Argosy: The Short Story Magazine — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

26 } "ow. 8. MONEY | Yer can’t open yer trap without she tells yer what yer said wrong. — Yer know, Slim, ’er-sister-married-beneatf-’er sort of style.” “Cheer up,” Slim laughed. ‘“‘ Perhaps she’ll get wed one day, and yer’ll be rid of ’er.” ‘““ Lizzie get married? Fat chance! No man’d ’ave ’er, the crabby old witch.” Then the Bosun’ s bellow reverberated along the alleyway. “Stand by, yer lot o’ sojers.”’ So we turned to, let go the ropes, and set off on another voyage. The trip wasn’t a long one, only to Brazil and back. ‘Tiger stayed with us all the way; he’d made the ship his home, and no ene was going to evict him. Not by putting him ashore, anyway, and though he was disliked by most crew members, no one gave him a passage overside. He was a great arrogant, supercilious brute, and cared for neither man nor beast. You would find him parked in your room —having already been thrown out of someone else’s—curled up in the softest, most comfortable spot on settee or bunk. “ Hey, Tiger, scram!” No sign. Shake him thoroughly and he might open one baleful eye, an eye with a fierce glint that plainly said, ‘“‘Scram yourself, Buster!’’ and go back to his dreams ef female felines and full cream milk. There was only one way. Grab him by the scruff of the neck and fling him out. Charlie watched me one day as I carried out this bouncing of Tiger. As the cat landed on the deck it arched its back, stood stock-still for about ten seconds while those mysterious eyes blazed cold hatred, until I really began to fear he would fly at me, to scratch, bite, and claw like a jungle wildcat. Then, stiff-legged, his tail straight up in the air, a banner of defiance, he walked— not ran—into the alleyway, the perfect picture of dumb insolence. As the disdainful creature stalked by, I could read Charlie’s thoughts. He was in two minds whether or not he should help it along the passage with his boot. ‘‘ Just like our cat at ome, Mac,” he informed me. “ So ’elp me, one of these days I'll do for ’im.” Before very long he had an idea for achieving that ambition, at least in part. We loaded up the Amazon, and by the time we left there, the ship was nearly down to the scuppers with livestock. We all bought something either furred or feathered and, homeward- bound, our accommodation was as rowdy as Regent’s Park Zoo at feeding-time. ‘There were parrots and parakeets, macaws and lovebirds, and monkeys of all ages and sizes. Charlie the cat-hater had invested in a vicious parrot, which, before we docked in London, he hoped to have swearing like a eomlcbookaeenm “ <5