Adventure Magazine Cover — page 155: what you’re looking at

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

The Beachcomber women are sciitimenial, Effendi, and easily offended. I know—for there are Arabian dancers in the coffee house of Ali ben Murzuk, on the lower banks of the Milyaka River and, Effendi, if thou wilt go with me 153 this evening, I shall show thee one Ouled Nayl, who resembles Zorbeida, when she was young. A-yee, but these women love gold—I have told thee, Effendi, that I am a poor man. THE BEACHCOMBER by Charles Nicholls Webb TOWNS have not been good to me; Men have not been kind; Womenfolk that I have known, Well—were not refined. So I’ve come to rest awhile On this fairy, palm-fringed isle; Come to rest and dream and wait For my ship that men call Fate. For my ship, my dancing ship With figurehead of gold, Silken sails to tease the gales, And rubies in her hold. “He’s a faithless vagabond,” Do I hear you say? “Singing songs of Samarkand, Maund’ring of Cathay; Fate may seek this sorry scamp, As a rusty ocean tramp, Ancient, dingy, fit to be Lost in the Sargasso Sea. Not a fairy, dancing ship With figurehead of gold, Silken sails to tease the gales, And rubies in her hold.” Keep your smug religious creed, Framed for proper folk. Damn me as a vagabond, Treat me as a joke. Let me only rest and wait ‘ For my ship, that some call Fate; For my ship that means to me More than immortality; For my ship, my dancing ship, With figurehead of gold, Silken sails to tease the gales; And rubies in her hold! cGomicbooks.com (@)