The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 32: what you’re looking at

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

406 about Marshall; otherwise—well, that can take care of itself.” Ten minutes later, having added shirt and collar to his rumpled attire, he boarded a Waikiki street-car and was on the way to Diamond Head. That brief, sharp encounter had done more than merely stimulate Jack Blake. It had showed him the all-important fact that “Slick” Howard and his mate were of much the same type as Marshall. Not seamen of the old school, as he had hoped to find them; not bluff, honest, straight-away men who could look Mar- shall’s kind in the eye and bid them go else- where; but men hard of heart, heavy of fist, who had rather spend a year after loot than a month after honest pay. Blake’s idea in seeking the Japanese Inn was quite definite. He wished to observe, the skipper and mate of the John Foster without being seen himself, and, if possi- ble, to make certain whether or not Mary Peabody had placed herself in unsafe hands. He wanted very badly to glean some in- formation which might help him to arrive at a decision regarding his own course. While cogitating how to do so, he turned in at the wooden gate of the inn and stepped up to the veranda, acutely conscious that his hand-me-downs were very different from the correct garb in which he had formerly visited this resort, four years previously. “Misser Blek! Misser Blek!” Blake turned, to find a grinning Jap bow- ing and scraping in delight. After a puzzled moment he recognized the boy as the waiter who had always served him and his father, and whom his father’s tips had always brought to prompt service. “Tani!” he exclaimed quickly. To him- self he added: “I guess dad has left me a better legacy than he ever knew!”’ A glance showed him that they were alone, most of the visitors being on the sea- ward veranda. He turned to the boy with a smile. “Tani, you know Captain Howard?”’ “T know, Misser Blek,” returned Tani, his wooden features immobile again. ‘He come here bimeby.” “Cap’n Howard number Tani?” The wooden face hardly showed expres- sion—it might be said that the grain be- neath showed for an instant. “Number one fella gentleman, here. Number one fella dam pirate no here!” one fella, THE ARGOSY. Blake grinned, determined to seize this rope flung him by fate. “IT guess you’ve got him sized up all right, Tani. What time is he coming?” ‘Him come one minute, two minute, any time coming.” “Here?” “No lanai—catch room, in back-side. Have got ready.” Blake took out his gold piece and weighed it meditatively. A glitter shone in the beady eyes of Tani, who, perhaps, made a shrewd guess at what was coming. ‘Tani, my father was good friend to you, eh?” “T know, Misser Blek. What can do?” “f want to hear what Cap’n Howard talks about. He mustn’t see me. Can do?” Tani bobbed his head. “Can do. Come—I show you.” Blake followed the boy around through the shrubbery and they paused beneath a tree of Golden Shower, whose clusters of yellow bells brushed the side of the inn like a breath of incense. A limb of the tree ran across a cane-screened window, from which a shaded light glowed softly. ‘‘S’pose you sit along tree. I make table by window inside. Can do?” suggested Tani hopefully. ‘“‘Too much flower—no can See inside.” Blake looked up through the tree and saw that even the stars were hidden by the mass of foliage. ‘Fine, Tani! Bring me a chair and some sweet syrup. Here—change this for me.” He handed Tani the gold piece and drew out his pipe. In half a moment the boy padded back with a chair, a little glass of syrup and the change. Keeping out enough to pay his way back to town, Blake re- turned the rest of the coins to the waiter. “Good—run along now, and I’ll not for- get you next time I come.” Grinning, Tani vanished. Blake settled into his chair and filled his pipe. A sigh of satisfaction broke from him as the tobacco bit into his lungs. He was well content to have purchased this hour of peace by a few blows; afterward, he could go back to the ship and decide upon his course of action, as regarded Mary Peabody. Like one deep note sounded the rumble of voices from the seaward veranda, drowned at moments by the slap of wave- lets on the near-by beach; the laughter of women, the tinkle of glasses and the dron- ing, murmurous boom of the surf on the Eomicbdooks (E@)