"These college ginks ain't so bad at that when you get to know
'em with their dress-suits off."
"He's a reg'lar feller, that's all," was Mike's philosophical
response. "Edjication couldn't kill it in 'im."
A hundred yards offshore was the beautiful steam yacht of the Van
Clefts', the "White Swan." Lights on the deck and a few glowing
portholes showed unusual activity aboard. Shirley's hint to
Warren about the contemplated trip to southern climes was the
exact truth. Naked truth, he had found, was ofttimes a more
valuable artifice than Munchausen artistry of the most consummate
craft! The longshoreman, apparently befuddled in his bearings,
wandered toward the dock, which protruded into the river, a part
of the club property. He staggered, tumbled and lay prostrate on
the snowy planks.
Then he crawled awkwardly toward one of the big spiles at the
side of the structure, where he passed into a profound slumber.
This, too, was a conventional procedure for the neighborhood! A
man walked across the street, from the darkness of a deserted
hallway: he gave the somnolent one a kick.
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