The Argosy, September 1915 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

239 “Never mind!” roared her boat- man. She whirled upon him furiously. “How could you! How dare you! Are you mad? Do you think—’” She broke off and sent another hail in the direction of the yacht. But that craft had disappeared in the night, and there was no answering call. She looked down upon the kneeling figure, a tempest of wrath upon her lips. The boatman was fussing aim- lessly with a wrench. Miss Chalmers fought for self-con- trol. She had a passionate desire to slay, but she lacked a convenient means. Besides, she could not see that homi- cide would speed her way to Wither- bee’s Island. And even in her storm- iest moments, Miss Chalmers never quite abandoned her grip on things as they were and problems that had to be met. But she was bewildered, - even alarmed. She did not fear the conse- quences, however unpleasant, of an all- night drift on the river. It was the boatman who furnished cause for dis- may. She wondered if he was insane. “TI would like to know,” she said, struggling to quiet her voice, “ why you did that.” “Did what?” | * Sent that yacht away.” “Reasons,” he responded briefly. “Reasons! What reasons? ” His only answer was a shrug. ‘“T demand to be told why you sent those people away.” There was another hunch of his shoulders. “Do you mean deliberately to keep me out here in this boat all night?” “Oh, not at all!” he said easily. “Then why did you—” “Sorry. Can’t explain.” Miss Chalmers sat down with a gasp and tried to consider the situation. It was past midnight. The launch was slowly drifting down-stream in a steadily broadening channel. The boatman was unable to operate his en- gine, and had refused an offer of help. THE ARGOSY. He was probably mad. She wondered if he was dangerous. For several minutes she sat in si- lence, watching him as he fussed about the machinery in an amateurish fash- ion. Then she gritted her teeth and aroused herself to action. “Get out of the way!” she com- manded. : He moved to make a place for her, and once more she knelt on the greasy flooring. Very patiently, considering the state of her emotions, Miss Chal- mers went over the engine again. She shoek her head, puzzled. Noth- ing seemed to be wrong with it. Sud- denly she turned to him. “Where’s your gas-tank?”’ she de- manded. “Forward. But you needn’t look there. There’s plenty. I filled it—” She seized the lantern and began climbing over the trunks; she was not going to take the word of an incom- petent. Her white gown suffered dis- mally as she scrambled in the direction of the gasoline - tank, and she had a sinking sensation that the spectacle afforded to the boatman was lacking in dignity. But she was determined, and tried to comfort herself with the thought that it was quite dark. She located the tank and unscrewed the cap. The aperture was large enough to admit her hand and arm; in she plunged them resolutely. The tank was nearly full. She replaced the cap and crawled aft again. Then the boatman did a strangely considerate thing. He turned his back and pretended to be doing something to the engine, while Miss Chalmers slipped down from the trunks and shook her skirt about her ankles. She made a mental note of it. “Where does your gas-line run?” she asked briskly. “ Gas-line? ”’ “Oh, the pipe that connects the tank with the engine!” she cried in exas- peration. “Don’t you know any- thing?” The boatman grinned cheerfully. COPMICLOOOKS (E@)