Adventure Magazine Cover — page 108: what you’re looking at

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

864 —nothing east—two points to go—no wob- blin’,” singsonged the alleged shrimp. Looky droned the course after his ship- mate, repeating ‘‘ No wobblin’”’ three times, like a charm; tenderly placed his hands palms-up under two spokes of the wheel, as if he were a nurse whose turn it was to hold the baby; and fixed spiritless, speculative eyes on the slowly revolving compass-card. “Looky here, Binoculars,’’ he whispered to the quartermaster, without looking up, as Ensign Mann, the watch officer, who had also just come from lunch, paced to the star- board end of the bridge, ‘‘how far is it to Birdycagey? When’ll we git there?” ‘Before sundown,” answered ‘“ Binocu- lars.” ‘It’s only about fifty miles to Ver- decaya from Perrito light just ahead of us.” ‘“‘How many ships has the Orapronobis navy got, and what class are they?” Looky further inquired. ‘‘Has this here floatin’ dry-dock gate got to lick ’em all?”’ “Sure! They’ve only got five ships and a coal-barge, and the ships are all in the Memphis class, maybe some bigger and more modern, except one cruiser of our old Albany type.” “°S that all?” sighed Looky in relief. “Huh! We'll lambast ’em quicker ’n they can lash and carry! Thought maybe they had a battleship or two, though even then x He glanced up apprehensively, anticipat- ing a rebuke for talking at the wheel, having heard the voice of Ensign Mann. But that dandified young officer was still at the end of the bridge, standing with one foot'to fore, his right hand thrust into the front of his white service-coat, his head pitched slightly forward, his handsome face set in profound and melancholy thought. Ig tering. “Hard, hard St. Helena, whence I look back toward the heca- tombs I left behind!”’ The quartermaster and the helmsman looked at each other and grinned. Time and circumstance considered, this was the most extraordinary pastime they had ever seen an officer permit himself. Lieuten- ant Treater, the navigator, came up the ladder. “Sighted the enemy yet, Mr. Mann?” he inquired in high good humor. Mr. Mann poised more firmly on his illusory isle, a deeper shadow of melancholy ‘THE lonely rocks!” he was mut- Adventure darkening his countenance. ‘‘ Vex not the fallen Titan!”’ he hoarsely remonstrated. The navigator stared,walked to the end of the bridge and comprehensively inspected the living statue, which refused to flinch under the scrutiny. “‘I—ah—I say, Mann,” began the lieu- tenant. He stopped suddenly, dropped to his knees and groped about the deck. “‘Lose something, sir?” solicitously in- quired Quartermaster Quinlan. “I dropped my purse, and it wasn’t snapped shut. Didn’t you hear the pieces rolling clinkity-clack?”’ Mr. Treater looked up sidewise from his hands and knees. “Fool! Why don’t you get down and help find it?” | Thunderstruck, but thoroughly disci- plined, the petty officer sagged to his knees. “Say, Binoculars, he didn’t drop no mazuma,” boldly spoke up Lookyhere out of the binnacle into which his face was thrust. ‘‘Don’t you see the whole bridge is as bald as Admiral Hornswizzle? He’s gone batty, and the other ’n, too! Give ’em the slip and report to the Captain or some- body!” The quartermaster acted on the advice instantaneously and reached the maindeck in two leaps, the navigator looking after him in reproachful amazement. Ensign Mann, unheeding these petty by-plays, remained rooted in tragic silence on the rocks of St. Helena. Near the wardroom hatch Binocu- lars met Midshipman Shea, who grasped the lapel of his muslin jumper. “The way to spell Spanish is with an ‘h,’”’ dogmatically asserted young Mr. Shea. “T mean, Spanish words with an ‘h’ are a ‘j’—Merry Exmas! Why can’t I ever get that straight? What I wish to say is that if there is an ‘h’———”’ The quartermaster gave the demented middy one large, in nowise lingering look, wrenched himself free and darted down the ladder into the wardroom. The midship- man strode toward the bridge, a hand flung aloft to signal the helmsman, who was per- spiring in the effort to steer a straight course while watching the navigator on his knees circling Napoleon on the rocks. “The ‘j’ is obsolete!’ yelled the middy. “That is, it’s there, but the ‘h’——”’ Lookyhere, glancing astoundedly over his shoulder at this new disturber of the peace of the Seven Seas, lost control of himself. “You stay ’way from here!” he howled. COmiclbook (©