The Argosy, Vol. 81, No. 4 — page 157: what you’re looking at

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

CASTLES IN “Anything you want, of course, Captain Bradley.” The purser spoke soothingly. “We are quite full up this trip, but I think I can fix you satisfactorily. Come right aboard, sir. Hadn’t you better take my arm? I’m afraid you'll find it a little steep going up the plank here.” Tom hooked on to the elbow presented to him, and allowed himself to be guided stum- blingly forward. Just as he started to set his foot on the gangplank, however, he paused, pretending to catch sight of the cab driver who was edging in toward them. “Oh, by the way, purser,” and he waved a lordly hand, “settle for my taxi, will your Y’ see,” he giggled, as the deluded official obligingly dived his hand into his pocket, “T’ve come off without a cent, and without even a Clean collar. Guess I'll have to bor- row all the way to Norfolk? Eh, what?” “Don’t you worry about that, Captain Bradley. We'll see you through all right. Whatever you want, that you don’t see, just ask for. And now shall we go ahead, sir?” The two slowly ascended the sloping way, while the taxi driver, looking startled, turned back to his cab. “Well, what do you know about that?” he muttered as he drove away. “I would have swore that feller was sober as a judge when I took him on; yet, here when I lands him, he is fair pickled. Never did I see red liquor take a man so quick before.” In the meantime, Tom Bradley, turned over to the fostering care of a steward with instructions that he be shown every atten- tion, had been conducted to the most gorgeous cabin on the boat, and alone at last, was felicitating himself upon the full success of his daring coup. “Talk about falling inte clover!” he chuckled. “Could anybody want it softer than this? And the joke of it is, that the very man who’s trying hardest to catch me is the one that’s putting up for my get- away. “<Anything you want, Captain Brad- ley,” he mimicked the obsequious tone of the purser. “Well, I guess the Bradley es- tate will have some juicy bills to pay for this trip. And it isn’t stealing, either. I am simply taking what by right belongs to my- self. Oh, I can imagine how my dear cousin will cut up when he finds how neatly he has been sold. That is,” he sobered somewhat suddenly at a suggestion which had come to him, “if the darned wireless don’t happen to tip it off what’s been done.” THE AIR. f Even this very imminent probability failed to make any deep impression on him, however. He had been too successful in slipping through the drag-net of the police and getting out of New York unappre- hended to believe that any untoward cir- cumstance could not arise to interfere with his escape. “Something will turn up,” he told himself confidently, ‘“‘static conditions, maybe, or a break-down of the apparatus, to keep them from getting on to the play until I am safe landed at Norfolk with a wad of their good money in my pocket.” And laying this flattering unction to his soul, he arrayed himself in a suit of the purser’s pajamas, and retired comfortably to bed. But whether there was some lurking un- easiness over the outcome in the back of his brain, or whether the exciting episodes of the evening still held sway over him, he found it impossible to get to sleep. The throbbing of the machinery dis- turbed him; he found himself listening to the sound of footfalls on the deck outside; finally, two passengers who occupied an ad- joining stateroom entered and started to engage upon a Seemingly endless discussion. Tom strove to shut his ears to the low hum of their conversation, but in vain. The stateroom partitions on the Essbee were not calculated to deaden sound, and every word that was uttered, although his two neigli- bors were evidently making an effort to speak in an undertone, reached him dis- tinctly. He tossed and turned upon his pillow, coughed to let the men know that they were being overheard, pulled the bedclothes up over his head, tried to divert his thoughts to other channels; but it was no use. Stub- bornly the two next door kept up their low- toned colloquy. “Might as well be next to a cage of poll parrots,” he growled at length. “What’s the use of being owner of the line if you have to have your night’s rest spoiled by a couple of pests like that?” He reached out a hand for the push-but- ton, intending to summon a steward and voice his complaint; but halted in his pur- pose as he caught a remark from the other side of the partition. “By George!” he breathed softly. “I guess I won’t muzzle them just yet a while after all.” He drew back his thumb from the push- 723 COPMICGLOOKS (E©)