Adventure Magazine Cover, February 3, 1921 — page 170: what you’re looking at

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

164 _ While he waited, the Jessica, having» slid down—down—down to the very abyss, began to clamber up that steep wall. Her - nose was buried an instant, ‘then she flung free and mounted step by step. The wave descended with the sound of an explosion; but the Jessica was high up its side and re- ceived only what she could stand. Shud- dering: violently, she paused, swung two points and arrived at temporary safety. Arnie studied the soapy stuff battering at his legs. A joyous glow took the chill out of his flesh. He kept on. At the galley door he stood panting; his feet slid in opposite directions; his grip on the knob wrenched his arms cruelly. A lull intervened, and from within a faint sound of disordered singing came beating like wounded wings: **T’m a-gulpin’ sour fog, Swiggin’ whale-oil fer grog, But I might ’a’ done wuss,’ Hollered Jonah-———”’ Arnie banged on the rickety panel and upset the litthe cook by his precipitate en- trance. As he swung the door to behind him a body of spray smashed on it. “Howdy! Ye’re a welcome caller,” Japes bawled. He picked himself up and some bully beef that had gone down with him. “I was ‘lowin’ tuh fetch some grub aft. It’s two jorums hez been gobbled by the sea; this ’ere’s the third. Bad walkin’ on deck I find it, sir.” The box of a galley shook in the blast and bade fair to pick up its heels and make off, but Japes seemed oblivious of this possi- bility. “You can’t stay here,” Arnie told him. “There’s no living above hatches.” “Sho! Do tell! Ain’t there livin’ ail- wherés, sir? I was whalin’ once——’”’ “You’ve got me beat,” Arnie grinned. “Guts to you, Japes, is what.” 7 Hardly had he said it when he recollected the mate had said the same of him but a moment ago. That was queer. He watched the effect upon the little cook. A crimson wave dyed the thin face; the sparkling eyes became in a trice flustered. .A wisp of hap- piness—that’s what the compliment did. Japes giggled as at a joke, articulated “Sho!” and “How come?” and told him to “go “long.” But there was no questioning the breath of satisfaction. Arnie stowed this observation away with the echo ringing be on duty anywys. Adventure ~- in his ears, ‘It’s what the world thinks of you.” He repeated his command that Japes leave the quaking galley. Japes, however, stubbornly refused to do this. “‘Abandonin’ ship, sir?” he queried. When Arnie shook his head: “T ain’t fer abandonin’, neither. I cal’late tuh hev some pride. T’ll stay, thank ’e.” “What’s pride got to do with it?” Arnie asked him. ‘“You’re no good here.” “Mebbe so—mebbe so. I’m a mind tuh It’s proper.” The Jessica don’t sail Who’s to hold it against you to save your hide? We're owners, the two of us; nobody to say different. Your money gone to glory along of mine— Proper!” Japes winced at mention of the money. Just the same he would not stir. “Td a mite ruther do ez is proper, sir,” he said. “Savin’ of my hide ain’t all there is; the Book says ez losin’ yer tarnation life is findin’ it—not thet I’m by way o’ dyin’, no siree. The Jessica’s a proper ship. By the same token I’m a proper cook—an’ yer a proper skipper, sir, ez proper a skipper ez er ever I know, which I’d lay to an’ no mistake,’ and his voice strode big with sincerity. He added, ‘““Yuh’d not hev me tote my vest out in the wet, neither, would yuh now?” “No,” said Arnie. ‘I wouldn’t have that. T’ll look in on you again.” And out he went, feeling vaguely moved, and faced the storm as he made hand over ‘hand for the forecastle scuttle. Dripping wet from top to toe, he tumbled down among the crew confined in that evil hole, some slung in hammocks, some knocking about in berths, the lamp careening wildly and making more sinister the hopeless scene. Confusion, discomfort, filth, sour haze of rank tobacco-smoke, straming of timbers, the groans of the mast, merve-sapping hammer-strokes of the sea, the sickening plunge of the bows—nothing here certainly to make life worth the living, not a single warm meal in three days, only the stupefy- “Proper, is it? man-o’-war style. ing warmth of the occasional tot of grog and * a pot of coffee now and then, over which Japes had scalded his hands and arms and legs. And out of this sodden, putrified retreat one would go forth ever and again to risk his’ life reaching the helm and holding it. COPMICLOOOKS (EO)