el the ground shake and see
the volcano tower above you at that word '_tremendous_ neighbourhood.'
Something of the same double reference to the original and acquired
meanings of a word is to be found in such a phrase as 'sedate
electrician,' for one who in a back office wields all the lights of a
city; or in that description of one drawing near to death, who is spoken
of as groping already with his hands 'on the face of the _impassable_.'

The likeness of this last word to a very different word, '_impassive_,'
is made to do good literary service in suggesting the sphinx-like image
of death. Sometimes, as here, this subtle sense of double meanings
almost leads to punning. In _Across the Plains_ Stevenson narrates how a
bet was transacted at a railway-station, and subsequently, he supposes,
'_liquidated_ at the bar.' This is perhaps an instance of the excess of
a virtue, but it is an excess to be found plentifully in the works of
Milton.

His loving regard for words bears good fruit in his later and more
stirring works. He has a quick ear and appreciation for live phrases on
the lips of tramps, beach-combers, or Americans. In _The Beach of
Falesa_ the sea-captain who introduces the new trader to the South
Pacific island where the scene of the story is laid, gives a brief
description of the fate of the last dealer in copra. It may serve as a
single illustration of volumes of racy, humorous, and imaginative slang;

'"Do you catch a bit of white there to the east'ard?" the captain
continued. "That's your house. . . . When old Adams saw it, he took
and shook me by the hand. 'I've dropped into a soft thing here,' says
he. 'So you have,' says I. . . . Poor Johnny! I never saw him again
but the once . . . and the next time we came round there he was dead
and buried. I took and put up a bit of stick to him: 'John Adams,
_obit_ eighteen and sixty-eight. Go thou and do likewise.' I missed
that man. I never could see much harm in Johnny."

'"What did he die of?" I inquired.

'"Some kind of sickness," says the captain. "It appears it took him
sudden. Seems he got up in the night, and filled up on Pain-Killer
and Kennedy's Discovery. No go--he was booked beyond Kennedy. Then
he had tried to open a case of gin. No go again: not strong enough. .
. . Poor John!"'

There is a world of abrupt, homely talk like this to be found in the
speech of Captain Nares and of Jim Pink