Adventure Magazine Cover — page 143: what you’re looking at

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

The Dream’s End Arnie’s gaze burned into the bulkhead beyond the bunk. It was coming to him, creeping in at every pore. Slowly, slowly his sterling memory painted each picture ' of Japes’ dream, of his dream’s end—hap- piness. He felt the air of the place chang- ing with the minutes. He groped for Japes’ wrist. like a spent passion, beat the pulse. Faintly, It could not last—could not last. The strych- | nine—no, not -Japes! He must find some- thing. Ah, the grog-barrel! Out he charged, stopping a bare moment to see and feel the gay, festive swiftness of the vessel’s gait. Then on to the grog- barrel. A hand and an arm plunged down —down to the bottom and rattled there. Dry. Dry! = SENSATIONS crowding pell-mell 5 were alone responsible for his hesita- : tion. The rigging plucked a shame- less medley and laughed high overhead at its sheer conceit. He was unaware of this, although he smiled. Arnie Sondheim had a smile such as the trawdry women in Jake’s place were wont to fight over. It wasa smile that renounced care and fortune alike. He knew how to laugh grimly; but when he smiled, he smiled in the manner of a small boy, single-heart- edly. His expression grew thoughtful as he strode down the companion steps. That was his mind reasoning clearly and ac- curately the inevitable result of what he was about. But he continued to smile. That result was a small thing—a small thing. Captain Loman sought to stay him with some disgustingly moaned inquiry. But Arnie gave him no notice. In his hand as he came forth was the whisky bottle, gold- . > “+ d* 133 leaf sealed and gracefully molded in arch pride. The vessel ran a high scale for his benefit; the vessel was his servant, his dog, his ador- ing friend. He came down the steps to hear a feeble, inchoate sound that never in fullest health had been singing. Arnie did not ask whether or not it was music. It was more and it was Jess than music; it was “‘Jonah;” it was the chantey of the courageous whaler scorn- ing hardship and disaster. ‘A flick of Arnie’s knife rent the geld-leaf. Jab upon jab mangled the cork. In the doorway he halted and poured the golden fluid into the tin cup; it gurgled; it all but talked. Japes ceased his apology for song and vainly struggled to get to his elbow. A quavering protest soared upward! Arnie thrust out the drink. “Saved it for you—steady, man! A proper-lined stomach, Japes.” “T can’t,” whimpered Japes. “I ain’t able! Don’—be askin’ of me——” He fell back, panting. “All ye’d hev— I ain’t worth it—— “Worth it!” echoed Arnie. He had caught the joy of the Samson, all her pride and glory. Life was big, and the world was little; but not too little—no, not too little. : “Here! Stick up your head, meee It'll get you home!” ““Home——” All that frail body sagged where it lay. Arnie bolstered it with his arm. A sigh of wonderment, and then a gentle collapse. Arnie did not see what had happened. He continued to smile, boyishly, feolishly, happily. And the bottle, overtumitd on the floor, ran out its contents with a quaint prattle, like a tale that is told. ? Go 9)(0)(6) (E@) 3