Digital heart book

Captain Trent,
of the British brig FLYING SCUD, had been glib; he
had been ready; he had been loud; but in his blue eyes
I could detect the chill, and in the lines of his
countenance spy the agitation, of perpetual terror.
Was he trembling for his certificate? In my judgment it
was some livelier kind of fear that thrilled in the
man's marrow as he turned to drink. Was it the result
of recent shock, and had he not yet recovered the
disaster to his brig? I remembered how a friend of mine
had been in a railway accident, and shook and started
for a month; and although Captain Trent of the
FLYING SCUD had none of the appearance of a nervous
man, I told myself, with incomplete conviction, that
his must be a similar case.
CHAPTER IX


THE WRECK OF THE "FLYING SCUD"
THE next morning I found Pinkerton, who had risen
before me, seated at our usual table, and deep in the
perusal of what I will call the DAILY OCCIDENTAL.
This was a paper (I know not if it be so still) that
stood out alone among its brethren in the West.


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