The Ebb-Tide


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'It should mean pearls,' said Davis. 'A pearling island the government  
don't know about? That sounds like real estate. Or suppose it don't mean  
anything. Suppose it's just an island; I guess we could fill up with  
fish, and cocoanuts, and native stuff, and carry out the Samoa scheme  
hand over fist. How long did he say it was before they raised Anaa? Five  
hours, I think?'  
'Four or five,' said Herrick.  
Davis stepped to the door. 'What breeze had you that time you made Anaa,  
Uncle Ned?' said he.  
'Six or seven knots,' was the reply.  
'Thirty or thirty-five miles,' said Davis. 'High time we were shortening  
sail, then. If it is an island, we don't want to be butting our head  
against it in the dark; and if it isn't an island, we can get through it  
just as well by daylight. Ready about!' he roared.  
And the schooner's head was laid for that elusive glimmer in the sky,  
which began already to pale in lustre and diminish in size, as the stain  
of breath vanishes from a window pane. At the same time she was reefed  
close down.  
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