Adventure Magazine Cover — page 144: what you’re looking at

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

item . the To a ig 2/ TREVOR NICHOLS #& Fag a 3 a Author of “Captain Findlay’s Last Voyage,” “Hell’s Bell,”’ etc T WAS seven o’clock, our first night out, and George’s watch below. | After dinner George had led me to a chair on the saloon deck, found another for himself, and we were smoking our pipes and at peace with the world. The sea was calm, the Tioga making an easy twelve knots, and we talked of The Things That Had Been. George unloaded on me his most intimate thoughts and his most recent conquests, and I listened sym- pathetically, and did likewise. Therefore we got along splendidly and had a fine time. We fell silent as men will who are sated with food or with a subject. We sank into a luxury of contentment, contemplated space, gloried in our egos, and waited for our hearts to fill and overflow into further speech. “Do you remember Joe Davis?” said George at length. “Holy Joe?” I asked, calling upon that genileman to stand forth from my store of remembrances. “That’s him,” said George. “He was third officer in the Caroline, wasn’t he?” “That’s him,” “Well?” “Before you went nutty and ashore, you quitter,’ said George. “Well?” said I. ‘“He’s married,” said George. “You don’t say!” Isaid. ‘Never thought it of him. How did it happen?” said George. ~ &Copyright, 1921, by Trevor Nichols. “Triangle,” said George and knocked the ashes from his pipe. “You don’t say!” Isaid. “Never thought Holy Joe’d mix in a thing like that!” “He didn’t,” said George refilling his pipe. “They mixed him up in it.” “Who?” I said and knocked the ashes from my pipe. “Do you remember the Aznt Louisa?” said George and lighted his pipe. “Captain Brinkman?” I said, refilling my pipe from George’s pouch. “The same,” said George. “Go ahead!” I said lighting my pipe with a match borrowed from George. “It’s quite a long story,” said George doubtfully, combing his mustache with the stem of his pipe. “Go ahead!” I said. I can go to sleep.” “Tf I don’t like it “YOU know the Aunt Louisa wasn't ~2§ much ofa ship, even in those days,’ —=——. said George, addressing himself rem- one to a stanchion in front of him. “She was an old pot-bellied, lop-sided, forsaken son-of-a-gun of a tramp. She looked as if she’d never pass inspection, and always did pass. ‘Whenever she left port nobody expected her to get back to port again. And she always did get back to port, creeping up the river like a monumental, decrepit, wheezy old toad with just enough life left to reach her moorings and no more. She never made better than six knots in her days, though old 134 DOOLKE (© iin