Commodore Junk — page 347: what you’re looking at

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

340 COMMODORE JUNK. It was enough. Hats were doffed, and a strange silence reigned in the gloomy chamber as Humphrey knelt there hold- ing the dead hand in his till he was touched upon the shoulder, and looking up slowly, half-stunned by the event, it was to meet the pale, drawn face of Bart. “ Do they know, captain?” he whispered, meaningly. For a few moments Humphrey did not realise the import of his question, till he turned and gazed down once more upon the stern, handsome face fixing rigidly in death. “No,” he said quickly, as he drew a handkerchief from his breast and softly spread it over the face of the dead. “It is our secret—ours alone.” “ Hah!” sighed Bart, and he drew back for a moment, and then gave Humphrey an imploring look before advancing once more, going down upon his knee, and taking and kissing the cold hand lying across the motionless breast. ‘Captain Humphrey Armstrong, I think ?” said the officer of the rescue party. “ Yes,” said Humphrey, in a dreamy way. “We were just in time, it seems.” “Yes,” said Humphrey, with a dazed look. “T’m glad you are safe, sir ; and this is—— He had not finished his sentence when one of Black Maz- zard’s men yelled out— 3) “The Commodore—our captain—sir !” “Once,” said Humphrey, roused by the ruffian’s words, and gazing sharply round ; “but one who spared my life, sir, and with this poor fellow here defended me from that dead scoundrel and his gang !” As he spoke he spurned the body of Black Mazzard, who had hardly stirred since he received Bart’s bullet. “ f am at your service, Captain Armstrong,” said the officer and wiil take my instructions from you.” CONnniclooOokks.c©