Adventure Magazine Cover, November 10, 1924 — page 160: what you’re looking at

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

158 “T didn’t sneak in, old-timer. I walked right in that door.”’ He pointed to the starboard doorway, opposite the one by which Tommy had entered. “Walk right out again then! If One-Two Mac had seen you he’d ’ave lifted you one under the chin!” Brown’s nose wrinkled and twitched like acat’s. He cocked his head on one side and squinted at the third mate with one color- less eye. “Say, mister,” he said, ‘‘will you answer a simple question?” “Spit it out!” snapped Tommy, angrily, for there was a great deal about this man that he didn’t fancy. “Our first landfall is Watling, eh?” “Ves 7? “Huh-huh. D’you suppose this One-Two Mac of yours would put me ashore there if I spoke nice-like to ’im?”’ ‘“‘No, he wouldn’t. I’m sure of it. You’ll be turned over to the American consul in Haiti. That all you wanted to know? Well, then—beat it!’’ Brown went to the door, held it open with one hand and again faced Tommy. “One more question, mister mate.” ‘Shoot it!” ‘“‘Hlow would you like me to smash your face in sometime?” ‘Come on—try it—now!”’ cried Tommy, starting forward. But the man was gone, and the door slammed in Tommy’s face. As Tommy left the chart room three short buzzes came from the bridge, and he went to the captain’s door and knocked. “Stand by for time, sir,” he called. “Thank you,” answered Captain Mac; and he came from his room and entered the chart room. Tommy returned to the bridge. “Say, Mister Downs,” called Captain Mac. “Yes, sir.” ‘Some one has left the standard chro- nometer open. Was it your” ‘“Why—no, sir,” said Tommy surprized. “T haven’t touched it since I wound it this morning.” “All right.” The leaving of a ship’s chronometer case open is in the minds of navigators a very grave offense, as the chronometer is a deli- cate instrument and extremely subject to Adventure moisture and changes of atmosphere. Tommy swore beneath his breath. “T’d bet it was that Brown mooching around,”’ he thought. A SHORT, quick buzz sounded. This was the time signal, which is sent out twice daily—at 12 noon and 10 P.M.—by the wireless station at Arlington, Virginia, and by which all ships within hearing determine the errors of their chronometers. Captain Mac came to the bridge. “According to that time tick,” he said, “the chronometer is eight seconds faster then we thought it was. It’s one minute and twenty-nine seconds fast, by the tick, whereas by my figuring it should be only a minute and twenty-one seconds fast—eight seconds difference.” “Fight seconds!’ exclaimed Tommy. “That’s a lot. That can’t be.” “Hardly,” said the captain, smiling faintly. “The wireless man made a mistake, I guess,” said Tommy, and he went to the *phone and pressed the button. “How about that time tick, Sparks?” he asked, when the wireless man answered. ‘‘What do you mean, sir?” ‘Was it on the dot?” “Oh, yes, Mr. Downs, it was a good, clear signal.” ‘And you didn’t lose any time relaying it to the bridge?”’ “No. No.” “No lag?” “No, sir—no lag but the usual twenty- five thousandths of a second.” “All right, Sparks.” “No matter,” said Captain Mac as Tommy put the receiver on its hook. ‘TI know darn well he did make a mistake, whether he admits it or not. Eight seconds! Why—let’s see—four seconds of time is a minute of longitude—that would put us full two miles to the east’ard of where we ought to be, and where our dead reckoning says we are. Impossible! I don’t’believe it.” ‘Two miles isn’t so much,” said Tommy doubtfully. “It is when you have to make a lightless landfall on a dark night.” “But Watling Lighthouse——”’ “Is out of commission. If you had read that Notices to Mariners sheet I clipped to the chart you should know it without being CoOMmiclhoo (© =