Madonna Litta

Madonna Litta
madonna with the yarnwinder painting
Mother and Child
My Sweet Rose painting
There was a fumbling and a scratching of matches, and the sea-lamp flared up, dim and smoky, and in its weird light bare-legged men moved about, nursing their bruises and caring for their hurts. Oofty-Oofty laid hold of Parsons' thumb, pulling it out stoutly and snapping it back into place. I noticed at the same time that the Kanaka's knuckles were laid open clear across and to the bone. Exposing his beautiful white teeth in a grin, he explained that the wounds had come from striking Wolf Larsen in the mouth. ¡¡¡¡'So it was you, was it, you black beggar?' belligerently demanded Kelly, an Irish-American and a longshoreman making his first trip, and puller for Kerfoot. ¡¡¡¡As he made the demand he shoved his pugnacious face close to Oofty-oofty. The Kanaka leaped backward to his bunk, to return with a leap, flourishing a long knife. ¡¡¡¡'Aw, go lay down; you make me tired,' Leach interfered. He was evidently, for all of his youth and inexperience, cock of the forecastle. 'G'wan, you Kelly. You leave Oofty alone. How in- did he know it was you in the dark?'