Outing . Iguess. You stand still. I was halfway to the lost glove whenI heard a wild yell behind me, andturned just in time to see Sid dashingmadly toward the camera, his face thepicture of frenzied rage. The next in-stant there was a shrill yelp frbliv George,and bang went the camera off the fence. Sid was spluttering with wrath whenI reached him. What in all possessedsthe matter— I began. Matter—blazes—why, that blankety—cant you see, confound it? I wasstanding there when all of a sudden Isaw that blamed—darn it all Sid choked into incoherency. It was some minutes before I coulddr
Outing . Iguess. You stand still. I was halfway to the lost glove whenI heard a wild yell behind me, andturned just in time to see Sid dashingmadly toward the camera, his face thepicture of frenzied rage. The next in-stant there was a shrill yelp frbliv George,and bang went the camera off the fence. Sid was spluttering with wrath whenI reached him. What in all possessedsthe matter— I began. Matter—blazes—why, that blankety—cant you see, confound it? I wasstanding there when all of a sudden Isaw that blamed—darn it all Sid choked into incoherency. It was some minutes before I coulddraw from him the information that theancient George, approaching his secondchildhood, no doubt, had seen the smallrubber bulb dangling from the camera,and—well, had gone up and taken holdof it. When Sid had discovered thereprehensible performance and had madea dash to prevent it, the feeble-mindedold brute had been so scared that hismouth had clicked together and he hadsnapped the picture. 160. THE MASTERROGUE BY F. ST. MARS Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull And he left him, grim and sulky,Sitting in the morning sunshine. Croaking fiercely his displeasure,Flapping his great sable pinions. Hiawatha. BUT I protest that he would havebeen completely and entire-ly out of place in any other O- ;^setting. Given an eighteen-hun-dred-foot ramp, the last four hun-dred feet atop a sheer wall of dullgray, bearded with age-old moss,riven and gashed andfurrowed by thestorms of a thousandyears; given a river—a silver snake alive—crawling at bot-tom, fed by a dozentiny silver threads,spangled with burstsand puffs of rainbowvapors where thewaterfalls spoutedand sent up all to-gether a confusedmurmur like unto themurmur of an antscity in a pinewood on a June day; given a black smudge of Though motionless, he was concernedpine, a green splash of larch, a blotch as to his mate, her nest. When, in theseof dull gold where the bracken lay, on days of order—and collectors—you a
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade, booksubjectsports, booksubjecttravel
