Adventure Magazine Cover, March 20, 1925 — page 102: what you’re looking at

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

84 said you saved her for sentimental reasons.” Very plainly Green was wondering just why he had saved her. “For sailing ships, Mr. Green,” said Dugan, musingly, “I’m as full of sentiment as the ocean is of fish. But I will admit that I had in mind a possibility of a reward, and I was thinking it might help me to get a captaincy. I’ve my master’s license in sail.” “Tt might, and maybe we can help you. We'll see that the big navigation companies insured with us hear of you. We’ll see. And what in —— do you call those things?” He waved a white hand toward the ma- chines lining the rail. “Those,” said Dugan, laughing, and very _ proud, “‘are nameless, except that they are inventions of my own and I have called them war cats, because they spit and strike like drunken women, and because I have never heard of any war cats.” Slewing one of the engines around so that the unleashing of its heavy chain would be no harm he demonstrated the method of operation. “Fishermen,” said Green, ‘‘told me some- thing of them, although none liked the sound of lead flying well enough to come to see them in action. Also they said that you drove off a mess of Cubans, that you burned oil all around Jupe Barnard’s brand new launch, and that you and these war cats were responsible for the Henry B. being where she is, and with a broken wheel.” Wheel is coast parlance for propeller. He waved his hand at the battered tug. Evidently the anchor had dragged, for the vessel was aground beside the pass. Dugan noticed it for the first time, then listened as Green continued: Adventure “And they tell me Jupe said he was from my company, or some company. Why did you fight him off and welcome me?” “He came to me,” said Dugan, calm satisfaction written deeply in his smile, “asking if I was first mate of this Black- fish and telling me of the thousands of dollars salvage I was going to get.” Barnard had hinted, rather than spoken of the sum of the salvage—but Dugan was never one to quibble over little points of that nature. ““Men of the sea get salt horse and hard bread, dirty beds and dirty masters, but they get no salvage for saving ships on which they are regularly articled. The salvage a sailor gets, Mr. Green, will be no more than the edging ripped from the land lubber’s velvet at any time.”’ Which, of course, is very nearly true—ask any sea- faring man. He continued: “I think, Mr. Green, that just now I’ll not bother you to help me with a captaincy, thanking you very much, sir, but I’ll take your thousand dollars and become a fish- erman.” Gravely he gazed out on the broad waters of the gulf, sweetly blue in the light of a smiling day. Then he smiled, and said: ‘Also, would it not be a very good plan to salvage the Henry B.? She lies in the pass and is a menace to navigation. ’Tisa fair day, and your tug could tow us both. And we have more guns and more wit- nesses than has Barnard.” Green laughed, struck his thigh, and laughed. Dugan’s share of the sorely used tug’s salvaging was a hundred dollars, even, nor was there a bullet fired. COMmiclboo S (©