Adventure Magazine Cover, October 10, 1921 — page 60: what you’re looking at

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

50 had no interest in the paper on the table. Gibbins stood in the doorway for a full minute without moving, like a ship hung in stays. His eyes were fastened upon the paper, and his face was screwed up in a puz- zled way, though I could see that he was displeased. He was wearing a white suit which looked too big for him, and the square-cut coat flared away in front rather untidily and revealed the front of his tawny pongee shirt. He had on a floppy straw hat with a wide limp brim. His gray eyes were enclosed by sun-squints, his cheeks and jaws were well browned by tropical tan, and his face was deeply seamed with many wrinkles. But for all the grimness of his face, there was something likable about the man. He was only forty or so, though the peering, near-sighted look of his eyes made him appear older at first glance. And the worn expression of his face, as if he had been under great strain and had lost much sleep, added to this impression of age beyond his years. For all his expression of displeas- ure, there was something about his face which suggested a smile—as if he would like to smile, but couldn’t. He moved forward slowly, and approach- ing the table, picked up the paper and looked at it. He crumpled it swiftly in his powerful hand, made a movement as if he would cast it on the floor, and thrust it into the side pocket of his coat. Then he sat down at the table and beckoned the China boy to him, ordered a bottle of Isuan wa- ter, and stared at the wall ahead. No one spoke to him. He might have been a stranger in the place, yet I knew nearly every man in the club had a speaking acquaintance with him. But he showed no resentment at thus being ignored; rather, he seemed well pleased that no one bothered him with conversation. He seemed to be utterly weary and was content to be left to himself. Many of the men who had been looking at the paper got out of the room on various pretexts. I dropped into a grass chair and picked up a newspaper, pretending to read. But I was watching Gibbins. He took off his hat and revealed his black hair, moist and uncombed, clamped down over his fore- head. But he did not brush away the hair, though he moved his hand as if he were about to do so, and then made a peculiar movement as if he were thrusting aside Adventure something which interfered with his vision. When he had finished his Isuan he scrib- bled a chit for the bar-boy, gave him a peseta, and strode out through the open door. There were four of us about the read- ing-table and we all lifted our heads and listened to Gibbins clumping down the stone steps to the embankment along the Pasig. ; Some of the men who had left when Gib- bins entered now returned and began a card-game in a far corner of the room. It was evident that they had waited outside till they were sure Gibbins had gone. ONE of the men near me was Fear- oyd, second-mate in the steamer Taming. He was figuring some- thing on an old magazine with a stub of a pencil. “Was that Captain Gibbins who went out?” I asked Fearoyd. “You know blasted well that was Gib- bins!’ snapped Fearoyd, and put his pencil back in his mouth while he studied the problem he was working at. But he looked over his shoulder at the door before he answered me, and his voice was low and cautious in spite of his pretended show of temper. : ‘“‘Now look here, Fearoyd,” I began, let- ting my feet down to the floor and throwing the newspaper across my knees, “I’ve known you too long—and too well—to have you come any top-gallant manners with me when I ask you a question. I thought that that was Captain Gibbins, but I wanted to make sure.” ° “Gibbins, master of the Bangor Maid— and owner,” mumbled Fearoyd through his pencil. I waited till he had finished with another column of figures and then I de- termined to have it out with him. ‘“‘What’s the matter with Gibbins?” I demanded. ‘He comes in here and every- body scuttles for cover as if he were a pariah. What’s all this whispering and mystery?” I noticed that the card-play- ers looked crossly in my direction as if I had CR om ‘broached a subject which was tabu, but I pretended not to see their hint of annoy- ance. - “Nothing’s the matter with Gibbins,” said Fearoyd, and the card-players ex- changed glances of satisfaction, as if Fea- royd had settled me and they could go on with their game. NOOK C©