Ainslee's Magazine, February 1913 — page 83: what you’re looking at

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

THE SHANGHAIED CHERUB that the man pressed upon him with an air of authority. “Yacht Doris, owner E. Robertson Mills, of Newport,” replied the steward glibly. Captain Nixon closed his eyes, and for some time tried to recall the sig- nificance of the name. When he opened them some hours later, a big man with a hard, insolent eye and a bulbous, red nose was watch- ing him from the cushioned bunk; and on his knee, resplendent in the daintiest and most expensive of new frocks, her blue eyes blinking in the sunlight that streamed in at the porthole, the Cherub sat, a veritable vision of delight. “Hello, Uncle Josh!” she hailed him gleefully. “Well, a nice mess you’ve made of things!” barked the big man. Captain Nixon said something about being due to get back to his ship. “No, you” won't,’ returned the big man in the same barking manner. “I’ve been chasing you the whole length of the Atlantic coast and back, and there's a lot of things I want explained first. The Chicola don’t need you. I’m prin- cipal owner, and I ought to know. For one thing, she sailed last night. For another, you're much too old for that work. If they hire any more like you, I’ll not only fire them, but I'll fire the man that hires them. I’ve just been telling them so at the office.” He ended with a louder bark, nodded several times, and frowned fiercely. “And I'll have Clancy and every man jack of his child-stealing gang in jail (0° OO Gh ee meme e—nen n = 73 before I’m through with this strike,” he added. “This is going to be your cabin, Uncle Josh,” blurted the Cherub enthusi- astically. She had been patently loaded with startling information all the time. “Do you like the room we've given you?” Joshua Nixon turned a pathetic gaze upon her father. “T’ve got to go back to Tamale Tom’s, honey, and get another berth,” he re- plied, in a whisper. “No,” asserted the Cherub, shaking. her curls decidedly. “You are to stay with us. Papa says you are to be my captain.” Joshua Nixon looked at her father again, and something in his eyes made the big man turn his head away and bark more fiercely than ever. “Well, the appointment’s a bit prema- ture,” he said, “seeing that I haven’t fin- ished pensioning off her last nominee. But it’s her boat, and I guess that what she says will have to go.” He deposited the Cherub on the cush- ions and moved to the door. “By the way, Captain Nixon,” he added, in an altered voice, “I learn that you jumped from the rail of the Mary FE. Leigh in the dark to pull my little girl out of the water. Ahem! That would have been a grave risk for a much younger person. Captain Nixon, I am a man of damned few words. I thank you!” And before the bewildered captain could reply, the cabin door closed, and he was alone with his new owner. (C@) OOK (E@)