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The Mutiny Of The Elsinore

User: disha
The Mutiny Of The Elsinore

From The First The Voyage Was Going Wrong. Routed Out Of My Hotel On
A Bitter March Morning, I Had Crossed Baltimore And Reached The Pier-
End Precisely On Time. At Nine O'clock The Tug Was To Have Taken Me
Down The Bay And Put Me On Board The Elsinore, And With Growing
Irritation I Sat Frozen Inside My Taxicab And Waited. On The Seat,
Outside, The Driver And Wada Sat Hunched In A Temperature Perhaps
Half A Degree Colder Than Mine. And There Was No Tug.

Possum, The Fox-Terrier Puppy Galbraith Had So Inconsiderately
Foisted Upon Me, Whimpered And Shivered On My Lap Inside My Greatcoat
And Under The Fur Robe. But He Would Not Settle Down.

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