The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

432 “General principles, Howard. We learned a few things from the Finn, of course, and Miss Peabody seemed mighty anxious to leave your ship.” “Huh! You ain’t seen her, ashore?” “T tried to hard enough,” and Blake grinned to himself. “But she wasn’t in sight around the house, and your men nabbed me before I got farther.” All of which was essentially true, and drew another grunt of satisfaction from the. bull-like skipper, who plainly thought that he had measured up his captive at last. “Listen here,” and Howard leaned for- ward earnestly, ‘‘Miss Peabody chartered my ship to come here, see? I ain’t playin’ against her none whatever—I’m_ buckin’ Marshall’s game. He’s the guy that’s tryin’ to cheat her. <Ain’t you willin’ to stand up an’ fight fer a skirt, Dude?” “Tf Miss Peabody’s business is safe with ‘you,” rejoined Blake promptly, “then set me free and count me in to whip Marshall. I’ve skipped his ship, and I’m willing to help secure Miss Peabody’s interests. That’s all I have to say.” “And it’s enough for me, my bucko.”’ With a great show of candor Howard caught Blake’s wrists and loosened the rope. “Vou name’s Blake, ain’t it? Well, I don’t want you puttin’ any o’ my bullies out 0’ commission, and Bingham’s gone—damn that Forrester! We want fighters, not sea- men. You'll live aft an’ rank as actin’ sec- ond mate.” “That suits me,” said Blake quietly. Howard nodded as if well pleased, and led Blake to a berth off the cabin, after which he resumed the deck. * “Not so bad!” reflected the new second officer of the John Foster. “You didn’t fool me a little bit, Cap’n Slick Howard! I'll spring a big surprise on you one of these days—and meantime, I’d better rest up while I can.” Whereupon Jack Blake rolled into his berth, chuckled anew at the “slickness” of the astute Captain Howard, and fell asleep. He could not afford to worry over the anxiety his absence might cause Wicliff, and knew that his whereabouts would soon be descried from shore by the missionary. All things considered, it was a stroke of luck which had brought about his presence on the Foster; especially as he would be in a position to take an active hand in affairs were any shore raid contemplated by How- ard. THE ARGOSY. Blake’s appearance on deck the next morning was greeted by a yell and a volley of abuse from the Marshall; while, closer at hand, the consternation of Cutlip Sulli- van was evident on the discovery of Blake’s new position. It was not so with Keough and young Boston, however; they were plainly glad to see Blake again, and Big Frank expressed decided satisfaction when Howard assigned Blake in charge of the diving pumps. The Foster had two excellent diving suits. Promptly after breakfast the pumps were manned and Keough went down again. A man from the rival ship was also down, but as the Marshall’s pumps were rigged on the opposite side of the forecastle from the Foster, Blake could not make out the iden- tity of the diver. This was not long in doubt, however. : After twenty minutes below Keough came up, his copper helmet was unscrewed, and he reported that the Marshall was an- chored squarely over the stern portion of the wreck. The Foster lay twenty fathoms too far up to work on the stern, which hung on a crag of reef in shallow water, but lay over the bows where they had been found on the previous day. ‘We want to rummage in the stern, not the bows, you lunkhead!” raved Howard furiously. “Get below again! Ain’t you man enough to hold up your end with any- body Marshall can send down? Yovur’re big enough to eat old Steelfist himself!” “Well, it zs Steelfist!” growled Keough surlily, displaying a long scratch on his rubber sleeve. “I laid over to him, an’ he come at me with his knife. I come up to git one for myself.” ‘Why in thunder didn’t you say so? You come up like a dumb fool an’ peel off pala- ver about bows an’ sterns—want me to go down myself? What the—” “Oh, shut yer head!” snapped Keough, — in a rage. “Gimme a knife an’ I'll git the son of a dogfish myself. What you s’pose I shipped in yer stinkin’ old barge fer?” Provided with a long knife from the gal- ley, Keough turned to Blake. “Give us plenty o’ rope, Dude, an’ keep them rats pumpin’ steady, will you? I’m a-goin’ to draw blood this time.” : The helmet was screwed on, and Keough vanished. For five minutes Blake watched the line run out, then came a signal for less air. Howard was himself tending the lines, EOPMNICLOC (C <S (E@)