And Symonds--I'll do him that justice--says the same.

Symonds says--" But at this point a young woman--and pretty, too, though daubed with paint--thrust her hat and head out of a window, three carriages away, and demanded to know what in the name of Moses we were waiting for.
"Signals, my dear.

The flagship's forra'd; and keep your eye lifting that way, _if_ you please.

I'm main glad you fell in with us," he went on affably, turning to me; "because you round it up nicely.
Barring the sharks in black weepers, you're the only mourning-card in the bunch, and I'll see you get a good position at the grave." "Thank you, sir." "Don't mention it.

We're doin' our best.