The Frontier, May 1926 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

12 hardy souls carinot be found to brave the Horn or any other danger for the sake of sharing in buried treasure. So it came about that Van Tassel re- ceived more applications than he needed and was picking and choosing to suit himself. So, as the men were taken on from time to time, he gathered a sturdy crew about him—a hoarse-spoken, weather- beaten, scarred and tarry lot, with the marks of many a barroom brawl upon them, but capable, handy seamen. ONOVAN, in the meantime, took lit- tle part in the re- conditioning of the ship. For once he was to sail as a passenger, He told me that Captain Van Tassel might possibly feel a bit miffed, under his skin, and it was just as well to stay clear of him for the time being. “Like any old skipper,’ he said, smiling, “I might forget myself and make suggestions. And he wouldn't like that. It ain’t in human nature.” He even carried this attitude to the point of refusing to recommend sea- men to Van Tassel. I was seated with him one fine, sun- shiny afternoon on the veranda of his inn—the George Washington, where few sea captains ever went—when three husky tars came rolling up the walk and paused deferentially near the veranda rail. One was a_ smiling young Irishman, another was a huge man with queer albino eyes, and the third a hairy, compact fellow, with jowls like a gorilla, and a swarthy, dished-in, broad-nosed face. “Could I have a word with you, Cap’n Donovan?” said the latter worthy, taking a pace forward and pulling awkwardly at his forelock. Captain Donovan eyed the man rather sternly. He had been given a thousand pounds for his share of the spoils, and he was now rigged out like an admiral. “And what may you want, my man?” said he. To me, in an aside he added, “One of my old hands.” “Why, sir, we hears you're a-sail- ing for treasure somewheres,” the man replied. “We're wanting to ship, d’y’see.” “Well, it ain’t me as is a-sailin’ this trip,” Donovan replied. “It’s this gen- tleman’s uncle as is fitting out the ship, and her cap’n’s name is Van Tassel. THE FRONTIER Now, lessee—your name’s Martin, ain’t it?” “Ay, sir. I was afore the mast un- der you on the old Weymouth, years ago.” “T remember,” said Donovan. “Well, now, Martin, you'll have to pass in- spection afore Cap’n Van Tassel on your own account. He’s bein’ careful about who he takes aboard, he is.” “But I thought, sir, as a word from you——” “Not a word, unless he asks it,” snapped Donovan. “You go to him, if you wants, and if he takes you on your own say so, well and good. If he wants a word about you, why, I'll give it. But only in case, you mind.” The man saluted, and the three rolled away. “Good men, all three,” said Dono- van, then. “Martin looks rough, but he’s an honest man, and there ain’t no better seaman. Dumphe and Fallon’s good hands, too—Fallon’s the one with the gold in his teeth and the smile.” “Why not take them to the skip- per, then?” I said. 4 8 Kove hs » ? bala Neal Ny ' “Well, now,’ Donovan returned, looking at me sideways, with a shrewd smile lighting his big, eloquent fea- tures, “if skipper is miffed, would he be like to take them men on my direct put-in? Not him. They need the duff, I shouldn’t wonder, so I’m not for spoilin’ their chances.” Just then young Jenkins came up the walk, met the three sailors, and stopped to chat with them. Shortly afterward, he joined us, at Donovan's cheery hail. I could hardly hide my amusement when I noted Jenkins’ radiant smile; for he was such an ad- mirer of Donovan's that he almost ran to us, like a dog to the whistle. His adoration was written all over his smooth, virile features. He had come to the point where, all unconsciously, he was imitating the giant’s very tones, and every now and then was wont to cry, “Ay, by the Flying Dutchman!” in laying stress to his remarks. “So you knows them swabs, eh?” said Donovan, as they disappeared into a sailor’s grog shop farther down, and on the opposite side of the street. “Why, yes,” said Jenkins, quickly. Ncannblaale \e 7 \e orga f Be \ The key to one million pounds. GORG 6)(0)(6) (SOLAN)