Judge — October 9, 1920 — page 8: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“Alas, Miss Croyden,” I said, “I fear that there is but little to see. Our island, so far as I can judge, is merely one of the uninhabited keys of the West Indies. It is nothing but rock and sand and scrub. There is no life upon it. I fear,” I added, speaking as jauntily as I could, “that unless we are taken off it we are destined to stay on it.” “Still | should like to see it,” she persisted. “Come on then,” I answered, “if you are good for a climb we can take a look over the ridge of rocks where I went up on the first day.” We made our way across the sand of the beach, among the rocks and through the close-matted scrub beyond which an eminence of rugged boulders shut out the further vie Making our way to the top of this we obtained a wide look over the sea. The island stretched away to a con- siderable distance to the eastward, widening as it went, the complete view of it being shut off by similar and higher ridges of rock. But it was the nearer view, the foreground, that at once arrested our attention. Edith seized my arm. “Look, oh, look!” she said. Down just below us on the right hand was a similar beach to the one that we had left. A rude hut had been erected on it and various articles lay strewn about. Seated on a rock with their backs towards us were a man and woman. The man was dressed in goat-skins, and his whiskers. I inferred from what I could see of them from the side, were at least as exuberant as mine. The woman was in white fur with a fillet of seaweed round her head. “Cave people,” whispered Edith, “aborigines of the island.”” But I answered nothing. Something in the tall outline of the seated woman held my eye. A cruel presentiment stabbed me to the heart. In my agitation my foot overset a stone, which rolled noisily down the rocks. The noise attracted the attention of the two seated below us. They turned and looked searchingly towards the place where we were concealed. Their faces were in plain sight. As I looked at that of the woman I felt my heart cease beating and the color leave my face. Drawn by Nare Couien Judge (to witness)—You ane piscuarcen. Witness—Bvt You CAN'T DISCHARGE M Way Nor?” “Cause [ain't WORKIN’ FOR You. I looked into Edith’s face. It was as pale as mine. “What does it mean?” she whispered. “Miss Croyden,” I answered, ith—it means this. | have never found the courage to tell you. I am a married man. The woman seated there is my wife. And I love you.” Edith put out her arms with a low cry and clasped me about the neck.“ Harold,” she murmured, “my Harold!” “Have I done wrong?” I whispered. “Only what I have done, too,” she answered. “I, too, am married, Harold, and the man sitting there below, John Croy- den, is my husband.” With a wild cry such as a cave man might have uttered, I had leapt to my feet. “Your husband!” I shouted. “Then, by the living God, he or I shall never leave this Drawn by Baxxsoace Rocens Mrs. Hifite—Wuat, You PAY THAT GIRL $15 A WEEK TO COOK FOR you? Mrz. Loflite—No, We PAY HER $5 A WEEK FOR COOKING AND $10 A WEEK FOR STAYING. place alive.” He saw me coming as I bounded down the rocks. In an instant he had sprung to his feet. He gave no cry. He asked no question. He stood erect as a cave man would, waiting for his enemy. And there upon the sands beside the sea we fought, bare-handed and weaponless. We fought as cave men fight. For a while we circled round one another, growling. We circled four times, each watching for an opportunity. Then I picked up a great handful of sand and threw it flap into his face. He grabbed a cocoanut and hit me with it in the stomach. Then J seized a twisted strand of wet seaweed and landed him with it behind the ear. For a moment he staggered. Before he could re- cover I jumped forward, seized him by the hair, slapped his face twice and then leaped behind a rock. Looking from the side I could see that Croyden, though half dazed, was looking round for something to throw. comicbooks.com