Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 132: what you’re looking at

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

122 by them fool wimmin. Doan reckon you got a lil job of some sort that you cn give him?” The captain shook his head. “ Sorry, Sassafras, but they wouldn’t let him ashore in the States if we teok him.” The black man scratched his chin. A brass bell flashed and clamored as a mess- man strede on deck. It was five o’clock and time for supper. Sassafras’s one good eye grew wide with sudden inspiration. “ Doan reckon now, Mistuh Cap’n, suh, you could gimme that ol’ bell?” “Bell?” the master puzzled. “ You mean that dinner bell the boy is ringing? Why, yes. I guess the steward’s got an- other.” Sassafras belted. He snatched the bell from the astonished ringer’s hand. He 8 CL ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. raced to the rail and, climbing down, pre- sented his prize to the staring Sliver. Gloom left the little native’s face. — ‘“ Hot damn! Now I done fix you!” Sas- sairas laughed uproariously as he clung to the swaying ladder. ‘ Ary one of them pesterin’ wimmin come round, you jes, ring yo’ bell at ’em! They goin’ to be so curious an’ envyfied they'll forget ail about them ruint bonnets! So-long, Slivah, pa’d- nah! You got somethin’ thah that ’ll beat @ tom-tom all hollah.” The Eastern Breeze steamed out across the broad, smooth bay. The wizen little black man, still astride his bamboo raft, was absorbed in ringing the big brass bell. The last rays of a setting sun glinted from its burnished surface like heliograph signals. U A Y ONE night I dreamed—I often do— And in my sleep beheld A mass of Clay, dull, drab in hue, in varied forms dispelled. “Alas! What is Myself?” it cried. “Am ¥ that vase of figure fair? Or that thick goblet, brittle, dried? Perhaps that ill-shaped jardiniére? And can I call that urn Myself? Or can I term that pitcher Me? Am I that bowl upon the shelf? Oh, where is my Identity?” To this the Potter then returned: “You are them all—yet You are none. So, by this lesson have you learned That Self is naught—all selves are one.” Then I awoke and took my way Among the crowds that thronged the mart— Coarse, cultured, fair, misshapen, they— And felt their kinship in my heart. Beatrice Ashton Vandegrift. DOO) Con c <S (©)