The Argosy, September 1915 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

226 THE August night. There were gleams of light upon the St. Lawrence, some in motion, some merely shimmering rest- lessly as they lay fixed upon the rip- pling surface. It was an evening for poetry and romance and beauty —if only the last steamer had not departed. The boy came back and confirmed his previous impression that no other boat would stop that night at Wither- bee’s Island. “It’s absurd — inexcusable! ” claimed Miss Chalmers sharply. “Yes, ma’am,” said the boy. “How am I to get there, then? Well? Answer!” “T got a man who'll take you.” Where is he?” ‘Down that way,” replied the boy, nodding his head toward the end of the wharf. ‘A reliable man? ”’ <V és; ma am. “You know him?” <No;ma. am. Miss Chalmers stamped her foot again. “How can you say he’s reliable if you don’t know him?” she demanded seg imperatively that the boy winced and shuffled his feet. “Well, he’s got a power-boat, and his name’s Sam,” said the boy defen- sively. ‘“‘ He ain't ever been wrecked *s fur as I know.” Miss Chalmers made an eloquent and helpless gesture with both arms, then surveyed her light field - equip- ment—six trunks and a grip. “ Show me the man,” she spoke ab- ruptly. The boy made off in haste, with Miss Chalmers at his heels. He led the way among bales and boxes and barrels, stopping presently under a dim oil lan- tern set upon a post. On the string-piece of the wharf sat a man, smoking a pipe. He looked up at Miss Chalmers casually, yet specu- latively, then arose and nodded amica- bly. “ Looking for me?” he asked. Miss Chalmers was annoyed at the cx* 3? ARGOSY. phrasing; never yet had she “ looked for” aman. But she swallowed her annoyance. “T must go to Mr. Stephen Wither- bee’s island—to-night,” she said. “ Yes, ma’am.”’ “You know where it is?” =Oh, yest = stow Jat-is itt = “‘ Something like fifteen miles.” “Can you take me there at once?” “Well,” said the man, removing his pipe from his mouth and regarding Miss Chalmers with solemn interest, “it all depends on what you call ‘at once.’ I can take you there, but I’m no speed-king.”’ “Take me, then!” exclaimed Miss Chalmers. “ And get my trunks.” The man went up the wharf at a leisurely gait, accompanied by the boy. Almost immediately the boy came back. “He says he can’t take all them trunks, and for you to pick out two.” Miss Chalmers strode back to her trunks with no improvement of tem- per. She found the boatman survey- ing them placidly. “Which is the emergency-kit?” he asked pleasantly. freighter, ma’am.”’ “They’ve all one!” The man shook his head doubtfully. “Swim?” he asked presently, look- ing Miss Chalmers evenly in the eye. “Why, cer— Oh, how ridiculous! Will you or will you not take those trunks?” “Oh, Pl take them — only maybe the boat won’t. Anyhow, we'll make a stab,” he said cheerfully, shouldering the nearest trunk. The boat took them, but not without wabbles of warning and an ominous loss of freeboard. The boatman dumped them aboard with easy non- chalance, while Miss Chalmers shiv- ered in solicitude. But she made no comment; she was in a hurry, and she did not purpose to descend to argument with a longshore person. “ Well, I guess we're ready,’ “Tm not running a got to go—every , said EOMICGLOOOKS (©)