I had come home to my own climate, and looked back with pity on those damp and wintry zones, miscalled the temperate.
"Two years of this, and comfortable quarters to live in, kind of shake the grit out of a man," the captain remarked; "can't make out to be happy anywhere else.

A townie of mine was lost down this way, in a coalship that took fire at sea.

He struck the beach somewhere in the Navigators; and he wrote to me that when he left the place, it would be feet first.

He's well off, too, and his father owns some coasting craft Down East; but Billy prefers the beach, and hot rolls off the bread-fruit trees." A voice told me I was on the same track as Billy.

But when was this?
Our outward track in the Norah Creina lay well to the northward; and perhaps it is but the impression of a few pet days which I have unconsciously spread longer, or perhaps the feeling grew upon me later, in the run to Honolulu.