Argosy, Vol. 111, No. 1 — page 112: what you’re looking at

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

102 drunken, upright from his loins, but with legs paralyzed by liquor, was making lewd advances to a woman who was anything but a prude. With Sime, McKay had spilled his liquor on the ground, and, as far as he could, he had kept an eye on the boys. Now he collected them, staggering but still capable of walking, and they got away unseen and down to the beach, where the boat was waiting for them. ‘Another ‘blow-out like that,’ said Sime, “and I quit. I’ve seen the wild ani- mals fed in circus cages, but, believe me, they were kings and queens beside that bunch. I’ve seen a wild man fed his raw meat on a pitch-fork, and I’ve seen Bosco eat ’em alive, and they were also-rans, [’ll take my chow aboard ship after this. I’m no dude, but I know manners when I see em, and pigs are gents compared to those gobblers.” CHAPTER IX. BLIGH PUNISHES. "THE native sailor turned and grinned at Larkin. ““Kapitani, he tell me take everything belong along white Mary away his cabin. He speak, suppose anything I like, I keep.” ‘* Let me see that stuff.” The boy_promptly dumped upon the floor of the main cabin the few belongings that Pualele had brought aboard the Wave in her hasty elopement. A _ necklace of coral he had already appropriated and placed about his own neck. Larkin turned over the garments thoughtfully. He did not want to go against Bligh’s orders, neither could he contemplate the idea of the girl’s clothing going to adorn native women for the purposes of laughter and - ribald vanities. He remembered very clearly the first time he had seen Pualele, sweet and slen- der and charming in her frock of white‘ muslin, a wreath of pulmaria blossoms about her shoulders, walking down an ave- nue of royal palms in a Tahiti garden, a vivid red parasol above her head with its coronel of glossy tresses, blacker than polished ebony. THE ARGOSY. ‘Something more you want?” he asked the boy. ‘ Better I keep. Sometime may- be some more white Mary come aboard. Maybe she like.” | _ The boy grinned again. He could ap- preciate this sort of thing aboard the Wave, but he still looked longingly at a white- backed hair-brush and a comb of turtle- shell. “What for you want this?” laughed Larkin. “ You not got wife, Imu. I put this all away. Instead I give you tabaki?” Imu promptly extended his hand, and Larkin took twelve sticks of trade tobacco from a locker and handed it to him. Then he began to fold up the clothes and make a-bundle of them. Imu went away, and Larkin took the things into his own cabin. He completed his parcel, bound it with paper and string, and put it away beneath his bunk, retaining one article, a photo- graph of herself that Pualele had brought aboard, and which had held place of honor in Bligh’s master’s cabin until that morn- ing. It was a snap-shot that had been en- larged, and a good picture of the girl’s al- luring beauty. Larkin was an older man than Bligh, but he had long been content to play jackal to the other’s lion, to trail in the reflected glory of Bligh’s deeds and misdeeds, the nebuia to the skipper’s comet. He admired Bligh’s masterful ways with women and with men, his successes by land and sea, his seamanship, his daring, his good looks and energy. Without his attachment to Bligh he would have been a third-rater, living as a third-rater. As it was, he got second-help- ing to most of Bligh’s dishes, so far as flesh-pots were concerned. He made him- self useful to Bligh in many ways; he was his dog, his messenger. Through Bligh he made more money than he would have otherwise, and he enjoyed what he fancied was high life. To walk as intimate with Bligh into South Sea groggeries, or swagger beside him into the better hotels, spending and drinking, ogling the women, pointed out as “ That’s Bligh, of the Wave, and the chap with him is Larkin, his boss super- cargo,” had been the meat of life’s nut- GOMIIG OOO SS (C@