ahead, shoot up—by Jove!"—he speared the ground recklessly,—"shoot up into a constellation!"
"Thank ye, sir," mumbled the captain. His uncertain fingers combed at the white beard; his eyes contracted, musing, among the kindly wrinkles that told of distant things long watched. "You 're master gen'rous."
"After the first year,—well, for example, I'm trustee and Musical Grandpa to a school; teaching kiddies there, she could turn a handsome penny. What do you think?" Forgetting his mouse-like ways, eager with his project, the little man unfolded it as they walked homeward.
In the workshop, now almost bare, Zwinglius stooped about, despoiling another barrow-load.
"Zing!" the captain, entering, exploded wrathfully. "Come here! Hit me a handsome kick, will ye? H'ist me one good and solid! Lambaste my jacket!" The mate stared. "I'm a selfish old—old—old—customer! Always thinkin' o' Jack Christy fust and foremost. Nothin' else, by James
