Page:Harris Dickson--Old Reliable in Africa.djvu/74



HE Olga plowed a straight and purposeful furrow from the Greek port of Piræus towards Alexandria in Egypt. Behind her lay the purple haze of Hellas. Far ahead, across the Mediterranean, stretched a violet field whose tawny edge was Africa. Ripples of peacock blue broke across her bow, and burst into a shimmer of broken opals. Whirling white bubbles settled down in her wake. All around and about, above, below—there was naught but a vast and vacant globe, a fretted ball of water, with this smoking speck—the Olga—in its very middle.

Old Reliable warn't pestered in his mind about the peacock blue, and the violet field troubled him none whatever. It wasn't the vacant globe that Rh