Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1929-10-13

chuckle hot, contemptuous anger has got I'm
their Threats instead.
Who are you?" they cry, and where are
you from?" Those voices that rang, full-wind-
ed, absolute, over the decks of the white clip
pers OF the years when the world rubbed its
eyes Echoes now
Echoes, yes, but echoes still puissant The
headless Jack-in- the-box sounds fetched-aback
and LII at ease.
"Wh-wh- who am +? Well. I guess YOU know
me, Meester Brewster. You know Manuel Bra
ganza. You seen me round plentee / guess
Since f1ve year got thees old Champion place
back here. crost from Jimmee the Greek
guess you know me, all right.
Nope"
you don't know Manuel Brag-Don't know
Nanny the Lisbon?"
Never hear the name Never!"
You-you-never hear o. my boy Johnee?"
johnnie who?"
SILENCE. That has done for him. It has
done for them, too; done wonders Their
feet are solid on their own hill again and they
begin to tower. Men against bogies men viii
win every time.
It's true The spook hasn't word Presently
he begins to fade before their eyes a receding
whisper OF sand. Across the hilltop and down
the slope the long, black, dismembered torso
vanishes degree by degree into the dark above
the invisible Cove.
Give these old fellows inch and they'll
take mile. The impulse to pursue to rout
him sevenfold, to crow to pile it on, is too
strong. Nor is it altogether this that hauls
them TO the sandy precipice where he disap-
peared. Triumph has given sudden rein to
memories; their feet are in old paths, their
tongues wag.
Remember that night the revenue-man
come shopping IMP"
Remember the skiff bottom-up on the beach
with the three bar'ls of rum under it, and me
under it with em and my legs caught out
by the gun1 full in view?"
"Reclect the brig hove to out there, bout.
where that fisherman lays now?"
1.-THE Abraham, wasn't it? And Ezra Small?"
They pause Pause? Where are they? What in
the name of Jehoshaphat are they doing here,
old flies, clinging midway of the precipitous
sand? This much is certain; If they don't
catch their death one way they'll catch 1t an
other
They pause. Numbering down in little sand
slides, they gaze at the becalmed schooner. In
the cobweb starlight it might truly be the Alb
raham, and Capt. Ezra prowling the deck and
showing his whisker aIN wondering what's
wrong with the Brewster boys ashore They
gaze at the pool of the inlet below them and
there the starlight, chasing the ripples, weaves
silver stuff of dreams, mesmeric fluent The
gods are young
"Rec1ect that night Ell?
Remember Molly"
Mollyl subconscious discord rift of syn
copation, dilute, galvanic; painted mouth, an
empty head; half-ton truck, a Greek
No, thought BY thunder no! Molly, they're
talking Of Molly!
She was the wife of one, the sister in-law
OF the other Years have almost outlawed that
inequality. To each she comes back all come
illness, all docile bravery, all grace. woman
of those days.
Remember Molly that night, Isaiah? You
couldn't see her. though, and you stuck under
the skif; the way she come trippin' down from
ncwheres, fetch one look at your boots croppin'
out like hamstrung turtle, set down on the
skth, hdied her skirts out over, and set there