Argosy All-Story Weekly — 'The Metal Monster' — page 75: what you’re looking at

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

FHE DERELICT, with an expression of amazement in her eyes. ‘““ He makes a tragedy of it!” she said to herself. ‘‘ Mest men would make it a yest!” A step heside Ber interrupted her musing. She looked up to find the captam gazing down at her quizzically. ‘* Time heavy on your hands, Katrina?” he asked gently. “I saw you talking to Mr. Thorpe. He—lI’m not quite sure he is just the right kind of man. Oh, he’s ali right, I dare say; but—” ‘He told me,” the girl interrupted m- patiently— he told me he came aboard intoxicated. He is ashamed. I don’t think ' @ man who is ashamed ts the wrong kind, Captain Buchanan.” The skipper smiled amusedly. ‘ What de- you know about the right kind and the wrong kind of men, Jim Fleming’s kid?” he asked affectionately. But the bronze eyes looked swiftly away fram his, and the woman turned as con- versation. “How daddy would enjoy this, if he were—here.” “ There wasn’t a man living who loved. the sez more than he did!” Captain Bu- chanan agreed. “By glory, but he could write about it, too! Small wonder you love ships and ships’ matters,. Katrina! You knew more of such things as a child than ever you did of dolls, I warrant!” ‘“‘T never knew anything of dolls,” the girl answered wistfully. ‘“ Ships ”—her breath caught and -her mood swiftly changed—‘‘ ships are wonderful!”’ The captain laid a brown hand on the rail of the Barbuda. There was a queer look in bis eyes and 8 wry smile about his lips. “ There isn’t anything wonderful about. this particular ship, my dear, except to keep the chief and me awake nights, won- dering how we can reduce expenses for the company. She’s a glutton for coal and things. But ‘seaworthy.’ She passes in- spection. There’s nothing vital the matter with her. She just— There! I’m getting old and fussy!” he broke off shortly. “ And the glass is doing a sort of—what do. they - cal that dance?—a shimmy. There’s one of those West Indian hurricanes chasing its tail about, and I’ve never learned to care affectionately for ’em!”’ He paused and his anxious eyes swept the horizon. When he spoke again, his voice sounded old and tired to Katrina— old and tired and rather discouraged. “ You see, my dear, when we grow eld in the service, we begin fo look backward upon. our successful years. Never anything to mar our records yet. And that’s what makes us fear all the time: that possible — chance of something happening now that we're old—something that wilk wipe out these years-we have given of our lives, and that will blot our papers, ‘ Lost his ship.’ Talk about the ‘Sword of Damacles’! Glory, but it’s a nightmare life to lead!” And Captain Buchanan, shaking his griz- zled head, made his way to the bridge- ladder, leaving Katrina in deep thought. The scrap-log of the Barbuda, up to the present, had been a record of calm seas and uneventful progress. The weather was behaving like a lady—it was ideal “ tourist weather.” But this day—a scrap of paper posted at the turn of the main companionway showed the Barbuda’s position to be n 27 degrees 50 mimutes north latitude, 71 de grees 30 minutes west longitude, at noon— this day the scrap-log began to look more like real seafaring. Captain Buchanan paced the bridgé thoughtfully, his eyes habitually sweeping the far horizon. The unusually clear at- mosphere—a condition that precedes hurri- canes—made that horizon look abnormally far off. It was a breathless day, without a puff of wind. The Barbuda sailed through a sea hike glass—a sinister se@—a sea preg- nant with hidden intentions, Captam Buchanan sighed. Like faskes on the screen at a motion-picture, scenes and faces moved across his mind’s eye. ‘Poor little Katrina! Old Jim Flem- ing’s little queer kid! Glory, but Jim could write sea yarns! He knew the sea! Ka- trma—if she’d been a boy, now! Why, she’d be a skipper in her twenties! She knows shins and ships’ business better than many of the mates I’ve had.” He shook his head sadly. a without a soul in the CORDIC OOO UN S (CO