Ainslee's Magazine, February 1913 — page 75: what you’re looking at

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

. THE SHANGHAIED CHERUB 5 idea of asking her aid when he had elected to care for the Cherub without feminine assistance was distasteful in the extreme. They sat and stared at each other, therefore, the gaunt and grizzled cap- tain and the little girl, and Jensen at the door ran a dubious hand through his yellow locks, until at last Joshua Nixon brought his hand down upon his knee with a resounding smack, “Why, of course,” he exclaimed, ‘ith an inspired grin, “she’s starting in to grow!” Whereat the Cherub was greatly re- lieved, and clapped her hands and ex- hibited anew all her pearly, little teeth. Most children would rather hear that they are growing tall than that they are growing: good, This happy solution, however, only led in the end to more serious diffi- culty. Hitherto, Joshua Nixon had re- plenished the Cherub’s wardrobe, as to its minor contents, by the simple ex- pedient of laying the current example of the desired garment on the counter of a suitable-looking store, and — saying authoritatively, “Gimme something like that.” But the business of a new frock pre- sented a different problem. Color, pat- tern, and fashion entered into the mat- ter, as well as considerations of length. He recalled, with a shudder, his only experiment in the fashions, resulting in the purchase of a rasping, green bon- net, in which the Cherub had sat quite still for an hour in silent suffering, un- til he was moved to take it off and throw it into the dock across the street. Another inconvenient result was that he saw in the questioning blue eyes of Jensen that his title to guardianship of the Cherub was seriously impugned, and he had an uneasy feeling that it was not a subject that would bear a close investigation. He was quite re- lieved when Jensen stood aside to admit the shaven bullet-head and huge bovine shoulders of Tamale Tom. The landlord held a telegram, which he handed to the captain with a certain awe. They have a profound distrust, in Sailortown, of all the landlubber ma- 5 chinery of civilization, and telegrams arriving for Tamale Tom’s guests usu- ally meant that some one was dying. Joshua Nixon read it and abruptly reached for his cap. “You got da bad-a news, no?” asked the landlord, leaning his huge bulk on the handle of the door. But Captain Nixon was standing un- usually erect. “Not exactly, Tom,” he said. from the Union Transport. It don’t do to be too sure, these days, but it looks like it might mean a berth.” “Dey’s de folks what are shipping strike breakers up to Bridgehayen,” said Tamale Tom, opening his eyes. “Alla time dey come to me for scabs.” “Are you engaging any now?” in- quired the captain. “Bigga bunch to-day,” replied Tamale Tom, with a swarthy grin of satisfac- tion. “Then I guess it does mean business. Look out for the Cherub till I get back.” And having bent swiftly to kiss the child, Captain Nixon sprang downstairs and out of the swing door into the street, with an alacrity he had not lately ~ shown. Though he would never have allowed it to be suspected, the difficulty with re- gard to the Cherub’s wardrobe was also a financial one. Things had not gone well with Joshua Nixon for some time. A collision in his palmy days of screw freighters, in which the blame was doubtful—the one thing that was cer- tain being that it was Captain Nixon’s boat that was lost—had been followed by the wreck of his latest command, a nine-knot tramp, on the Florida keys, in a hurricane. The hint of a pursuing fate had stamped Joshua Nixon as a Jonah man. His home, and even his savings, had vanished in the long in- tervals between berths. Latterly, he had been glad to drop the “captain” and pocket his ticket to earn his living as a mate; and this, too, at an age when most men had made their shore stake out of deck cargo and the like wickedness, and had retired to the rose-bowered country cottage of which every sailorman dreams. ‘lis . COMME OOK (0)