Adventure Magazine Cover — page 90: what you’re looking at

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

84 There was no telephone connection between Smallpox Island and the rest of the world. We didn’t know enough then to throw up an antenna, hook in a spark-coil and shoot it by radio. There was one radio electrician in camp, but that poor lad lay flat on his back in a tent on Scab Boulevard. Nothing could leave the island. So the only way we could get the fellows’ letters home was to semaphore them over to the station-ship. The quartermasters over there turned them over to the yeoman, who typed and mailed them—the crew of the station-ship provid- ing the stamps. Also, thus we ordered all the provisions; these the station-ship’s launch delivered each morning to our stake- boat. It was a long-winded process. The station-ship lay a good three miles across the bay, and her quartermasters had trouble receiving us. Standing there swing- ing our arms in the burning sun was any- thing but an easy job. In the hope of get- ting a little help in this, we hinted to the doctor that Dixie knew something of sig- nals. But Doc only grinned and told us we were getting away with murder. And he kept Dixie on other details. One thing we observed—but not till several weeks had passed—and that was that Dixie was always in the same working- party as were Gillen and Johnson. But of course this didn’t savor to us of anything like design on the doctor’s part. It was mere coincidence, we supposed; Doc jug- gled and shifted details about as names occurred on his list—and Dixie’s name hap- pened to be sandwiched between Gillen’ S_ and Johnson’s. But there was nothing coincident about the way Dixie was throwing us the cold shoulder. Not a word would he have with us. He wouldn’t look at us! He would strain his insides to sidestep meeting us. The weeks rolled by. The critical mo- ment came. The collector of tolls came knocking. One, two, three shipmates left us—within three days. It was sad. We laid them away side by side, the doctor reading the service—‘‘Ashes to ashes and dust to dust”—we standing around, our heads bared to the blazing sun. Indeed it was gad, but so it was to be. From then on things grew better and better. We had cleared the hump. Scab Boulevard began to show signs of life. Doc Waldo’s grin came back. It was like the Adventure passing of a storm. We had a couple or three ball games every day, and a smoker every evening down at Germ Junction. It was like being on furlough. Not one of us would have passed up the opportunity to finish his enlistment there. ees tion and I returned to our tent, after a two-hour wind-fest at Germ Junction, Ruination put us a question. ‘Say, what do you suppose a man could want with a live scorpions I passed. me take my nickel out,’ ’ said Snoots. “in a glass jar?” Ruination added, a puzzled grin on his rotund face. “A naturalist might amuse himself with one,” I observed, sitting down on my cot. “But any time I see a scorpion I’m looking around for a club or a rock.” Snootiul sat down on his cot and began removing his shoes. - “One come near gittin’ me the other day,” he said. ‘He had himself all rolled up nice an’ snug in my semaphore flags, which I’d left layin’ on the ground outside the doctor’s shack overnight. Jest by luck I picked ’em up by the handles. If I’d grabbed ’em by the buntin’ that scorpion would ’a’ got me no-doubtly.” “‘Gillen’s got one: in a glass jar,” said Ruination. “TI went m their tent this after- noon looking for satisfaction. Gillen and Johnson took ten dollars from me the other day, matching coins. ‘Little Dixie was in there alone, studying: the scorpion through a magnifying glass. LE :asked him what he was doing with it. -“Search me,’ he said. ‘It’s Gillen’s.’ It’ s a big one, too, about four inches long.” » “Well,” said Snoots, monkey ‘with poison He broke off. The hight of the lantern fell on Dixie, standing in the open end of our tent. “Say, you fellahs,”’ he. drawled in that slow, tired-out tone, “the doctah done told me to pass the word around fo’ eve’body to look beneath his blankets fo’ centipedes an’ bugs, befo’ he tu’ns in.” With that Dixie turned on his heel. It was the first trme he had spoken to Snoots or me since that svented at sea many weeks before. “Didn’t need to tell: me that,” laughed Ruination. “TI always look before I flop.” ONE evening as Snootful, Ruina- ‘he’s welcome to 9, COmiclboolks CO