The mate turned his head and favoured the sky picture with a solemn
stare.
"Oh, I don't know," he growled. "It may look like the Farallones to
you, but to me it looks like a battleship coming right in the Gate
with a bone in its teeth at a twenty-knot clip."
Sure enough. The floating Farallones had metamorphosed into a giant
warship.
Then came the colour riot, the dominant tone of which was green. It
was green, green, green--the blue-green of the springing year, and
sere and yellow green and tawny-brown green of autumn. There were
orange green, gold green, and a copper green. And all these greens
were rich green beyond description; and yet the richness and the
greenness passed even as we gazed upon it, going out of the gray
clouds and into the sea, which assumed the exquisite golden pink of
polished copper, while the hollows of the smooth and silken ripples
were touched by a most ethereal pea green.
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