The Argosy, Volume XLIV — page 161: what you’re looking at

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

PLAYING A SURE GAME. It meant a boat, which would put a dollar in Mr. Kloom’s pocket. It meant a complete outfit for all kinds of fish- ing, for Mr. Yarrow was of that nature that could brook no sulkiness on the part of fish, and if one kind didn’t bite, he tried for another. It also meant something in the way of lunch, and a bottle that must come from a well hoarded stock, and must be charged for accordingly. So, with his bland and expansive smile broadening and expanding till it seemed as though Mr. Kloom was trying to lose the upper portion of his “ haid,” he set about try- ing to outfit the visitor. While Mr. Kloom prepared the tackle, Mr. Yarrow read that letter for the hundred and twelfth time, and then said “ damn” with emphasis. There was a small sailing boat, a sort of cross between an underfed catboat and a half grown sloop, with a wide, flat bottom, a broad beam, plenty of room to move around in, and a spring that eternally bubbled up from its bows. As for that, ’most all of Sammy’s boats leaked. _- The name of this boat was Hypatia, and the newness of the painted name as compared with the dingy dullness of the sides was in a way an explanation that Sammy had been sailing it under the name of Dove, which Mr. Yarrow pronounced too commonplace, and re- christened the monstrosity Hypatia, a name hideously out of keeping with the flat and unpoetical contour of the craft. Mr. Yarrow was, if nothing else, hu- morous in-his ideas. That was what made his books sell. Having received from Mr. Kloom all that was coming to him, the young au- thor set sail. Sailing the Hypatia was not exhaust- ing work. Yarrow hauled up the sail, fastened the sheets, and sat down to read Eleanor’s letter again. : Then he lolled back in the stern and leaned his head backward in his clasped hands. “ Of all the fools on earth that are not dead, but are still competent to per- form idiotic things, I am the worst,” he said. “ There’s that story to be fin- ished before February, and here’s me 157 with not ambition enough to fill a foun- tain pen with ink. “ But lve got to decide this thing. I love Nell Thorpe. 1 am positive that she loves me. I am equally positive that neither her self-made papa nor her proud mama will approve of me for a son-in-law. Can’t say I blame them any, but it smarts just the same. “ Now, let’s see. Thorpe’s income, at the very least, is fifty thousand a year. Mrs. Thorpe is rich in her own right. I have about a thousand a year from my mother’s estate, and what I make with my pen—no, my _ typewriter. Richard Yarrow, go home and forget it.” , But these things are not forgotten so easily. He did not go home. He fum- bled with a lot of fishing tackle and pretended to fish. A small tarpon took hook, line, pole, and all while he was reading Eleanor’s letter again. ' Mr. Yarrow sailed and sailed, but did no more fishing. He headed for the southeast. He at last passed out of sight of St. Augustine. The mainland of Florida was a hazy line. And then he saw an island. It was a miserable affair, about two acres in ex- tent, having a few palmettos growing in the center. Its very solitude appealed to Mr. Yarrow. He went ashore. He strolled about the island. Per- haps turtles laid their eggs in the sand. Perhaps beautiful ibises came there to rest. Perhaps flamingoes and pelicans had their habitat somewhere. , But Mr. Yarrow saw none of these. He saw simply sand, sand, dreary sand. He sat down in this sand and scrawled the name of a girl therein. “Gosh! How hot this sand is!” he said. Then he walked around some more. “ Pl do it,” he finally said. “Tl go back to New York and beard the lion in his den—I mean in his hide ware- house. Ill have my say even if he kicks me out. I can’t do any more work with- out Nell. With her [ll carve out a name and fortune to beat the band.” Having settled this much, Mr. Yar- row sailed back. It was late in the afternoon when he reached Sammy Kloom’s wharf. ElOOO COL YN S) (COL