Adventure, August 1917 — page 85: what you’re looking at

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

Contraband Matrimony Miss Tabitha McNish, managing director of McNish’s Red Funnel Line. She had stood by him in the past. She had stood by his men, better still. McConaughy was never a woman’s man. In fact, he was an ardent woman-hater, on general principles, and despite his Presbyterianism, enter- tained privately some Mohammedan notions regarding the probability of female participation in the joys of paradise. But Miss McNish was different. There was something almost masculine, something that was certainly inspiring of trust, in the firm set of her jaw, the straight flash of her eye, the aggressive, open-minded person- ality that surrounded her. McConaughy often said to himself that if he had a daughter he would like her to be “the spit an’ image o’ the young leddy.” That title, by the way, was by itself sufficient indication of the respect in which he held her. He knew no other “eddy.” So if Miss McNish wanted him, Miles ._ McConaughy, to treat Lord Claragh and the Hon. Herbert Tibbotts with friendliness that was all there was to be said on the subject. Miss McNish rewarded his hearty response with a look of warm appreciation. Lord Claragh observed McConaughy with unconcealed interest. The Hon. Herbert Tibbotts, after one yawning glance, turned away and swung his dangling legs listlessly, whilst he surveyed the studies in oils of the steamers that decorated the walls. It would be idle to say that McConaughy was unimpressed by Lord Claragh. There was not a sea-captain in the world ignorant of the story of the rise of this Liverpool lad from the bridge of a tramp-steamer to the ownership of the greatest one-man line in the world. Plain William Tibbotts, he _ had been, Bill Tibbotts to Miss McNish’s father and the shipmate of his youth. Now, he was a viscount and baron, a peer of the realm, a privy councillor, friend and confidant of kings, builder of empire, hero of countless legends, participant in the financing of nations, dictator of the fate of ports, wealthy beyond the wildest dreams of Carthage and Tyre, demigod of the humble, symbol of attainment to mariners wherever his house-flag was known. He was an old man, but a man still possessed of boundless vitality, whose gray eyes smoldered under heavily-thatched, white eyebrows, whose rumpled, frosty hair grew thick all over his massive head, whose huge, big-boned figure was held erect by the indomitable will that refused to submit to three-score and ten. He was known for a hard man. He never forgave a mistake. He was irritable, dictatorial, hard-headed, passionately wedded to his own way, a born egotist.- But he loved a man for being a man. “Ha,” -he growled in a rasping, deep-sea voice that had proved itself against the hurricane. “So you’re Captain McCon- aughy. I’ve heard of you, Captain. You’re a man after my own heart.” “‘And I ha’ hearrd o’ ye, sir,’’ answered McConaughy seriously. Lord Claragh chuckled. “Doubtless,” he agreed. ‘‘You’re just in from sea, I hear. Have you salvaged any derelicts or confounded the king’s enemies?” “There are none such in the Norrth Atlantic lanes.” “‘That speaks well for the navy.” “Why wouldna the navy pen in half their strength or less?” flashed McCon- aughy. “Hecht, it’s taken the English long enough to learrn the way. I lost ma own ship, the William an’ Mary, out o’ their dodderrin’ self-suffeeciency that wouldna admit a Gerrman Dutchman could ‘outwit them.” “Captain McConaughy has strong views on this subject,” interposed Miss McNish hastily. ‘He had an unfortunate ex- perience early in the war. You may have heard.” Lord Claragh chuckled again. “The Bad Samaritan story, eh?” he said. “T heard. Well, a man with your record is entitled to his own opinion on naval matters. I’ll not try to gainsay you. But what would you say if you were told the navy wanted your help?” “Saye” snorted McConaughy. ‘Well, sir, *twould depend on who said it, but I’d be sorre tempted to laugh in his face.” ~ “L say. it.” McConaughy hesitated and glanced at Miss McNish. }! ae ; ea had surveyed every picture on the ™ walls with ever increasing bore- dom, grew weary of his lot at this point and rose languidly from his chair. He was a tall, excessively thin young man, with a carefully cultivated stoop, a long, narrow face and ash-colored hair. He wore a THE Hon. Herbert Tibbotts, who cComiclsoo © 5}