Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 19, 1924 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

Ta ty th ty : | a > » Ee ee ; ‘ A oy vq oy < 486 “Gentlemen, you’ve heard about the British Lion and the American Eagle lying down together. Now, I don’t know any- thing about that, but I do know that the British shipowners have at last sat down to play a fair and open game with the Yan- kees, and by Jove, we’ll trump ’em!” A couple of tea merchants from Mincing Lane greeted this with a ‘“ Hear! Hear!” at once drowned by a mighty chorus of dissent. Up to date the advantage had been over- whelmingly with the Americans. Last year, out of China, the Witch of the Wave had won the blue ribbon of the oceans. . This year, news had come that five Yan- kees and four Britishers had started out of Foo Chow on that trading race course round the world. They had sailed with new teas, from the Pagoda anchorage, on the ist of January, in the height of the northeast monsoon, and had all made re- markable runs to Java Head, which news had been telegraphed to England. Since then there had been no further word. But the announcement of the finish was hourly expected by the English mail. _ What raised the interest to fever heat among this shipping crowd was the fact that representatives of the two favorite racing clippers were now in their midst. Captain Forbes was the owner of the pride of Newburyport, the Typhoon; Dickey Green was owner of the Black- wall crack, the Challenger. At sounds of animated discussion from the two famed owners, the gossip around the bar subsided, while all strained to listen. “The Challenger,” said Green, “is an exceptional ship in any weather, but of course she is at her best in moderate and light winds. That’s why this year I think the chances are with us.” ‘“‘ Granted,” replied Forbes, “ if they have light airs, but I’m not so sure that they won't have gales. Give the Typhoon strong beam and quartering breezes, and I believe she’ll show her heels to anything afloat. “Mind you, I’m judging by actual ex- perience since I took that beauty out of Donald MacKay’s yards. On every trip ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. ‘she’s raised my hopes. On her last, around the Horn, she only shifted topsails twice. ‘I never dreamed she’d make it from Cali- fornia for this year’s tea. But Killick knew better than I, he raced her across the Pacific in ballast, touching at the Sandwich Islands only long enough to back his main yard off Diamond Head, and send the mails ashore. “That was the last I heard from Killick. Next thing I knew I got this message:”’ Forbes unfolded a piece of paper, and read: Typhoon, leading China fleet, first through Sunda Straits. A loud cheer followed. Green received this news unmoved. “Yes, sir, I had that same advice,” he replied, ‘‘ and it looked well for your ship, but the Sunda Straits are a long ways from home.” At a caustic note in the Englishman’s voice, Forbes’ interest in the conversation suddenly flagged. Without a word he broke oif and drifted into a far corner, where he sat alone, imbibing much whisky, and glowering across at the impassive face of Richard Green. As the evening wore on, Forbes let out an occasional snort of rage at some fancied insult over which he brooded. There was a jaunty lift to his head that betokened slap- dash chancing, while the supercilious curl of his lip spoke of rivalry, bitter, and strong. Now and again he started up impetuously, then sank back again into his cups. Finally Michael, the venerable bartender, announced: “Gentlemen, I'll take last orders, bar closes in five minutes.”’ By this time Forbes appeared like a vol- cano about to leap into eruption. Nothing daunted, Richard Green came over to bid him good night. He found his rival in offensive mood. “ Wellyeaptain, we’re still at sea as to the result.””= = “At sea be damned,”’ amewered Bornes “What d’ye mean?” “J mean Typhoon will show her heels to all the China fleet.” “You're talking loud, my friend, for such an early hour of night.” At the Englishman’s taunting tone, eonnicboolks (S@)