Adventure, January 20, 1922 — page 137: what you’re looking at

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

onappy’s He shook his head suddenly, and with an effort forced his eyes wide open. “Holy sea-hogs!” he ejaculated, as he daubed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “A man can fall to sleep here stand- ing on his feet. It’s as hot and still as Sahara, and not a blower goin’. No wonder J have to wake a sentry or two on every round. They can’t stay awake—it’s im- possible. Sleepin’ on post may be a serious offense, time of war and all that, but I wouldn’t put a man on report for something I'd be sure to do myself. “Tt’s a different matter when a sentry on the top side is caught nappin’—deserves to be court-martialed. But down in this hole, with no blowers workin’, it’s another story. I’ll wager that even the skipper of this tub couldn’t keep his eyes open down here for four hours tonight.” As he meditated Snappy’s eyes roved down to the big .38 Navy Colt that hung heavily from the holster at his side. Sud- denly his eyes twinkled and his right hand sought the butt of the revolver. He glanced casually at the steel, water-tight doors at either end of the compartment and smiled. The doors were closed, and when closed were as perfectly sound-proof as water- tight. “Could have a gun battle down here in one of these compartments and _ there wouldn’t be a sound of it on deck, or in the next compartment for that matter,” he mused. “The corporal of the guard can always keep awake pretty easily—have a little target practise all by his lonesome if he wants to and nobody’s ever the wiser. Guess I might’s well do a little practisin’ tonight.” He pulled the long-barreled revolver from its holster and leveled it steadily on a white rivet head at the farthest end of the com- partment. The next instant a deafening report burst asunder the stuffy stillness of the Jittle compartment, echoing and re- echoing between the white steel walls; all this followed almost instantly by. the whizz—uncomfortably close to the gun- man’s head—of the glancing bullet, which, fettered by the steel walls, seemed intent on imitating the maneuvers of a boomerang. Snappy smiled grimly as he noted the tell- tale mark of the bullet—not a fine exhibi- tion of marksmanship. “Pretty bum shot,’”’ he commented, and raised the smoking gun again. Promotion ~ 2° Another crash, another whizz—but this time the improvement over the first shot was easily apparent. Snappy smiled ap- provingly, raised the revolver slowly and fired again. This time the white head of the rivet turned a pinkish-red as the bits of white paint chips flew in a dozen direc- tions exposing the homely under-coating of red lead. ‘There,’ commented the satisfied Snappy ‘now I’m ready to quit.” He chuckled musingly. “If the skipper knew that Mosquito Slade and I have been holdin’ target practice down here for the laSt two months he’d just naturally blow up—string us to the yard-arm if he dared. Target practice for the night is over—guess I’d better be gettin’ back to top side. The junior officer of the deck will probably be pokin’ along through here in a few minutes.’ Five minutes later, after having inspected the last four sentry posts, Snappy puffed up the forward, starboard ladder from the gun-deck to the forecastle. The evening was beastly hot, but on the forecastle a slight breeze brushed across the bow from the north-east. He noted, almost instinctively, that the sea was calm and placid, that not even the ghost of a ripple marred the sur- face. Although it was already quite dark—and would have been much darker except for a rind of a half-moon that appeared at in- tervals between rifts in the film-like, drifting clouds—not a trace of a light of any kind could be seen from the great, shadowy cruiser, unless, perhaps, the glowing ends of an occasional cigaret, cautiously palmed in the hands of a few of the more daring. members of the groups of gossiping gobs, could be called a light. There was just reason for caution when secretly partaking of an evening smoke on the upper decks of a war vessel in those exacting war days; and although the gobs persisted in the furtive passing of butts on the top-side after sundown, even on the darkest nights and in the most dangerous waters, it was done always at the risk of a sharp reprimand, or possibly in the face of a court-martial. Le] at the top of the ladder, fingering “_— the butt of the revolver that hung at his side and noting, among other things, the little groups of gossiping-men. It was FOR a few moments Snappy stood S COMIC OOO) 135. (C@