Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

South, West and North 9 The world’s a good place,sohurray! Day’s the name—a privateer out o’ the Argentine, they said, but more like a pirate, and had a fast schooner, heavy-armed. He looted here and there along the southern coasts. I heard talk of him, but that was back during the war. It was him helped our troops conquer Baja California, and the politicians gave it back to Mexico afterward. Aye, some said a scoundrel, some said a proper seaman and a good chap. I mind the talk now. Long time ago, as the Injun said when he rubbed his belly.”’ Hampton frowned. This might be the same man, and certainly fitted the per- sonality of his recent acquaintance. It was no disgrace; in those waters odd things were done, and if Day were now in honest business, so much the better. Perhaps the man could keep his promises to the Beverly Panama Gold Company—it was a good way to make money, since he could charge high and give good value. Hampton rose. “Let’s go home. have to do——”’ “Nay, nay!” Job Warlock came to his feet. ‘‘I see breakers ahead for ye wi’ that man, and I’ll not stand by and hear the row. No pleasure in it. Set a meeting place and I’ll be there, when and where ye will.” Hampton nodded. ‘“‘Beverly is a town north 0’ Salem. You can find Foster & Levett’s wharf easy Then [’ll know what I enough. Meet me on that wharf tomorrow - night—say, eight o’clock.”’ “Right, matey.’ “You have money?”’ ‘Plenty. The world’s a good place, so hurray! See you later.”’ Hampton turned toward the road. Even if his worst fears were true, even if duty led him by the hard path, even if one had gone out of his life for ever—here another had come back into it with warmth of friendship. He was not minded to lose Job Warlock, as he had probably lost Nelly Barnes. Il mr] EPHRAIM HAMPTON was chop- Cer ping up old poles between house and barn, when he saw his son coming in from the road. He went on chopping, methodically, that big splay-bladed ax of his driving down into the white wood, snapping and crashing, splitting with fear- ful force into chunks set on end, shivering the poles, white chips flying all about in the trampled snow. A terrible man, this, not for his great stooped body, but for the stark thing which was frozen in his gaunt face—the cold, chilled life which looked out of his eyes. No human affection lay: there to see. All was naked granite, like the bleak hills rising dark upon the snowy horizon. When the time was come, this man drove his blade into the chopping-block, turned away toward the house, and before the doorway met his son. He gave no word of greeting, and ignored the half-questioning, half- wistful look of the younger man. ‘“‘Come inside,”’ said he, and led the way into the cold house. That was enough for Dick Hampton, who followed and looked with narrowed eyes of hatred at the clean and chilly parlor, at the fearful mockery of the mottoes and pictures on the wall, at the big Bible resting on the center table. If only a picture of his mother had hung here, all might have been different, but there was none. “Sit you down,” said his father, stiffly lowering himself into a chair at the table. The cold voice and the colder heart be- hind it drove an icy knife through Hamp- ton’s spirit. He was afraid of this man, he had always been afraid of him as his mother had been afraid. Not at all a physical fear; only a desperate and frantic shrinking of the warm soul from this abnormal thing in the guise of a man. In sudden panic, Hampton longed to be out of here and away. Home! The word was mockery. He had found a better home than this in the squeaky forecastle of ships, with rats astir in the dark, with brine working in past strained bowsprit and leaking over the peak bunks, with the reek of sweat and steaming clothes closed in a week on end; more home, more human affection, in that place with its wild oaths and lewd talk than in this horrible abode of cleanliness and sanctity. No wonder Job Warlock refused to return here! Stout old Job had foreseen hell in prospect for the friend he loved. No wonder poor Eli had fled from this to the lure of golden Cali- fornia, as Dick himself had fled from it years before. Hampton looked at his father, met those icy eyes, a colder gray than his own, and comicbooks.cO inn