Men of talent had never invented anything better.

From it he used to bring back the humming songs with which he beguiled his long watches on the bridge.

Besides, it had a feminine chorus brilliantly clad and bare-legged, a prima donna rich in flesh and poor in clothes, a row of rosy and voluptuous ninepins that delighted the seamen's imagination without making him forget the obligations of fidelity.
At one o'clock in the morning, when returning to the boat along the solitary entrance pier, some one had tried to assassinate him.

Hearing footsteps, he fancied that he had seen forms hiding behind a mountain of merchandise.

Then there had sounded three reports, three revolver shots.