Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 64: what you’re looking at

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

54 seldom breathed the fresh air, this slave in a sweltering box who strove all day without a let-up, without a change, without companion- ship, until he tumbled into his bunk too weary to care to eat, only to be jerked out before it was light again—how could he find the heart to sing? Yet sing he did and with right good spirit, not once resting from his arduous labors: “ ‘Unlucky,’ they shouts, ’n’ they throws ’imout— _ O Lord, will Thy wonders cease? This Jonah he squirm right outen that sperm With a fistful o’ ambergris.” Arnie backed against the door and waited, forced into a grin. “Don’t be mindin’ my singin’, Jack,” the bit of a fellow threw at him. ‘‘Chirks me up in proper shape, a mite o’ singin’, when I be leg- weary. You a mind to eat a bite? Sho!” In spite of his gossipy tendency he flew about the galley, his hands and feet ever active, ever industrious. His thin legs; seen beneath his uprolled trousers, made Arnie desire to laugh. His red face gave him a fantastic appearance, He chucked a pannikin into Arnie’s grasp. “Right. smart weather, what say?—Avast there!” He dived for a can of milk, slipped on his heel and went down; up he bobbed instantly, crack- ing his head on a low shelf. “ToVable wind fetchin’, I declare. Makes the work uncommon hard. ’Low I never met up with you. Mostly whalin’ these twenty- two year— How’s that?” “T asked if you never signed on as masthand,” Arnie repeated. “Gorry, no! Pesky hard work, Jack. I aim to keep your bellies full—twenty-two year, on an’ off—lI find it real agreeable; sea life’s my style—big bucko crew we was last voyage spermin’—roarin’ huskies every man of us; that’s how come I got the singin’-habit.” After escaping pots and pans he scurried after the mop to wipe up the boards—all in vain, for with each lurch of the bark down came a pot again from the rack, over spilled the kettle on to the stove and the floor. “It’s hot,” observed Arnie presently. war in here.” “What say? Well, now, ain’t folks queer? Stirrin’ up downright chilly, I sense it. In fera blow, Jack; bad night. Allus keep fair cozy in the galley, howsomever. Don’t envy you lads, not a mite. Listen to ’er down below.” “That'll be the steel pipes,” Arnie nodded. “The seas sound in ’em. Is it flour that’s loaded on the pipes? What’s the old man thinking of?” “Cornmeal,’”’ the cook told him. He stubbed his toe and brought up danger- ously near the hot stove. “Isnum! Sets a mite by the head, don’t you say?” “R eg- times Adventure “So she stays up. I guess we can stand it.” Arnie made to pass out, his chunk of bully beef in his hand, ; “Overloaded; no beam for the weight she car- ries. Seas up to the bulwarks; all roll and no lift. G’night.” As he closed the door and stepped into the et, wind, the beginning of song wafted after “Luff ’er an’ ease ’er as strong men do——” He edged forward and took his station on the forecastle head where he became wrapped in his thoughts, utterly contradictory thoughts, now of Jake’s place gay with lights and clamor, now of Lelona in San Carlos_and of what she would say to him when he stood before her at the hotel kitchen door. Would she laugh at him and shrug her pretty shoulders and turn her back when she found he was not captain, not even a second mate? The mate swung out of the gloom, peered close into his face. “Ts it you, Arnie?” and Arnie made a wry face in the darkness. They would be wanting something as usual, something his memory could serve them, his abnormal memory that never skipped a fact, his quick, infallible sense for position, for so much that a common seaman was not expected to know. “Aye, sir. Back before the mast, Mr. Lair- ton—like a sea fool.” “Sorry, lad. Time you learned different.” A moment’s silence between them; then: “What’s the time o’ night, lad? The bell don’t reach the cabin.” “Six bells in five minutes, I’d say, sir.” Arnie spoke offhand and quite without con- scious thought. He was scarcely ever aware of the ship’s bell. He had always been able to tell time by instinct, just as he told his bearings in a fog. “Then Ill be shifting the course—three points off; keep her so,’’ Mr. Lairton bawled to the helmsman. Back came the reply— “Three points it is, sir.” A slight creaking and wearing aloft. “Lay out on the fores’l and shake out a reef,”” he sang to the watch. Like rats they scampered out of hiding- places, Arnie before them all. Clinging to the yard-arm, he heard the ship’s bell speak six BELOW, indiscernible* from this wild perch mM the midst of a chill-fed night, 9 the mate smiled at the sound of the bell. Arnie was right. The next instant he tossed aside the thought as serving no use. Arnie was Arnie. Best to put no new notions into that COMIC DOO (E@)