Argosy All-Story Weekly — 'The Metal Monster' — page 72: what you’re looking at

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

66 to bed. It’s half past eleven now, sir. Luncheon will be served in an hour. I think you’d feel better if you ate some- thing.” ~ | “Eat?” Thorpe’s entire body was one shudder of revolt at the idea. “T'll send you something to fix you up. —something that will make you feel bet- ter,” the chief steward soothed. ‘“ Then I’ll send you something to eat in another hour. We’re rolling a bit, so you better lie quiet. You'll probably sleep off your— your seasickness by to-morrow.” Thorpe heard the door open and close again, as the steward departed. Seasickness? Thorpe lay still and tried not to think. It made him dizzy. But somehow, in spite of the discomfort it caused him, his mind insisted upon work- ing. “To begin with, what in heil am I doing aboard a ship called the Barbuda? I never heard of her before. She sounds like some sort of a cigar. Sailed from Brooklyn— I never sailed from Brooklyn before. Seems to me those steamers sailing from Brooklyn are bound mostly to the Indies and South America.” A tap at his door mterrupted his thoughts. To his ‘ Come!” there entered a short, heavily built flunky in white jacket. “Good morning, sir,” this person said deferentially. ‘“ Feeling any better, sire?’ Thorpe winced. ‘““T wish people wouldn’t even mention my feelings,” he complained. The man held a tray in his hand on which was a frost-covered glass. “ Shall I hold this for you, sir? Or will you sit up?” Thorpe looked at him wildly. “ Sit up? Not if we were sinking! Can’t you say anything that doesn’t make me feel worse?” The man lifted the glass from the tray and held it to Thorpe’s lips. “ Drink it all, sir,” he said soothingly. “ It would put life into a corpse.” Thorpe groaned. “ Man, if.I were lucky enough to be a corpse, I wouldn’t want life put back into me!”’ The man slipped a gentle hand beneath - ‘Thorpe’s head and, in spite of a stifled pro- test, held the glass to his lips. A cool and ¢ 4 2 av e _ e . YJ 4q ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. refreshing liquid touched tthe hot lips, and Thorpe drained the glass. Then the man eased him down on the pillow again. “Tf you could sleep until lunch-time, sir,” he suggested, “it would be a good thing. You'll probably wake up feeling more fit. And then a cold salt-bath, if I might prescribe for you.”’ “It sounds quite beautiful—all except the food,” Thorpe agreed. “ And you might add a shave—if I’m still alive this afternoon.”’ “Yes, sir. But better let me bring you something to eat. You’ve no idea how much -better it will make you feel.” ‘I can’t imagine anything short of death making me feel better,’”’ Thorpe groaned. “But I’m helpless. Have your way. By the way, who are your” ‘Second steward, sir. Name’s Godfrey. ” “* Second steward? But youre white. Wasn’t that chief steward colored?” The man’s face flushed a trifle. ‘‘ He is colored. And he is my superior aboard the Barbuda, if that’s what you mean. I took this berth—because I needed it.” He stopped abruptly and turned toward the door. “Sorry!”? Thorpe murmured apologeti- cally. ‘“ D’ you mind waiting just a minute and giving me some information? I’m a bit muddled. You see, I used to be Law- rence Thorpe, a perfectly respectable bach- elor with an apartment at the Creighton Arms and a valet named Golding. © Just at present I seem to be a changeling. That dusky chief steward told me, a little while ago, that I came aboard this ship—I’ve forgotten her name—” ‘ Barbuda, sir,” the man prompted him. “ Oh, yes, Barbuda. I came aboard her, ill, in Brooklyn yesterday.” He stopped and looked up at the second steward. “I was drunk, wasn’t I?” he questioned bluntly. For an instant the man hesitated. Then, seeing the look in Thorpe’ s eyes, he an- swered simply: ‘ Yes, sir.” “Do you know if I had any baggage with me?” ‘Yes, sir. You had a great deal. Your steamer-trunk is beneath the berth. The other trunks are in the hold.” ecomiclooolkks (CO