Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

500 He yawned. His mouth was dry from too much smoking. If only— ae § Tust, his shining black face ludicrous beneath its mop of lime-bleached hair, like a dirty yellow duster, came racing along the beach, leaping and shouting inarticulate- ly with a display of excitement and energy that was disgusting. Then Thorpe caught a word that brought him out of the canvas chair. “ Ehipi, hah! ' come along!” _“ Ehipt” was native for ship, <A “ plenty fine ehtpi”’ could not mean the paint-lack- ing, gray-canvas company schooner. That was not due for weeks. Tubi was pointing to the right horn of the bay around which he had sighted his find. Faata, ridiculously dressed in a short but otherwise voluminous though sleeveless garment, rushed out, brandishing a pot that she had mot been scouring and broke into a babble of swift talk with her dusky lord. Thorpe darted into the shack and out again with his binoculars. The “ plenty fine ehipi”’ was coming into sight, a steam vessel of dainty lines, unmistakably a private yacht, white paint, twinkling brass, gleam- ing portholes, clean buff stack, clean ventila- tors, awnings, deck cabins and—streaming valiantly, the Stars and Stripes. Moisture came into Thorpe’s eyes at the Ehipil Plenty fine ehipi sight of the flag and fogged the focus. It was a long time since he had seen that flag and, exile as he was, it meant a lot to him. He had fought under it, and his heart went out to it and those who sailed under it. As for the ehipi, so bravely equipped, that stimulated a gush of mixed emotions that made him want at once to cheer, fire a sa- lute and row off to meet the world. | There was a man heaving the lead. There “was no smoke coming from the stack, only the dancing dazzle of superheated air above ‘the top of the funnel. She was going to anchor. The anchor, lunged as it was, tripped and the chain snaked out of the hawse hole. The yacht swung to double bow anchors, hawse clear. She was going to stop—to visit Twenty-Stick, ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Thorpe’s hospitality came to the front with a rush. He saw a smart little launch descending from the falls, a white clad offi- cer in the stern—distinguished plainly through the glass by cap and blouse, a sailor in the bows, others sliding down the falls man-of-war fashion. ' They were coming ashore! Not the pas- sengers, or the gangway would have been rigged, but he prepared to welcome the offi- cer and his men. It was too bad he couldn’t _offer them a drink—though they would like- ly have that aboard. The presence of the American flag did not necessarily mean that the Volstead Act was carried into foreign waters—but he could give them young nuts, fresh fruit, fresh fish—all the bounty of Twenty-Stick. He resolved to hire the natives of the is- land village to round up the supply if it cost him the equivalent of a month’s salary in trade. In return—this had nothing to do with his generosity—he would get an in- vitation aboard, he would talk with his own people, hear the latest news—there was a wireless antenna between the masts—have a highball with the skipper, meet the owner, perhaps be asked to dine. There would be a snowy cloth, crystal and silver, savory food, deft and deferential service, He did not know how he had missed all these things until now. And he would show them that he was not the ordinary, slouchy, bearded, careless type of storekeeper they might expect. His shack was not much to boast of, but it was in order. Jimmy shaved every morn- ing, bathed, changed his linen, kept fit. And, if he did not altogether realize it, he was good to look at, tall and well set-up, clear and gray of eye, firm of chin, and aquiline of nose, the true type of native American. He resolved to change into white drill and meet the launch, now heading for the reef gate. Perhaps the yacht would come inside—there was good anchorage in the lagoon. He took a last glimpse at her through the glass, trying to read the name that winked in gilded letters, _A-l-b-a—Alba- tross—that was it. Movement under the awnings aft caught his eve. There was the Eomichbooks com