Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 76: what you’re looking at

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

74 consideration for me, you’d get me my deck-chair.”’ “‘Billy-Boy,” called the captain. “Why can’t that Brownbill fetch it?” “That is hardly his duty, my dear. And he has others.” _ “Duties?” sniffed the lady sinking into the chair. ‘“He’s messin’ with a lot of paints down below. Thinks he’s an artist. *Mfff! “Oh!” as the barkentine lurched sud- denly. ‘‘Can’t you fix the wheel or some- thing and keep the ship even?”’ ‘““No, my dear, I can’t,” said the captain with some acerbity, leaving her to meet his first mate. “Well,” retorted the lady, “as soon as I get my feet on solid ground you’ll not get me to sea again in a hurry.” ‘“‘And that,” thought the mate, though he did not speak it, “‘is the best news this trip.” “Glass twenty-nine-seventy,” he said aloud. “Gettin’ mighty dark, ain’t it?” The muggy heat seemed to increase as the sky film thickened, shutting off the sun till the day dulled to premature twilight. Captain Boyle strode back to the chair. “Get below, Maggie,” he said. “T’ll not,” said the lady, waxen in the dusk. | “You will!’ replied her husband, master on his own quarterdeck. “Billy-Boy, help Mrs. Boyle below!” _ She went, her handkerchief to her mouth, seemingly corroborating Jimmy’s theory of a cure for ultra-suffragitis. “‘Can’t tell red from bloo below,” said the little supercargo, coming on deck. ‘““Here she comes,”’ announced Boyle sud- denly, as the line of the onrushing wind ruled the water with a line of black, throw- ing forward a skirmish-line of whitecaps. The storm canvas filled as the breeze strengthened and the barkentine amended her sluggish speed. “Everything snug, Mr. Hardin?” ‘All snug, sir!”’ The breeze suddenly turned to a gale that blew momentarily more fiercely till a shout died to a whisper on the lips. Streaks of oily spume sped horizontally across the deck. ‘“‘Center’s to the east’ard, I think,” yelled Boyle into the mate’s ear, cupped by his hand. “Stand by to wear ship!” A minute later the Margaret Ann was thrashing toward the horizon where no sun- tt Adventure set was to grace the close of that day. Mrs. Boyle, below in her cabin, recked not of casting votes or addressing applaud- ing sisters. She was not silent, but her elo- quence was not that of speech. IT WAS a sunny afternoon when the lady ventured on deck once more and evinced a languid but growing interest in the lifting of the coco-palms of Totulu above the horizon. In her lap, as she reclined in her chair, were two pieces of coarse canvas which she was adorning with colored wools disposed in the patterns of bright red animal-heads with shoe-button eyes, supposed to repre- sent foxes, on a background of sickly green. ‘“‘What size shoes did you say King Tama- tau wears?” she asked her husband. “T don’t think he ever wore any, my dear.” “Then why didn’t you say so?” “T didn’t know what you were making.” *“Well, he’ll wear these,”’ said the original Margaret Ann of the barkentine’s christen- ing, regarding her work with pride. “I got the biggest soles there were in Sydney— fourteens. If they’re too small, we can take off the heels and turn back the canvas. Don’t you think he’ll like them?”’ “He ought to,” said Boyle diplomatically. “Hold Tomato hin carpet slippers!” whispered Jimmy to Hardin. ‘Ho, my heye!”’ ae moorings in the lagoon of Totulu off = the long copra wharf, dipped ensign and fired a royal salute for the monarch of the little:atoll-kingdom of which Totulu was the capital. ‘“‘When are we going ashore?’”’? demanded Mrs. Boyle, decked for the occasion in white duck skirt, peekaboo-waist, long, white gloves and a wide-brimmed magenta hat with yellow ostrich plumes. “Not until the king comes off,” said Boyle. ‘Then get me a fan,” said the lady. “TI should have brought a sunshade.” “Some by-by doll,’”? murmured Jimmy as he sped Billy-Boy on the errand. “She’ll make a ’it wiv Hold Tomato, Hi don’t fink.” ‘‘Are those women rowing?” asked Mrs. Boyle excitedly, as Tamatau’s whaleboat, propelled by six lusty queens, shot out from the private wharf. THE Margaret Ann swung at her CoOMmicboooks (CO