Argosy All-Story Weekly — "Sea Marauders" — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

- 602 howled, and the rain struck the south side of the bungalow with a — swishing sound. He sat up and listened. ‘There was no sound on the veranda, but he knew that Susan must be awake. Ina few minutes, she would be drenched. What an idiotic thing to do—to sleep out on that veranda in the rain when she might as well be enjoying the dry security of the sleeping room! A hissing, crackling flash of light mo- mentarily brightened the doorway, and he could see Susan sitting up in the hammock, her dark, silky hair blow- ing about her head wildly, her arms crossed upon her breast. Then came the crash. Kitikat Key seemed to leap into the air and fall back upon the bos- om of the Atlantic. Another bolt, this time nearer, struck with a ripping, rending sound. One of the palms, he guessed, had been hit. There was a creaking, wrenching sound, then a long swish, growing in loudness and ending with a thud and a greater swish. ‘The palm had fallen. Lightning flashed and _ thunder crashed simultaneously. When the re- verberations drew away, the tingling of a girl’s scream hung upon the nerv- ous air. “ Mr. Amadon!” He sprang from the couch and raced to the door. He rushed out. Ina sus- tained glimmer of greasy green he saw her totter from the hammock, a slim figure in pyjamas. “Ts anything the matter?’ said Ger- ald, politely. E Where—are—you *” * The question came in gasps. The girl was terrified. “ Here I am,” he said, reassuringly. “ T’m—so—scared,” she whimpered. Another flash revealed Susan Finch staggering toward him. Rain drummed on the roof. She flew into his arms and clung to him, trembling, with chattering teeth. ‘“‘ There, there,”’ said Gerald, foolish- ly. She huddled against him, and Ger- - ald found her warm and soft and, all ‘“ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. told, rather more than a very delightful armful. “Don’t worry,” he comforted her. “It’s going. It’s passing. They don’t stay long. It’s shooting over toward Florida.” “Did it s-strike the b-bun-bunga- low?” she stuttered. He patted her again. He hugged her for a moment. Queer electricity that had nothing to do with the electric storm raced over him. The rain ceased as abruptly as it had begun. ‘The bursts of lightning were now afar off. Susan weakly pushed him away. “You'd better spend the rest of the night in the sleeping room,” he urged. “Yes,” was all she said to that. Gerald lighted a candle. Its golden light fell upon a white-faced girl in pale, figured blue pyjamas. “T'll bring your things in,” he added, and did. Obviously embarrassed, confused, and still frightened, she obeyed him; went into the sleeping room. There was a bolt on the door. He heard it shoot home with a snap. “Good night,” said Gerald. There was no answer. And the ques- tion still remained unanswered: Was Susan Finch bowlegged or knock- kneed ? CHAPTER IX. “ WHY DO YOU TREAT ME LIKE A DOG?” HRALD did not fall off to sleep immediately. He lay there on the couch in the living room, think- ing of Susan Finch and entertaining a gathering legion of mosquitoes. As sleeplessness descended upon him in greater and greater force, his mind be- gan to occupy itself with the fantastic ideas that the mind generally occupies itself with when sleep is far away and long ago. It occurred to Gerald that there was undoubtedly something romantic in ee ee oe oP eteget oon OP hei, > ees of Se ao” a comic CROOKGrS com — ae a So ene