Ainslee's Magazine, February 1913 — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

70 at the assembled company, who mur- mured “Aw!” in subdued chorus. “Well, he’d have had her now if the poor old Mary E. Leigh hadn't piled herself on the keys,’ said Captain Nixon. “I don’t see that I could have done any better.” “My daddy has lots of ships,” said the Cherub, impressed by the general astonishment, “T guess he has, honey,” said Joshua Nixon, in a dazed way. “But I reckon when he sees you, hell allow you haven’t taken much harm.” And as to this, at least, there was general agreement. b The evening was one of exciting ex- perience for the Cherub, quite apart from the thrilling knowledge that she was within a day's voyage of her home. First, it was necessary to assist the cap- tain in his inspection of the Chicola, a rusty, battered, old freighter that trimmed by the tail more than was graceful, but, to the Cherub, a ship of beautiful adventure. Then there was the loading of the strike breakers, strange and awesome water-front types. Having received their advance notes, and forgetting for the moment how it felt to be hungry, they were no longer so confident that they wanted to interfere in the bitter, distant quarrel of masters and men. Tamale Tom brought up his own con- tingent singing, but, then, Tom always “delivered,’ and was the first man sought by captains to organize a pier- head jump when desertions had reduced their crews below the limit of safety. Some of the other contingents gave trouble, and one appeared to have hearkened to Clancy and his friends until it turned yellow and refused to go on board at all, joining the incensed and threatening strikers, who stood be- yond the police lines and railed at the “scabs.” Climbing up to the storm-beaten bridge, a little stiffly on account of his rheumatism, Joshua Nixon felt that he had entered the fight of his life. If he delivered the strike breakers in spite of AINSLEE’S the machinations of Clancy, he would earn the favor of the Union Transport’s owners, and the Cherub’s powerful father might be induced to forgive the wild-goose chase he had been led in search of his little daughter. But if-he failed, the gray, old skipper felt that it would go hard with him. Well, it was good to be back where he belonged, at any rate, with a hand on the engine-room telegraph, and the hiss of steam in his ears, and the familiar coal grits under his feet. He found a compensating thrill also in the ready deference of his chief mate. Across the harbor a trim and starchy pleasure yacht glided, her lights just beginning to blaze from big saloon ports through the gathering dusk. Her skipper was an enviable man, no doubt, surrounded by all kinds of purple and soft living, but Captain Nixon found no time to envy him just then. The strike break- ers, massed forward, were evidently ex- cited, and crowded together in bunches to argue vehemently. Having got them on board, it was his duty to keep them there. Tamale Tom and the Bluenose mate climbed the bridge with the pilot to say farewell, and lingered a while in case their help were needed. “For it ain’t no pipe, as Clancy says, and that’s a fact,’ said the Bluenose mate. “Tom knows the men he has signed on, but Clancy’s sure to have got- ten some of his men into the other gangs. You want a couple or three sure-fire bucko mates to hold this bunch on board.” “They can’t get far away, once we've cast off,’ said the captain. ‘At least, not without swimming.” He snuffed the air with the desire of salt breezes. Once on the open sea, his task was all but sure of completion. It was impossible to know what schemes and fears Clancy had floated among the hundred odd waterside nondescripts who crowded the decks of the Chicola, but the mere fact that the strike leader had allowed half the men to board with- out organized opposition was in itself alarming. Joshua Nixon knew that it could not be through fear of the police. (COLAMUCE _OoOK (F@