Easy-going and merry as of old, my friend was
bubbling over with good spirits, delighted to be back again in town
after three years sailing up and down the Mediterranean, from Gib. to
Smyrna, maneuvering always, yet with never a chance of a fight. His
well-shaven face bore the mark of the southern suns, and the backs of
his hands were tanned by the heat and the sea. He was, indeed, as smart
an officer as any at the Junior, for the Marines are proverbial for
their neatness, and his men on board the _Bulwark_ had received many a
pleasing compliment from the Admiral.
"Glad to be back!" he exclaimed, as he helped himself to a "peg." "I
should rather think so, old chap. You know how awfully wearying the life
becomes out there. Lots going on down at Palermo, Malta, Monte Carlo, or
over at Algiers, and yet we can never get a chance of it. We're always
in sight of the gay places, and never land. I don't blame the youngsters
for getting off from Leghorn for two days over here in town when they
can.
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