Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 23, 1924 — page 136: what you’re looking at

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

294 “Oh, I ain’t no poet.” Then, bristling with an idea, he elucidated. “ Ah tells you, Salambo, a lot of dese nigger waiters you see floatin’ aroun’ heah, thenk dey know a helluva lot, but half uv ’m ain’t know a crying thing. Not a crying thing! You see me? You don’t see me go chasing aroun’ de deck beefin’ as how I kin do dis and dat, is ya?” “Sing another poetry, Silver King,” Sa- lambo urged, bewitched by the flow of gold- en language that fell from the other’s lips. “Let ma see— Ah, lissen to dis: “Ef luck don’t change Aroun’ heah Thar’s gwine be some stealin’ done. “Ef luck don’t change Aroun’ heah Thar's gwine be some stealin’ done. “Boy, who says I ain’t no poet? Man, I is a poetizin’ fool, I is! Heah. Salambo, lissen to dis one: “Vou say you gwine a fishin’ I'm gwine a fishin’, too. You can bet yo’ life Dat your lovin’ wife Will ketch mo’ fish ’an you!” His reputation as a poet established, it was well-nigh impossible for the Silver King to keep his feet on the ground. He had ut- terly and effectually eclipsed Salambo as the ship’s warbling bard. Henceforth it was the act of a drowning man seizing a straw - for Salambo even to attempt to tweedle a lyre. But this did not dampen the Porto Rican’s ardor. The poet in him cried out for a hearing. This time the instinct to create found expression in the dance. While the Silver King would be “ making poetry ” Salambo would be dancing a plena—danc- ing “ on the point of a nail.” For the occa- sion he exhumed an old Spanish street song, “ Carabelita,” he used to adore as a boy in San Juan: “T drink Carabelita rum, Although I die of stomach ache. I dance on the point of a nail, Although my parents don’t want me to.” Winning laurels as a poet had gone to the Silver King’s head. It was difficult for even ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Salambo to get him to sit on the deck at night and gaze at the opalescent stars and the dream-swept sky. However, the night before the ship docked at Porto Cortez, Sa- Jambo had something of great moment to say to the Silver King. After polishing up, the latter came out on the hatch, Sa- lambo beside him. ‘You know, Silver King, I am going to desert the ship at Porto Cortez.” “ You gwine do what?” “ Quit at Porto Cortez. I am going, and { want you to help me with my things.” “For Gawd’s sake, man, where you get that idea at?” “You see, I have a girl in Porto Cor- tez—” A loud, harsh, bantering laugh interrupt- ed him. All seriousness gone from his face, the Silver King rolled over and over the hatch, holding his splitting sides. ‘Well, ef you ain’t de funniest man [I evah seen befo’. Boy, is dat whut you gwine quit de boat fo’? Ain’t you got no mo’ sense ’n dat?” “Tam going to get married—” “Zat so? Well, wouldn’t dat kill ya? Marry! Wha’ fo’?” ““'You don’t understand, Silver King. Elisa is a lady—a nice Spanish lady—and I love her. She has consented to marry me.”’ “ Well, well, to think dat some men is still as dum’ as all dat. Boy, ain’t you got no sense? Is you sick? Wha’ you gwine marry she fo’? You ain’t got to marry no wench nowadays. Say, let me tell you somethin’. Don’t nevah marry no woman, you heah? Ain’t a doggone one 0’ "em no good—” “But I love Elisa,” Salambo expostu- lated, desperately. “‘ Besides, she is a lady.” ‘“* Wha’ you mean, ‘a lady ’?” The Sil- ver King was suspicious. ‘Don’t you know what a lady is? Some one who is clean, noble, honorable—”’ “Say, lissen, tie dat bull outside. You can’t hand me none o’ dat gaff. Ma name ain’t Green. Wha’ do ya think I bin gwine ter sea all dese years fo’? I ain’t no monkey chaser,” ‘“T know, Silver King, but Elisa is a dif- ferent sort of girl—” (Eo) DOOKS (E@)