Adventure Magazine Cover, June 18, 1921 — page 97: what you’re looking at

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

A Tropic Idyl “Tip her up; I never bother with glasses,” urged Roper. Bruce carefully laid his black book upon the deck by his feet and proceeded to “tip her up.” Such a drink in such weather was actually nauseous to him, so he plugged the bottle’s neck with his tongue and permitted but a thin trickle of the smoky, fiery Scotch to enter his throat. When a decent inter- val was passed, he lowered the bottle and passed it to the waiting mariner, with a shudder and sigh that nfight have been of enjoyment, but wasn’t. “I hope you have a lucky trip, Captain Roper,” he said, rising. “Are you sailing tonight?” - ‘““Maybe; maybe not,” was the answer. ‘“‘But—what the blurry, lad!—you’re not going ashore now? Stay and gét drunk with us!” “He doesn’t get drunk. I told you he was too good,” interjected Stort. ‘°F doesn’t get drunk? My word, what do you do with yourself in this blasted ’ole?” “exclaimed Roper with blank sur- prize. ‘“‘He’s moral,” drawled Stort. ‘He walks around the scrub and picks posies and dreams of the girl he left behind him.”’ The pearler laughed and winked at Bruce in a comradely fashion. He was flabbily fat, and his skin was the hue of dough; as unwholesome-looking a man, after his fash- ion, as was Stort. But there was a rugged good nature about Roper that was rather likable, and Bruce, even in his hot anger, recognized that Roper wished not to offend. “Oh, well, the lad’s wiser than we two guzzlers,’ was Roper’s response. ‘He’s likely to live a while in these latitudes, if that is his pace. Flowers and dreams—my word, I mind when I ’ad the same feelings. T’ll not keep you, lad—if that’s where you’re bound. And here’s luck to you.”’ “Just listen to this—it’s rich!” broke in Stort suddenly. Bruce glanced down at the speaker. To his horrified amazement, he saw the black book, Mazie’s book, opened, in Stort’s bony hands; and Stort was grimacing and chuck- ling over the page that met his eye. ‘“““T saw your face in the sky last night when I looked at the Cross,’ ’’ Stort read, ‘“‘“and it was almost as if your strong, ten- der, smiling self were by my side sa He got no farther, for the book was snatched from his grasp, and Bfuce’s furi- 87 ous fingers were at his throat. The latter’s rage was lethal. He jerked his victim erect, and squeezed the scrawny throat and shook the bony frame until the body sagged limply. Undoubtedly he would have been Stort’s death, on the spot, for Stort’s pota- tions had rendered him quite helpless to defend himself and Bruce’s anger made him quite blind to the portent of the swell- ing purple veins in the hated face before him; but Roper intervened and his mea- sured, unexcited words shocked reason into Bruce. “Better stop now, lad, or ’e’ll pop a vein,” said Roper. “Unless you really want to finish him off. ‘I'll not say anything, if you do.” Bruce released his grip upon the other’s throat abruptly, and Stort collapsed upon the deck, speechless and but half-conscious. Bruce, breathing heavily himself, picked up the book, and started for the wharf: ‘“‘He’s no end a rotter,” was Roper’s part- ing comment. “If it wasn’t I owe his blasted company my bloomin’ soul, I’d ’ave lent you a hand, though you didn’t no-way need it. My word, he fair turns my stom- ach, ’e’s such a beast!” III f~- | BRUCE’S « revulsion to the ugly K/~ brawl carried him hot-foot away ©-~=4 from the beach, nor did he pause for breath or reflection until he had passed his house and the cemetery and arrived at the foot of the long, thickly forested slope which ranged upward to the rocky back- bone of the island. But now his physical distress was stronger than the whirl of in- dignant and resentful thoughts that flogged him onward. He sat down beneath a tree and fell to fanning himself with his broad- brimmed hat. He was very tired. The unwonted brisk- ness of the headlong walk from the beach, beneath the blazing, tropic sun, had sweated him of his strength. His clothes stuck to his body; yet his flesh felt dry and afire. The quarrel had left his nerves a-jangle, and he was even a little nauseous. Yet he was determined, as soon as his heart ceased its pounding and he could breathe easily again, to push on into the deep jungle, to seek that secret retreat of the birds and there shut out from his mind the memory of Stort and Stort’s world, and live the day with Mazie. CN Vp) COmicloo ©