As he turned his face toward
the light to switch it off I swallowed the roof of my mouth and
clawed at the clap-boarding for support. It was "the Sloth!" He
had been transferred. I slipped hastily into my coat and, turning
up the collar, plunged out into the rain and the night and
stumbled blindly away on weary legs towards Panama.
CHAPTER IX
There were four of us that Sunday. "Bish" and I always went for an
afternoon swim unless police or mess duties forbade. Then there
was Bridgley, who had also once displayed his svelte form in a Z.
P. uniform to admiring tourists, but was now a pursuer of
"soldiering" Hindus on Naos Island. I wish I could describe
Bridgley for you. But if you never knew him ten pages would give
you no clearer idea, and if you ever did, the mere mention of the
name Bridgley will be full and ample description. Still, if you
must have some sort of a lay figure to hang your imaginings on,
think of a man who always reminds you of a slender, delicate
porcelain vase of great antiquity that you know a strong wind
would smash to fragments,--yet when you accidentally swat it off
the mantelpiece to the floor it bobs up without a crack. Then you
grow bolder and more curious and jump on it with both feet in your
hob-nailed boots, and to your astonishment it not only does not
break but--
Well, Bridgley was one of us that Sunday afternoon; and then there
was "the Admiral," well-dressed as always, who turned up at the
last moment; for which we were glad, as any one would be to have
"the Admiral" along.
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