Adventure Magazine, Mid-September 1917 — page 157: what you’re looking at

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

Salt Water and Gasoline “In my judgment there is a big future before you,’” answered Hurley, challenging Danny Wallace with his eyes. “T hate the Navy,” went on Bud. “TI don’t like the grind and the monotony of it. This is the thing I want to do, and I’m going to do it, Danny, right or wrong. I can’t let a little thing like this stand in the way of a life’s success.”’ “No, you can’t,’ said Danny Wallace, soberly, but with a meaning which the other did not at once catch. “You think he is doing right, don’t you, Mr. Wallace?” asked Ruth. “Of course I’m right,” put in Bud. “It isn’t fair to Pop Hurley, either, who has trained me and taught me all I know, to go back to the old life.” The three sat silent and waited for an expression from Danny Wallace. In their suspense it seemed a long time coming, and when Danny spoke the words came quietly but with forceful calmness. “You can do it, Bud,” he said, ‘if you really want to. Outside of myself there’s nobody that knows where you are. [ll go back and report that I didn’t find you.” “T don’t want you to lie about it, Danny.” “I won’t be lying,” said Danny. ‘There won’t be any Bud Cantril any more. The manly young sailor by that name whose good word was his fortune, and whose honor did not have a tarnished mark on it, will be gone, and the deserter that takes his place on the record books will be mighty soon for- gotten. The ship will forget you. ‘But the feller who was Bud Cantril and who used to come up with the watch for his mornin’s coffee and stand at attention while the band played and the colors went up, he won’t ever forget. Every time he wins a race he’ll remember it. Every time he loses a race he’ll remember it. Listen to an older man, Bud. I’ve seen deserters before, and none of ’em ever forget.” ‘‘Here’s one that will,” said Bud with forced lightness. “If you think I’m going to let a little thing like that stand for anything, you are mistaken.”’ ~ “VYou’re thinkin’ about the wrong little thing,’ said Danny Wallace, with intense earnestness. “The little thing is to go ahead as you have planned, but the big thing, Bud, is to finish out your enlistment with honor, then as a free man, unpledged, do what you think best. You’ve got a year and a butt to do, and I wouldn’t stain 159 every minute and every hour of the long years before you for that. And if I had a son, Bud Cantril, I’d tell him just like I’m tellin’ you, that I’d ruther that wire across the track had cut him in two than to have him branded as a deserter—a man who wouldn’t keep his word.” “But you don’t get the view-point,” argued the boy, and turned quickly to Pop Hurley and Ruth for help. But the girl was looking at Danny Wal- lace with shining eyes, and Pop Hurley evaded him. Left to fight it out alone he faced Danny Wallace again, but the excuses he had so carefully formulated had become a jumble of trifles which he could not voice. “T’ve promised Pop Hurley,” he finally blurted out helplessly while his face red- dened before the accusing eyes of Danny Wallace. “TI release you,” said the mechanician gamely. ‘‘Doas you think best, Bud.” “Y’m not going back,” decided Bud de- fiantly. “T’vesaid I wouldn’t, and I won’t.” Then Danny Wallace made his last play. Groping around in the inside pocket of his blouse he took out an official-looking blank, scraped his chair back from the table, and tearing the paper into strips as he went, tossed it into the open fireplace. Bud Can- tril knew what the paper was. As Danny rose he had read the heading across the table. It gave Danny Wallace the power to arrest him wherever he found him. Coming back to the table he said good night to Ruth and her father and started to go. “Tf you think as you’ve been saying,” said Bud, still trying to justify himself, “‘why didn’t you arrest me?” “Well,” said Danny, “I’m a poor hand at saving people. All I can do is to give *em the chance, and now that you’ve had yours and won’t take it, Ill be sayin’ good-by.”’ The other two offered their hands, and Danny Wallace took them warmly enough but Bud’s he barely touched, and stalked out of the door with his quick, alert step without looking back. left the next morning for the coast “ had a nervous passenger in Danny Wallace. He moved from one chair to another in the observation car and could not get settled comfortably. Even the people in the train who had interested him THE BIG Overland train which COmiclboo CO