Her eyes--McGuffey,
_them eyes_! Like a pair of fireflies floatin' in sorghum. And as
she stands there working her toes in th' sand, she never takes
her eyes off them fine red whiskers o' mine.
"Bull gives her a cigar, and it's plain that he's taken with her,
but she never so much as looks at Bull. My whiskers has done the
trick--so bimeby, when all hands is feeling jolly, including me
an' McGinty, I sidles up to Pinky an' sorter gives her to
understand that she wouldn't have to clap me in irons to fondle
them red whiskers o' mine. She sticks a flower in them, Mac,
s'help me, and then giggles foolish an' ducks into the bush.
"Well, we rigs up a deal with Poui-Slam-Bang and next afternoon
stand out for the entrance with forty odd head of labour in
excess of what we had when we arrived. We'd cleared the reef, and
was comin' about around Hakatuea Head, when what d'ye suppose we
sight? Nothin' more or less than Miss Pinky Poui-Slam-Bang
swimmin' right across our bows. She was more than a mile out an'
comin' like a shark, hand over hand. Before I could yell to the
boy at the wheel to luff up, so we wouldn't run the girl down,
we was right on top of her.
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