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A Deal in Wheat And Other Stories

So I crept forward over the deck of the sloop. The "ha'nt" had its back toward me,
fumbling with the ends of the jib halyards. I could hear the creak of new ropes as it undid
the knot, and the sound was certainly substantial and commonplace. I was so close by
now that I could see every outline of the shape. It was precisely as it had appeared on the
crosstrees of the Idaho, only, seen without perspective, and brought down to the level of
the eye, it lost its exaggerated height.
It had been kneeling upon the deck. Now, at last, it rose and turned about, the end of the
halyards in its hand. The light of the earliest dawn fell squarely on the face and form, and
I saw, if you please, Ally Bazan himself. His eyes were half shut, and through his open
lips came the sound of his deep and regular breathing.
At breakfast the next morning I asked, "Ally Bazan, did you ever walk in your sleep."
"Aye," he answered, "years ago, when I was by wye o' being a lad, I used allus to wrap
the bloomin' sheets around me. An' crysy things I'd do the times. But the 'abit left me
when I grew old enough to tyke me whisky strite and have hair on me fyce."
I did not "explain away" the ghost in the crosstrees either to Ally Bazan or to the other
two Black Crows. Furthermore, I do not now refer to the Island of Paa in the hearing of
the trio. The claims and title of Norway to the island have long since been made good and
conceded--even by the State Department at Washington--and I understand that Captain
Petersen has made a very pretty fortune out of the affair.
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