Argosy, Vol. 85, No. 3 — page 114: what you’re looking at

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

456 She had just time to take out two folded papers, yellowed by age, and to replace the beam, with the tongue thrust back into place, when a slight scraping outside one of the yawning window open- ings made her switch off the light and hide behind a pile of old lumber in a far corner. Listening intently, she knew that the scraping was caused by the placing of a THE ARGOSY. ladder against the outside wall. She could hear labored breathing, and then three men crawled in and stood still. It was very dark, but the stars enabled her to make out the outlines of the three intruders. She saw that one was thin and rather tall, another shorter and stocky of build, and the third a burly individual who seemed to be in command. (Fo Be Concluded.) I. F course, when a man is being paid a hundred and forty a month by a young millionaire as wireless op- erator on said millionaire’s yacht, and he is only a second-rate amateur at wire- less anyhow—it’s hardly appropriate to step up to the gift horse, pull its teeth apart, and start criticising the beast. But I maintained a certain degree of independence by quarreling with my boss about twice as often as I really wanted to. I had got through college on the money he had paid me to get him through. “ But, my Lord, man,” I had once de- manded of him, “ what in the world are you getting out of your education?”’ “An awful lot of fun, you old grind,” Louis Hartman had retorted. ‘“ And the use of your brains is the least expensive part of most of it.” “ But—what will you know?” “Why should I know anything? Al- bY George M.A.Cain DS » ways sure of being able to hire somebody else to do the knowing.” It was wofully true. The millions old Gottfried Hartmann made out of sausage will keep Louis busy spending them for a long while—especially if he always hires somebody else to run the business. Of course he didn’t live down to his idiotic philosophy. If he had I’d never have accepted his invitation for that win- ter’s cruise around the West Indies. As I said before, I could afford to argue with him quite heatedly; but it wasn’t my place to tell hint where to take his yacht. But, when he dropped a light anchor half a mile off what looked like a big ash heap or coal dump with a fringe of unhealthy palms around it—having sailed four days from as sun-kissed and amusement-pro- ~ viding a little harbor as ever lured other yachtsmen like himself—I was ready to get down to personalities. It was probably the last yachting trip I’d ever have. Then, having ordered the MICLOOOK C© inn