Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

398 “Our chances? What are they?” Fen- wick bawled the question close to his ear, above the roar of wind and wave. Lang shook his head. ‘I don’t know!” he called back. “I don’t know!” CHAPTER X. “ SO 57? UDDENLY the captain gave the wheel a sharp turn. ‘ There she comes!” he cried. Stephen peered with him into the swirl of menacing waters. The nose of the yacht dug downward as if she were diving straight for the bottom of the ocean. A fantastic memory of his childhood recurred to Stephen of the time when he had asked his father whether the deep waters of his own land and of China were one with no land in between. The Psyche swooped upward out of the curdling cauldron, climbing the sliding green wall of a giant spent wave. Battered by billows, torn by the scream- ing wind, the desired prey of the mad night, — She struggled on. Just then Stephen’s strained’ ears again heard, in a fleeting lull, the sputtering of the wireless. “ The call—what is it?” he shouted, ges- turing toward the source of sound. “Answer to ship in distress!” screamed the captain. ‘“She’s been sending the SOS call— We can’t do anything now— If the Psyche weathers storm, we'll try to pick her up, best we can do— We're in bad case ourselves; two bulkheads smashed, getting worse all the time—do our best—”’ Stephen’s answer came in fitful snatches above the roar. “Tl go below again—came up to’ see what—” “ All hell’s let loose!” cried the captain. “ Top mast gone—worst storm I ever—hope engines stand up—guess they—Psyche built for strength—speed—”’ Again the storm lulled a little.“ Back- bone of the storm may be broken—hope so!” cried the captain as Fenwick left the wheelhouse. | ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Stephen’s mastering desire now was to return to the girl he had left below. He reproached himself for having come up on deck at all. She must be in mortal terror down there alone. He gave a parting thought to the captain and the resting helmsman as he left the wheelhouse. He was useless here, worse than that, even in the way. He must get back where perhaps he might be of some use. A dripping seaman opened the hatch for him, and as Stephen disappeared it was bat- tened down again. The storm began raging with redoubled fury. A roll of the yacht, which set things jingling below, nearly pre-. cipitated him down the stairway, just as the electric lights winked out. Staggering down the remainder of the way in darkness, he stripped off his soaked oilskins, leaving them upon the floor of the wrecked salon. Running into chairs, bumping into tables, suddenly his hands came crashing down on the piano keys in a villainous dis- cord, at one with the crashing storm. He had lost all sense of direction. He backed away from the piano, and stood still, trying to reconstruct the interior ar- rangement of the salon, with the piano as the starting point. He wondered how the girl was faring, where she was; for surely she could not have slept through this thunderous clamor. A great wave of longing for her welled in his heart. Never again would he have that sense of loneliness which had begun when he was a little boy, and had been first sent from home to a fashionable military school. Al- ways there would nestle close to his heart the image of this girl whom the sea had delivered to him. After all, the sea could be kind as well as cruel. If only now he might find her, and the storm would cease, the beginnings of peace cheating death of life! There came the mysterious sense that somebody was near him. Above the crash of the storm he heard nothing; it was just an instinctive recognition of the presence of sentient life. Then after a moment, the storm lulled. He heard a voice. Gomichboo (¢| cS —_ Fi (CO)