Adventure Magazine Cover — page 99: what you’re looking at

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

Intuition “What’s this—mutiny?” Micky shoved the pseudo-diver forward. “This man admits ’e’s a sham!” shouted the little skipper. ‘“‘’E signed on an’, as Blue Peter says, ’e’s never done any divin’. "E was only a pump-hand—an’ I gave ’im five hundred advance. What’ll my boy at Nati say?” “Blue Peter?” queried the Yankee mate, looking around the deck. “Ves, Blue Peter guessed this miserable lump was a sham.” ‘“‘Blue Peter deducted it?” “°F did hit by intuition—’is intuition is strong! Get forrard, you!” snapped the irate skipper. “Turn hinto th’ fo’cas’le where you belong!”’ Micky McMasters went to the galley after the man had dropped down the fore- castle companion; he told the three divers what he required of them and added that he was captain of the schooner. “No more shams go with me! I’m ex- pectin’ to try you out at seventeen fathoms when we reach Nati—an’ may ’Eaven ’elp you hif you don’t stay down an ’our—be- cause my boy is lookin’ for real deep-reef divers!”’ Red Landyard cooled the cockney skip- per’s blood with a question concerning Blue Peter when McMasters came fuming out of the galley. “This Old Man of th’ Sea,” drawled the mate, ‘‘this wreck you believe so firmly in— how does he happen to be before th’ mast? He might have owned ships, I guess?” ““Blyme, yes!” Micky glared at the galley, then forward, then tested the wind by a biting glance at the sun and well-filled foresail. “°F might,” said the skipper “or owned a line of packets—’e’s old henough an’ wise henough! I minds him well on th’ Orca; ’e ’asn’t changed one bit. ’E was always predictin’ things that came true—’e knew which way th’ ice would drift an’ where th’ lanes were, an’ just th’ spot to find a bow- head. ’E’s a ’oly terror on intuition!” “It’s probably based on experience,” said the practical mate. “Hit’s based on th’ queer things of th’ sea—th’ change of compass point in time to avoid a reef, or th’ shiftin’ of helm when there’s a rock ahead, or th’ feelin’ that there’s a lee shore somewhere to lee’ard, or 99 “T had that experience once, Micky. I OI was second mate on a windjammer—The Bounding Billow—out of ’Frisco. We were off Chili somewhere, when th’ old man changes th’ course for no reason at all, an’ we picks up a long-boat filled with passen- gers from th’ wrecked coaster IJquique. Why th’ old man took that notion I don’t know—an’ he didn’t either. It was intui- tion.” Micky nodded. “We've brought good luck with hus— because Blue Peter is goin’ to keep us out of trouble.” =~} GOOD luck held, for the schooner wt Calipso, all the way down the long ~~ Slant of the South Pacific; gales quieted to following winds; a breeze wafted them over the Line. Micky and Red Land- yard had little or nothing to do, save keep the sheets trimmed and the schooner on her course for Nati. Islands, as fair from a distance as visions in a dream, rose from the tropic sea—spicy odors came within the wind—a feeling settled on the schooner’s crew of good cheer and kindness. Blue Peter, freed from his vice, gin, started making clothes, shoes, even a hat. He came on deck clad in duck trous- ers and muslin shirt; his gray beard was trimmed; his eyes were less watery. “Your Old Man of th’ Sea,” suggested the Yankee mate, “‘is getting spry. He likes these latitudes.” “’E’s welcome!” said Micky. “All I want from this ’ot-’ouse world are pearls— then we set course for England an’ Great Grimsby. I ’aven’t seen th’ missus in two vears—my boy ’asn’t seen ’is mother in five. Is that any way to treat th’ best you ’ave?” Red Lanyard squinted at Blue Peter, who stood braced against the galley-house. The old salt’s pipe was glowing; his cheeks seemed almost ruddy. Suddenly Blue Peter’s right fingers coiled around his pipe-stem; his hand dropped; he closed his eyes and shook his head. Micky and the mate heard him mutter dolefully: “Trouble ahead. Yea, there’s trouble.” The cockney skipper thrust one-half of his body over the quarter-deck rail, “Vast with that croakin’!”’ he shouted. Blue Peter pried open his eyes, replaced the pipe in his mouth, hitched his trousers and rolled forward, where he disappeared under a foreboom. eee GOMIIGdoo S C@