Young Adult Fiction
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North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
I remember him as if it were yesterday as he came plotting to the indoor, his sea chest following behind him in a hand barrow, a tall, strong, heavy man, his Terry pigtail falling over the shoulder of his soiled blue coat, his hands ragged and scarred with black broken nails. And the sabre cut across one cheek, a dirty, livid white. I remember him looking around the cover and whistling to himself as he did so and then breaking out in that old see song that he sang so often afterwards. 15 men on the dead man's chest, Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum in the high, old tottering voice that seemed to have been tuned and broken at the cap stand bars. Then he rapped on the door with a bit of stick like a hand spike that he carried and when my father appeared, called roughly for a glass of rum, this when it was brought to him, he drank slowly, like a connoisseur, lingering on the taste and still looking about him at the cliffs and up in our sign board. This is a handy Cole, says he at length on a pleasant city ated drug shop. Much company mate. My father told him no very little company. The more was the pity