“You know what? You’re right. He was a Canton guide, highly educated, having been graduated from Yale University. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. "Set it down, I tell you," thundered Blueskin, "or I shall do it a mischief. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. “You haven’t come here to make a lot of difficulties?” she asked.
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