Hello, is that you, Jim ?" as Wayward came aft, limping a trifle as he did at certain times.
"That girl had a good figure--through the glasses.

I couldn't make out her face; it was probably the limit; combinations are rare," mused Malcourt.

"And then--the fog came! It was like one of those low-down classical tricks of Jupiter when caught philandering." Portlaw laughed till his bulky body shook.

"The Olympian fog was wasted," he said; "John Garret Hamil 3d still preserves his nursery illusions." "He's lucky," remarked Wayward, staring into the gloom.
"But not fortunate," added Malcourt; "there's a difference between luck and fortune.

Read the French classics." Wayward growled; Malcourt, who always took a malicious amusement in stirring him up, grinned at him sideways.
"No man is fit for decent society until he's lost all his illusions," he said, "particularly concerning women." "Some of us have been fools enough to lose our illusions," retorted Wayward sharply, "but you never had any, Malcourt; and that's no compliment from me to you." Portlaw chuckled.