Had she not been on the Elsinore, by this time I should have been so
overwrought from lack of sleep that I would be biting my veins and
howling--as mad a hatter as any of our cargo of mad hatters. And so
we come to it--the everlasting mystery of woman. One may not be able
to get along with her; yet is it patent, as of old time, that one
cannot get along without her. But, regarding Miss West, I do
entertain one fervent hope, namely, that she is not a suffragette.
That would be too much.
Captain West may be a Samurai, but he is also human. He was really a
bit fluttery this morning, in his reserved, controlled way, when he
regretted the plague of vermin I had encountered in my rooms. It
seems he has a keen sense of hospitality, and that he is my host on
the Elsinore, and that, although he is oblivious of the existence of
the crew, he is not oblivious of my comfort. By his few expressions
of regret it appears that he cannot forgive himself for his careless
acceptance of the erroneous diagnosis of my affliction. Yes; Captain
West is a real human man.
Pages:
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174