Adventure Magazine Cover, October 10, 1921 — page 59: what you’re looking at

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

The Picture that rose over the ranch valley. The boss reined in. The little woman looked downward with lips parted and eyes radiant. Above them was the clear blue sky of mid-morning. Below them was the little green valley with its white barns, yellow haystacks, shady trees and well-kept gardens. Among the honeysuckle vines of the ranch-house porch sat a little collection of men and two young women, waiting to welcome the new arrival. THE PICTURE’ “Home!” she cried with moistening eyes. “Our home! How inviting it looks! If you only knew the strife and clamor and trouble of the past year and could see it with my eyes! If you only knew how it feels to be freed from anguish and come to a place like this! Oh, Captain, my Captain, our fate has been kind to us!”’ There was a twinkle in the boss’s eyes as he, too, looked down on the green fields. “Ves. It’s a peaceful country.” - a ¢ Live i$ = Frederick iMoare Author of ‘A Bit of Local Color” WA) HERE was an air-of quiet excite- ment in the Shipmasters’ Club that morning when I wandered : into the place to escape the blind- ing heat of the Manila water-front. I found fully a dozen men crowding about a little table, those on the outside of the circle craning their necks to look over the shoul- ders of those who were staring at some ob- ject which I could not see. They paid no attention to my entrance, except to look up hastily as the door opened, and then turn their attention once more to the table. Masters and mates, customs brokers, ship-chandlers’ runners, shipping agents and stevedores—all gazed in fasci- nation at something, while awed whispers came from the inner circle. I pushed my way into the Se and * Copyright, 1921, by Frederick Moore 4 caught a glimpse of a dirty sheet of paper on which had been drawn with pencil some faint lines and curves. From where I stood I could not see that it had any meaning. Just as: I was about to make inquiry as to what it was all about, there came a startled whisper of alarm— ‘“Afere he is!” I turned to see Captain Gibbins of the schooner Bangor Maid standing in the door- way, frowning in upon the group about the table. The crowd broke and scattered about the room, leaving the paper which had held the attention of all of them, spread out upon the bare: board. At once a dozen conversations began—talk about nothing in particular, talk invented to cover the sudden and unexpected arrival of Gibbins, and to lead him to believe that after all they MICLOOOKS 49 C@