The Argosy, Volume XLIV — page 165: what you’re looking at

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

PLAYING A SURE GAME. out what was afoot with that young man. It was, as the historian has averred, a beautiful day for a sail. The ecstasy of the Rev. Van Noonck took so strong a hold on him that he really said “ By ginger!” when Sammy Kloom let the Surf go merrily out on the beautiful blue-green sea. Mrs. Thorpe sat dignified and dry in the stern. It was a cabin boat with open cock-pit. Mr. Kloom was a born sailor. His smile as he measured the distance from where he stood to the sea plug was of a dimension unfit for publication. And he saw the hundred good American dollars looming up on the horizon. ‘* Ah, to sail thus smoothly on life’s summer sea!” quoth the Rev. Mr. Van Noonck. “ We, my dear, will ever strive to have our sea smooth and with no waves of adversity, only ripples of mirth and pleasure.” Miss Thorpe, who could not imagine a ripple of mirth connected with Mr. Van Noonck, saw a tarpon, caught by a fisherman without any poetry about him, leap from the water. <6 It’s too strenuous to strive,” she said, and Mr. Van Noonck thought things. “This is really delightful,” observed Mrs. Thorpe. “I love the sea—ain its milder moods.” “T love it always,” said Nell. “Ah, but it plays tricks,” remarked Mr. Thorpe. “I remember when we were going from Buenos Ayres to——” “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, don’t tell that again. I’ve heard it a million times. Look out there, Mr. Kloom|! The boom! Mr. Kloom! The boom! That’s poetry.” Mr. Van Noonck thought it was cold, hard prose when the boom swung and caught him under the left ear. The ear remained left, but his hat went sail- ing o’er the boundless sea. “Why didn’t you call to Mr. Van Noonck about the boom instead of to Mr. Kloom?” asked Mrs. Thorpe. “Because,” said Nell mildly, “ Mr. Kloom had the boom.” Meanwhile the smile on Mr. Kloom’s face was gaining alarming dimensions. He studied the girl. He studied the 11a 161 father and the mother of the girl. Above all, and more than all, he studied Mr. Van Noonck. “ Dat ar sea plug gotter come out,” he muttered to himself. It was certainly a delightful sail. Nothing can equal a calm day in Florida waters at the same time of year New England is having Christmas, with snow and ice and bells and frozen ears. A calm, dry day in December or Jan- uary, a boat that sailed as well as the Surf, and with a boatman like Sammy Kloom—this is a combination to pro- voke.a reveling among the gods. Anastasia Island sank out of sight as the Surf plowed her way along. Nell wanted to fish. Every time Mr. Kloom had taken out a sailing party some one had wanted to fish. He al- ways had tackle and bait. Nell fished. Mr. Van Noonck looked on disapprov- ingly. It was not seemly, he thought, for women to fish or hunt or play golf. Had he known that Nell held the rec- ord for long distance swimming, clay pigeon ‘shooting, and hurdle jumping for women, he might have looked more severe, but that seemed scarcely pos- sible. Nell caught a fish. It was of the long, lean kind that does things. Fish are much like men. A fat, wabbly, sloppy-weather fish will permit himself to be caught, and begin to gasp as soon as he is out of the water. But your lean, wiry, tough customer starts to tangle up things at once. You get a run for your money with a long, lean fish. Mr. Van Noonck, now bareheaded, became anxious about his coat. He was worth a million, but that coat cost forty dollars. And the fish, aided somehow by a kick from the big flat sole of Sammy Kloom’s shoe, smacked. Mr. Van Noonck amidships, and left a slimy mark across the breast of his immacu- late coat. Mr. Van Noonck was grieved. His ancestors on the female side had not done such things. Fishing over, the sail was resumed. Rat Island loomed up ahead, as much as a flat, sandy waste can loom. COL (G AOOLK (COL