The Argosy, August 1914 — page 35: what you’re looking at

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

NOBODY LOVES A LOSER. Jack saw it this time. The buoy which meant so much was a mere painted stick three inches uf diameter and a foot and a half long. Jessica guided the boat alongside, so he could see the initials “‘ A. H.” burned in the wood. “ Now I’ve got to run the line until I find out which way they point, so don’t talk,” she ordered. ‘“ Grand- father will think I’m never coming back to Barratry.”’ Although wondering what the name meant, Jack fell silent as ordered. After a couple of false moves the sec- ond buoy was picked up, and then, with the aid of the perfidious compass, a third and fourth. Jessica performed some mental calculations. “T have it!” she cried. “‘ The ledge is astern. We're heading northwest. There’s north — east — south—west,” pointing. “ But how could the com- pass be so wrong? Could it have been —but they wouldn’t dare.” Two troubled lines appeared be- tween her brows. Jack wanted to ask the suspicion which lay behind them. He refrained, reflecting that it was none of his business. She would tell him if she thought best. She picked out her course, adjust- ing it to the vagaries of the compass, and they started away. ‘The survivor~ of the shipwreck had already been re- stored to his seat of comfort, wedged between her knees and the side of the Polly Ann. Drained by his hardships, drowsi- ness laid hold on him. His lids grew heavier and heavier, his head an in- supportable weight. He was barely conscious at the end that a hand laid gently on his curly hair guided him to a comfortable pillow, and he fell asleep. From time to time Jessica stole a look at the head of this strange youth she had rescued, cushioned on her knees. A slight flush was superfluous- ly added to the rose bloom of her cheeks. After each furtive glance she turned away quickly to study her can- 20 vas, the quartering wind and the dy- ing sea. Try as she might, however, she was unable to repress altogether her curi- osity about this castaway. The con- viction grew that she had been right in denying his title to be a barge hand. For the matter of that he looked little enough like a sailor. His features, despite the lines of ex-. haustion and suffering, spoke. a higher calling than that. Even his clothing, stained and worn as it was, proclaimed an expensive tailor and disregard of cost. Then her thought came back to the lying compass. Its shortcoming had made the stranger's rescue possible. Otherwise, with the direction of the drift, he would have been swept past Barratry Island and lost beyond hope. For that reason she was glad her compass had gone wrong. For quite another it rendered her strangely anxious. She wanted to reach her grandfather’s side as quickly as she could. Under the impulse of this de- sire her lithe muscles strained as if thus she could push the Polly Ann to greater speed. An hour after he had fallen asleep Jack was awakened with a _ gentle shake. He recovered himself slowly, but after the first shock came to him- self with a start. His own face crim- soned in turn as he realized how he had won his rest. “We're at Barratry,” the girl broke in on his stammering apologies. “‘ And the fog’s gone.” The young man sat up and looked around. It was as she said—the fog had lifted, the wind had died to just enough to give the Polly Ann head- way, and they had passed into the lee of a point where the waters were scarcely ruffled by the backwash from | outside. Blue sky had supplanted lowering clouds. The sun was sinking behind the land in a glory of red and gold. Near at hand a group of low, unpaint- ed buildings crowded to the water’s COMMICLOO® SS (C@