In Search of an Unknown Race — page 152: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

140 VAN. Assembled on the embankment itself was a little group of adifferent nationality. Mr. Briscoe and his daughter, standing somewhat apart, were speaking together the last words of farewell, which were too sacred to be recorded. Van, whose cool white linen suit had been discarded for something better suited for what lay before him, was talking with Martin, while Tom, the negro, a little dis- tance away, was relieving Manola, a resolute looking middle-aged woman of more than ordinary intelligence, of a number of wraps which were to be placed on the raft. will I certainly bear him none.” Martin shrugged his shoulders, ‘‘Perhaps its better as itis,” he returned. ‘‘That Flores is a bad lot, take him at his best, and if, as he swears he will do, he ever does get to America, the Lord help him, he'll be likely to kill some one or get killed, before he’s been there twenty-four hours.” ‘‘Look here, Martin,” said Van, lowering his voice as a sudden thought occurred tohim. ‘‘ About this vol- cano business—do you anticipate anything more dan- gerous than the slight eruptions Escomada seems to have had from time to time?” ‘‘Who knows?” wasthecarelessreply. ‘‘I am will- ing to take the chances, anyway.” ‘*So, too, is my uncle, apparently,” Van responded. ‘‘Ah, but it is very different with him,” said Martin, ‘‘for he is bound by the solemn oath of the temple never to leave Itambez, and even if he wasn’t, I very much ‘*T should like to have said good-bye to Flores,” Van was saying, ‘‘for though I seem to have gained his ill Eomichooks sco