Adventure Magazine Cover — page 141: what you’re looking at

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

Wrecker Mallow possession! What arotten thief! The dog! And yet, yet, with all the shame of it, he left one bottle untouched. And refilled the other with something so that the old man could still believe in his treasure. , Hum, it is queer, this world; I could find it in my heart to love that beast who stole from his host, for the manner of his stealing. Oh the blessed luck that gave the Wrecker the right bottle this night!”’ “Jean,” said Mallow, “I have saved this wine for some big moment that was to come in my life, somewhere, sometime, but up to this night it never came. Nota night have I spent aboard the Wraith, that I did not look to see that these bottles were safe. Without friends I have lived, without much pleasure in books, without the comfort that religion brings to those who can believe; yes, I have lived alone, I, the Wraith, and my two bottles from Paul’s Wine Shop. Some- how in the years, we three, wine, ship and master, have grown into each other, and now tonight I am very happy, for here I ' am on my ship, here is my wine and here is my old partner of the sea. Drink up.” And Cartier, the big Frenchman, rough in his pleasures, brutal in his ventures, drank as if he enjoyed it, drank with pre- tended craving, drank with the delicacy of his race, lest his friend discover the cheat and lose the joy of thisreunion. As the Wrecker drank, the years slipped away, for the wine was magic and drink for drink the mate kept with him while song for song he thundered out and his great fists flailed about. “D’you remember the night we put in at Singapore with a belt full of pearls?” asked the captain excitedly. “Yes, and I remember too the week later when we lost every dollar to that wretched Chinese trader—with his confounded wreck- ing scheme—if I’d ever have laid hands on him—you know that’s where you got your name.” : “A kid of a British mate, the junior on an India boat, with the down still on his cheeks! His impudence knocked me flat. Tor I wasn’t exactly the man to choose for a—well to poke fun at you know.” “No, Wrecker, you were not.” “Drink up,” said Mallow, ‘“‘we’ll have another bit o’ song.” The night wore on; slowly the bottles were emptied and the Wrecker’s wild mood passed into a cheery sense of content, as if this was not a night to make the most 135 of riotously, but one to enjoy in the thought that more were tocome. Something of this he put into words and what was left out the mate supplied for himself. Into Cartier’s mind flashed the vision of a future trail no longer adventurous, no longer complex, just a simple voyage to the end, and the course would not be lonesome, for there were two men to take the wheel. Midnight came, eight bells, and the little cabin clock roused the men. With a laugh Cartier pointed at the empty bottles. “Dead men,” he said. ‘“‘Here, take my arm; steady now, Wrecker.” Arm in arm they walked from the saloon and said good night in the passage. “Like old times,” muttered the mate when he was in his own stateroom. “‘Where can you find better than the sea and the ships that sail on it? And the men?” Jean Cartier woke later from a sound sleep, lying for a while in that half-awake borderland of dreams. He felt as if he were dreaming and at the same time something real kept calling. Then he was wide awake and his heart jumped queerly and then—he was on the companion ladder with his vast shoulders above the level of the deck. A great yellow moon poured a flood of gold over the old schooner, mending the broken symmetry of her lines, mellowing her decks in a quilt of light that filtered in patchwork through: the trees on the bank. Fore and aft she was again the Wraith of the South Seas, ghostly, illusive, a thing of life, of breath, of beauty under these northern stars. With one glance Jean drank it all in and then as he stared at the wheel, his eyes grew misty and his voice trembled. “Oh, Wrecker, come little man.” But the dim gaunt shape at the wheel still clung to the rotting spokes and from his _ lips came the old command— ‘Let go the anchor, Mr. Cartier; then lay aft to swing out the boat!’ Jean flung an arm about his shoulders. “Come, Wrecker,’ he whispered. ‘‘The Wraith has made her landfall. Come, lad, it’s your watch below.” And as the .Wrecker followed him, into the big heart of the mate came a rush of happiness, for he thought of his savings gleaned from the sea, and he thought of what they would mean for him and for the old partner he had found—his old fighting mate—Captain Mallow—Wrecker Mallow —Mallow of the China Coast. COMMICMOOokKs (C@