Life — April 26, 1929 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

Full Fathom Five By F. R. Buckley UT suppose—” “Suppose hell!” shouted the man at the wheel. Slamming forward the clutch-lever, and releasing four hundred marine horse-power to roar in vain competition with the storm, he staggered across the ice- sheeted bridge-deck of the motor- cruiser and spoke bitterly down the companion aft. “Look here, Stimson. I’m doing this for a favor. J haven't got any bigwigs coming to dinner, and if I had they'd get regular Detroit hooch, I've run you over to Canada because you haven't the courage to run your own boat, an’ there’s one devil of a storm on, and I've got my hands full without any cuddy navigation. If you're so scared, dump your darn case of stuff over the side, Want to?” “N—no. I" “Well, then shut up!” bellowed Mr. Waldron. “One more peep out of you, an’ we'll heave to, and I'll come down into the cabin. It’s a damn sight warmer there than it is up here!” He stamped back to his post, and the Martha II surged forward to re- newed battle with Lake St. Clair. “Waldron!” suddenly cried the owner, “there's a light back there! We're being followed!” The man at the wheel said noth- ing. Mr. Stimson grabbed his arm. “Waldron! It’s a red light an’ a green one. It’s a patrol-boat It is! O my God! They'll say I was run- He picked up his case of liquor and z- heaved! s The pilot peered over his own shoul- der; then, with a sharp movement of the wrist, opened the Martha's throttle to the full. She buried her nose; swayed; gathered as it were her pro- peller under her and scudded into the dark. “What you They'll sink us!” “Yeah?” said the man at the wheel. “IT don’t think so. And I’ve had enough of you, Stimson. I’m going to have some fun.” “But they're faster than we are—” “We'll see. Listen, if you're so scared, get your whiskey out on the stern; an’ if they do catch us, shove it overboard. Now get out!” “It’s my boat!” “Yes, an’ when we're back at Grosse Baie you can have it. Right now, I'm runnin’ her, and—” Moaning, Mr. Stimson crawled back into the cabin; and thence, burdened with a case of expensive contraband, into the sleet-filled cockpit still further aft, meditating the while on the van- ity of things—especially of business dinners under the prohibition law. Eight hours in this misery of cold and this still greater misery of fear; a hundred and fifty dollars; and now— arrest! “Ah-o-o-y!” came the ghost of a voice from the other boat. For a mo ment, her searchlight flickered; and Mr. Stimson saw, indubi- table upon her foredeck, a ma- doing? Heave to! “She's coming alongside right now!” moaned Mr. Stimson. A long grey shape, foaming at bow and stern, slid up level with the Martha; while a raucous voice demanded; “Ahoy!” And with _ profanity. “What's the idea? Heave to!” Emotion and exertion made the breath sob in Mr. Stimson’s throat. He picked up his case of liquor and heaved, and heard a dull splash. Just in time. Heavy feet were on his deck, and the voice was demanding him by name. “This is Stimson’s boat, ain’t it? Well, where’n hell is he? What's idea?” Waldron’s reply was inaudible. The voice bellowed into the cabin. “Mr. Stimson! Come out here!” With shaking knees the banker pre- sented himself at the foot of the com- panion. Over his head, ominous in the faint light of the binnacle, there loomed the form of a giant in oil- skins, “You Stimson?” demanded the voice. “Well, one of them bills you gave the boss was a five hundred, "stead of a century.” He handed down a wad of soaking banknotes. “Here's yer change. What th’ hell was th’ idea of the speed-trials?” comicbooks.com