CHAPTER XIII 



A LEAPER OF THE KUROSHIWO 



THE channel islands of Southern California, 

 a chalice of emeralds in settings of azure, 

 were rising in the distant haze. The sea 

 was a mirror in which the heavens were reflected, and 

 the rising sun over the distant and snow-capped peaks 

 of San Antonio and San Jacinto in the mother range 

 drew a translucent old-rose film over it that seemed 

 to set the world aflame. The sky and the edge of the 

 world blended it was one harmonious sea that like 

 some great monster rolled about the world. Here 

 and there a catspaw made its way aimlessly along to 

 die away. The big wing-like fins of the flying-fish 

 occasionally cut the water or waved above it in some 

 game of the sea, and far away the bonitos were play- 

 ing havoc with small fry. The high cloud banks 

 were retreating to the west, and forty miles away at 

 sea a pink cumulous cloud-bank rose, dome-like, tell- 

 ing of San Clemente, its dunes, its dead, and its sand 

 glaciers. It was early June in these islands of the 

 sea, the last rain had come, and the hills and slopes 

 were fast fading into umber and the splendid tints 



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