Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 1, 1922 — page 162: what you’re looking at

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

952 ing or print he was‘now obliged to resort to spectacles. At this moment he was wear- ing the ‘“ specs ” and reading a letter from his wife. The steel-framed lenses gave a curiously mild, scholarly distinction to an otherwise disreputable exterior. The Queen’s com- mander invariably wore a mangy old uni- form cap which bore the faded gilt title, “Captain.” It was thrust far back on his wild shock of hair. As invariably he wore a red flannel shirt, and the suspenders in- trusted with the care of his trousers usual- ly dangled freely about his hips, causing alarm among strangers lest the trousers slip their moorings. To a certain extent the spectables ameliorated this dishevelment as he sat in the Queen’s boxlike pilothouse, sucking at a grimed corncob pipe, tipping up his head and peering benevolently at Mary Hood’s letter. One or two days of the week Fog Horn spent with his wife at home on their ranch on Chuckanut Bay. The other days he piloted the hump-backed, dreary gray coat- ed little freighter on her many errands for the Halsey Navigation and Freighting Company. Every day of his absence his wife mailed her husband a letter. Years ago this curious pair of turtle doves had ex- hausted topics for correspondence. There was no longer need of much speech between them, so well did they understand each other. In lieu of writing, Fog Horn’s wife daily sent him a batch of news items clipped from the various papers, items of any sort she thought might interest her lord and master. Fog Horn always found time to read them as eagerly as a girl of sixteen reading her first love letter. Mr. Olson, the Queen’s first officer, came into the pilot house. “ We ban all cleaned up on freight,” he announced. ‘‘ Ay stowed dose milk crates for Fir Point forward. She ban all ready, sir.” Fog Horn nodded absently. “ All right, Olson. We clear in a few minutes. Stand by.” Olson nodded, then added slowly, “Young faller on dock he asks me would we take two passengers to Bellingham to- night.” “Hell, no! This ain’t no passenger ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. boat. Ain’t been for twenty years, you know that—”’ ** Ay tall him so.” “‘ Not but she ain’t as fitten to be a pas- senger boat as the Councilor,” Fog Horn added hurriedly, ever jealous of the big, rival steamer that had taken away what lit- tle passenger business the Queen had left. ““ But we don’t take no passengers. Can’t mess up with ’em on a freighter.” “Yah. Ay tall him that, too. Young faller says he would pay double fare—” ‘“‘He can save his money and ride on Bown’s boat.” “Vah. Ay tall him that, too. he don’t like das Councilor. shall go on Queen—” “Then he can take a train. Hell’s bells, we ain’t runnin’-no excursions if it was the President of the United States asked us to. What’s he want to ride on a flea bitten old scow like this for? Did you throw him off the dock like you should?” “He ban nice young faller,’’ Olson said deprecatingly, ‘“‘ but Ay gass he understand all right.” “* Well, he’d better! Sounds fishy to me, tryin’ to ride on the Queen at midnight and all like this. Maybe he’s tryin’ to slip away from the police. First time I heard the old Queen was so popular with the travelin’ public.” Fog Horn voiced his jealousy for the little freighter’s dashing rival in his grumbling. Publicly, nothing could make him admit the Queen was no longer the equal of anything afloat. Privately he had to acknowledge the bitter truth. He changed the subject abruptly. ‘“ Olson, Richmond P. Bown’s girl’s going to get married!” 9 Yeah?” “‘ So it says here in this piece from a pa- per Mary sent me. A piece from—uh—”’ he peered more intently; “a piece from the Seattle Planet. Listen: “The wedding of’Miss Callie Bown, daugh- ter of Mr. and Mrs. Richmond P. Bown, to Mr. Wallace Vanderhoeven Schuyler, of New York, at high noon Friday the thirteenth, is the all absorbing ‘opic among social circles this week. The nuptials of the daughter of the prominent shipping magnate and the son of a nationally known Eastern family will be solemnized by the Rev. Dr. Aloysius J. Maybe He wants he comicloool C©