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"You shet right up, Tom!" commanded his wife. "Ain't it nuthin' to you that your son grows up wild and uneddicated?" "We are the brig Louisa Ann of Whitby from Callao, one hundred and seventy days out, bound to the port we belongs to. We are short of provisions, and should feel grateful if you could let us have a cask of beef." Billy was giving no attention to the teacher. He was edging towards Lou Scroggie, who stood looking at him from dumb, pleading eyes..
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"Will you complete your lading by the date announced for your sailing?" "He is remaining on board the Minorca to see after affairs there, madam," answered the Admiral. "I believe Captain Weaver is to take charge of the barque, and Captain Acton will himself sail the schooner home." "Oh Jerusalem!" groaned the terrified Fatty, "It's the ghost! Look, it's sheddin' blue grave-mist! Fer the love of Mike let's git out'a this!" Then between them fell silence, filled with understanding and contentment and thoughts that ran parallel the same long track through future promise. Billy spoke, at length: "He's goin' to take the school ag'in. An' him an' me are goin' to build that sail-boat we've always wanted—a big broad-beamed, single sticker that'll carry all of us—you, me, teacher, Erie an' anybody wants to come along. Gee! ain't it great?".
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