She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. "Yes, sir," said McClintock, as he sat down; "that's South Sea stuff, that yarn of yours. “Let me know the truth. As usual Brendon lit the candles, and Sydney dragged out the spiritlamp and set it going. There was a black fear in his heart. Anyhow, that is how things are.
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