Explore "The Templeton Case" by Victor L. Whitechurch on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Tom Gale leaned heavily on the low bulwarks of the little schooner _Lucy_, his arms folded upon the aforesaid bulwarks, his short, black clay pipe in his mouth, and his eyes fixed on the flowing tide glittering in the sunlight of a clear October day.
Tom Gale had nothing whatever to do, and was doing it well, lounging and thinking, for the most part, about nothing at all. He combined the offices of crew and cook of the little coasting schooner that was moored at the head of Marsh Quay, waiting for a load of gravel that was delayed. That very morning word had been brought that the contractor would not be able to cart the gravel from the pit, about three miles away, down to Marsh Quay until the following Tuesday. This was Saturday, and the "captain" and "mate" had incontinently taken themselves off to their respective homes at Frattenbury, leaving Tom Gale in charge.