Life — August 13, 1925 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

22 acter. His father, if you'll pardon the obsolete reference, had been a Green Dragon, and his mother, a nine bam- boo. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” said the Skipper, and he abruptly left the saloon. “Hey,” said the bartender. “You've forgot your change!” but his words were lost in the wailing of the tempest through the looard ratlines. NGRILY the Captain strode into the fo'c’s'le. “Rollin’ the bones— eh,” he growled, “instead of workin’ the ship?” The sailors cowered. “No, sir,” answered one of the more courageous, “the ship threw six pairs of snake-eyes in succession.” “Well, that doesn’t go on board the ‘Sweet Maric’,” announced the Cap- tain. Not for nothing was he called Hump Becket. His nickname came from the welt of muscle between his shoulders which gave him a neck like an old bull walrus. “Smack!” and a horny fist sent an A. B. crashing into the lee scuppers. “Smack! Smack!” and two more redskins bit the forrard lazaret. “Smack!” It was like a game of post-office. A thin red mist danced before the Skipper. “Smack! Smack! Smack. “Easy docs it, sir!” It was the bos'n's voice. “The last three wallops was to your own nose. I guess you've busted up the mutiny.” The Old Man stopped swinging and caught his breath. So he had. The crew was colder than the kiss of a Port Said dance-hall girl. “Hang it!” wailed the Skipper to himself. “For a minute it looked as if something was going to happen. Darn this scafaring life!” s IND and wave, wave and wind...” muttered Hump Becket as he paced the bridge. “Lord, what mo- notony. If only something would happen.... “Beg pardon, sir.” It was Furniss, the chief engineer. “A boiler just blew up and the ship's on fire.” “Well, Furniss,” answered the Old Man, pleasantly, “that's your business, isn’t it?” Wibeg (4 “Smack!” It was like a game of post-office. “Well, yes, sir,” answered the chief, it is. But I thought you might like to know.” “Very kind of you, I’m sure,” said the Captain, offering no further en- couragement. “I guess I had better be seeing to it, then,” said the chief. “I guess you had,” said the Cap- tain. Turning on his heel the chief went below and Becket resumed his pacing. “Wind and wave, wave and wind...” went his thoughts in rhythm with his pacing. “Captain. “Eh? Oh, it's you again, Furniss.” “We can’t seem to control the fire, sir. We're all taking to the boats.” “A good idea, Furniss. Be sure to take enough water and be careful of sunburn.” “I suppose you'll stick to the ship, Captain?” continued the chief. “Me? Oh, yes,” laughed the Old Man, “I'm not a gad- about. Just leave a few sandwiches on the binnacle in case I get hungry. I'll be all right.” “Yes, sir,” said the chief. “Good-by.” “Good-by,” said the Captain. “If you think of it, send me a postcard.” IND and wave, wave and wind....It was growing comfortably warm up on the bridge. Now and then a shower of sparks dropped from the skys'l braces with quite a pretty effect. Perhaps he ought to go and get his tropical whites, made of finely woven asbestos, thought the Captain. Too much trouble, he decided. The after deck- house was a beautiful mass of flames.... There was the channel light to starboard, and Vega blazed steadily overhead. ZOOM! That would be the port bulkhead. “Hi-hum!” yawned the Skipper. It wasn’t such a bad life. It was healthy, and it kept one out in the open air. “B-R-ROOMP!” That would be another boiler. “F—W—AAM!" The radio had caught. Heigh-ho...! “C-R-R-RAUNCH!" If it all wasn’t so beastly monotonous.... a ie Defenses The Woman's Weapon TH slap is the woman's weapon. It guards her dignity, and saves her pleasure. For it is strong cnough to reprimand the boldest, and yet too weak to discourage the most timid. It brings a smile of approval from the chaper- oning public, and a soothing sensation to the transgressor’s face. The slap is the woman’s weapon. But I have never felt her use it. The Woman's Threat HE scream is the woman's threat. It calms her con- science and spares her desire. For it is convincing enough to satisfy her sense of duty and yet too uncon- vincing to check her man’s intentions. It furnishes an excuse for the inquisitive elders, and a thrill for the provoker’s pleasure. The scream is the woman's threat. But I have never heard her voice it. comicbooks.com