Adventure, December 1914 — page 174: what you’re looking at

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

172 pubs, and the great pearl grew in size and value daily. And Captain Wayne who had found the Sisters went on a close-lipped spree in celebration of his good fortune; while his partner, Bates, went to Broome, and with him, rumor had it, went the Black Sisters. Cossack is a town on the pearling-coast of Northwestern Australia. That is, for some three months of the year Cossack is a town. When the hurricanes—the fierce “‘Cock- eyed Bobs’”—sweep in from the Indian Ocean and send the pearlers scurrying to shelter, Cossack awakens to a brief, lurid life; and two troopers of the West Australia Mounted Police move down from Roe- bourne. Many of the luggers “lay-up” and refit at Cossack; the shell and pearls are disposed of there; the crews “blue” their pay-day, and the shanty-pubs reap a rich harvest and dis- pose of much bottled vitriol. And white men and yellow men, black and brown men, and mongrels of all races, rub shoulders on the sands of Cossack, barter and drink, fight, and break the Ten Commandments in their pursuit of pleasure and treasure. -~.Y JOHN SMITH staggered to the , door of his shack, and, through red- rimmed, bloodshot eyes, stared out upon Cossack. John Smith was a beach- comber, an ex-remittance man and waster. He owned a drink-shattered body; a reck- less, evil face, blotched with the poison of the boozing kens of all Australasia; no _morals—and a perennial thirst. Cossack, stark and ugly in the white glare of the tropical sun, returned the stare of Smith. The lopsided street of sand was deserted in the noonday heat, but from the iron-roofed shanty-pubs came the sounds of the revelry that never ceased, day or night, during the season at Cossack. From the nearest shanty rose the dismal wail of a phonograph, and the raucous howl of tuneless voices raised in song. The beach-comber listened to the sounds thirst- ily. The dark brown of last night’s carouse was in his mouth, and his pockets were empty. He speculated upon his chances of. a favorable and wet reception if he joined the revelers. But he decided the day was yet too young. By nightfall the spenders would be hilarious and open-handed, and he could Adventure sponge unnumbered drinks, and mayhap, also, some money. Mr. Tom Gee Bong walked out of the door of Johnny Blair’s Place and turned across the sand toward Smith’s shack. “Now I wonder,” muttered Smith, ‘what that damned Chink wants with me?”’ Mr. Tom Gee Bong was a product of Singapore and Oxford. He was a full- blooded Chinaman; his English was precise and correct, and he wore the best clothes of any man on the Coast. Withal, he was looked upon askance by the democratic, polygot community. For although Mr. Tom Gee Bong neither toiled nor spun, yet did he reap, richly. He was deeply versed in the wiles of the Orient and the vices of the Occident, and he was regarded as the slip- periest I. P. B.* on the Pearling Coast. “Mr. Smith,”? said Tom Gee Bong, “‘if you will favor me with a few moments of your time, I would like to discuss a matter with you that may prove profitable to us both.” “Sure you mean both?” inquired Smith, regarding his visitor with disfavor. ‘‘Talk- ing business with you ain’t a thing I’m keen on—you’re blasted cheeky, Bong, to want to talk business with me.” Smith had a keen recollection of a pre- vious discussion with Tom Gee Bong that had netted him six months in the jail at Broome for opium running. Tom Gee Bong smiled blandly, and cas- ually transferred from one coat pocket to another a pint flask of whisky. “Come in,” said Smith cordially. Smith took a long swig at the bottle and placed it, half empty, on the table between them. He scanned the impassive face of the Chinaman. “Well, spit it out!’ he exclaimed. “I know right well you didn’t come over here just to give me a drink.” “No,” smiled Bong. ‘The drink was incidental—merely a means of gaining your ear. I came to talk to you about obtaining possession of the Black Sisters pearl.” Smith stared at the other with astonish- ment. : “What bally rot!’ he cried. ‘The Black Sisters is in Broome by now, locked up in Government House. Bates took it up with him on the Swan, last week.” Bong leaned across the table and lowered his voice. *Tllicit pearl-buyer. cComiclboool< C@