Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 11, 1925 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

eA Ls 0 toons Wg | oe ~a Ae ; mt oA 178 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. unharmed, then turned severely on the yeo- man. ‘“ Who told you to take my books like this, without permission?”’ “Pardon me, sir, but I merely borrowed it—for a few days. I meant to return it, of course.” “ Borrowed it—eh? How long have you been in the service?” ‘A month, sir.” “‘ Ah! In that event we will overlook your —ah—error, but know for the future that books for the enlisted men are in the ship’s library.” Cyrus saluted. ‘“ Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He turned to go. “Hold on,” said the captain, who had been studying him, “ you are an enlisted man and you read French?” “No, sir, but I have an English-French dictionary. Or, at least, I have the use of the one in the library, sir.” * Ah, then your mistake was natural. You thought when you picked this up it was a French novel.” “No, sir. I don’t need a dictionary to understand the title.” “ You don’t mean to say you’ve read this work?” “ Yes, sir.” ‘“What—in one day—without knowing the language?” “Yes, sir—at least those chapters I re- quired, sir.” The captain strove to conceal his smile. The orderly was standing stiffly at attention by the doorway, but listening to each word. The captain assumed a mock seriousness, and asked, semi-ponderously, “ Well, what do you think of it?” Cyrus was not looking at him directly. It was, indeed, a solemn occasion. “ It gave me some necessary information, sir,” he re- plied, “ but I am inclined to disagree with the author’s chapter on the revised arc of the trajectory for sixteen-inch shells.” The captain’s jaw fell. “Oh! You do?” he remarked, wheeled about in his chair, opened the book, noted on a pad with his pencil two numbers he was seeking, snapped _ the book shut, and returned it to Cyrus. “Tt is evident, young man,” said he, z -_-without a smile, “ that you have more use _ for this book than I have. I couldn’t read — it all in a day. There! Take it and keep it as long as you like.” Cyrus saluted and withdrew, clasping the book tenderly, but he was in a cloud of happiness for a far different reason than his successful breasting of a difficult situation. It was the first time that any one in the service had addressed him as “ young man.” Ensign Percy Tenflair had met Miss Bessarabia Vosmer the week before at a dance at Old Point Comfort. Just assigned to her father’s ship, he lost no time in con- fining his gallant attentions to the daughter - of the captain. Already he had sent roses, candy, a new novel, and an invitation to a theater party, which had been accepted. As he led her away from the admiral’s dining room that day he laughed at her possession of her father’s dress hat, and waited outside the cabin for her while she restored it to its dustproof box on the upper shelf of the wardrobe. To change the subject she expressed her interest in the ‘‘ sailor who reads French.” “ That’s nothing,” said he, “ we all have to learn French at the academy.” “This was an enlisted man, not an officer.” She launched into a laudation of the surprised student, though she failed to tell him she had loaned her father’s book. Tenflair inquired as to his identity and said nothing further. The next day the Kansas weighed anchor and was off for the proving ground beyond the Capes. Bright and early in the morn- ing Tenflair appeared in the tiny office of the yeoman. He was surprised to recognize the former apprentice draughtsman whom he had made serve him in Brooklyn as time- keeper. “It’s you, is it?” he commenced coldly, looking about the neatly cleared desk of the yeoman, who stood at attention during the visit of an officer. “Yes, sir. It is a coincidence that we are on the same ship.” Tenflair made no direct response. His eyes were critically examining each article on the desk. Presently he spied the book on the rear, under some papers. He picked it up and read the title. “‘ What’s this?” he asked, looking on the Gomichooks (E@)