waved it. The oarsman did not dare turn his head, so he was obliged to ask questions. 'What's he doing now?
Page 185 - I did not engage that young fellow. His people had some interest with my owners. I was in a way forced to take him on. He looked very smart, very gentlemanly, and all that. But do you know -- I never liked him, somehow. I am a plain man. You see, he wasn't exactly the sort for the chief mate of a ship like the Sephora." I had become so connected in thoughts and impressions with the secret sharer of my cabin that I felt as if I, personally, were being given to understand that I, too, was not the sort...
Page 143 - In the meantime the oiler and the correspondent rowed; and also they rowed. They sat together in the same seat, and each rowed an oar. Then the oiler took both oars; then the correspondent took both oars, then the oiler; then the correspondent. They rowed and they rowed. The very ticklish part of the business was when the time came for the reclining one in the stern to take his turn at the oars.
Page 151 - Why, he's on a bicycle. Now he's met the other man. They're both waving at us. Look!" "There comes something up the beach." "What the devil is that thing?
Page 157 - The correspondent, aroused, heard the crash of the toppled crests. As he was rowing, the captain gave him some whiskey-andwater, and this steadied the chills out of him. "If I ever get ashore and anybody shows me even a photograph of an oar — " At last there was a short conversation. "Billie! . . . Billie, will you spell me?" "Sure," said the oiler. VII When the correspondent again opened his eyes, the sea and the sky were each of the gray hue of the dawning. Later, carmine and gold was painted...