Adventure Magazine, Mid-September 1917 — page 122: what you’re looking at

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

120 watched, but he might have been in either place. And, by the way, the visit of the Isachi was only a coincidence; I thought at first she might have been cabled for to get the plans—that shows how important they are. And that, Peel, is the whole story.” He rose, tossed his cigaret into the ash- tray, and stretched out his arms like a man trying to get the soreness out of his muscles. For all his cheerfulness I saw that he was tired, and for the first time I realized what a strain the whole thing must have been. Then my glance fell on the pile of money. “How do you come to have that?” I asked. He laughed. “That stuff caused almost more trouble than the loss of the plans. It doesn’t be- Adventure long to us, and, of course, it doesn’t belong to Maxwell. I suggested turning it over to the Army Relief, but the general wouldn’t agree. Finally he told me to return it un- officially to Haichi. I have just written a note to go withit. Here it is.” He handed me a sheet of note-paper on which in a small, precise, legible hand was written: DEAR Mr. KAMURA: I am sending you herewith twenty thousand pesos to pay for the Satsuma vase whose loss destroyed the usefulness of your bazaar. Pray do not trouble with a receipt, your name upon the envelope will assure me that the money has come into the proper hands. Wishing you a pleasant voyage, Truly yours, T. Brock. PORTS OF CALL BY LEO HAYS ALL AROUND the world they lie, On all the forty seas, And the chorus of their call goes by On every vagrant breeze: Sleepy little beach towns, Asprawl for miles and miles, Or dirty river-reach towns, On delta mud and piles. Barrios and Santos, Sydney, Loango, Nagasaki, Saigon, Colon and Callao— Their names are siren music To make you want to go. Oh, they’ll never let a man be good, They whisper in his ear, Until the fever heats his blood To see the big ships clear. They call to the rover, They sing of steam and sail: “Come out and look us over; “Get up and hit the trail!” Constant and Aleck, Smyrna, Tripoli, Sandakan, Shanghai, Cadiz-by-the-sea— Oh, the finest hymn-book printed Is an old geography! MICLOOO®