Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 19, 1924 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

- THE ROARING FORTIES. that Valkyrie had an affinity for the <ea, beyond all his other storm birds. He saw her stir upon the cradle, in answer to the breathing lift of the Atlantic. One lapping touch of the finger of the tide, and the de- sire of the deep went tingling through the vessel. There on the slipping cradle from keel to truck, from stem to stern, shimmering in moonlight radiance, was a bride whose love- liness could wait no longer. Out of the hazy realm of dreamland, like someone who beheld afar, MacKay saw the ship of his creation with languid grace stirring to keep her love tryst. At first, soft and easy was the wooing of the ocean; soft and gentle was the answer of the vessel. Then—a crash, a roar, a mountain wave uprising, an all enfolding cloud of mist and spray; and in a sea as white as carded wool, Valkyrie leaped to find her lover. - By that strange second sight of the Gael, Donald MacKay, the Highland mystic, was prepared for the worst. Before the dawn, there came a furtive rapping. He was waiting, as one who ex- pected a summons. Lighting a candle he came down hastily, unbarred and opened the great front door. The westering moon was sinking low across the harbor, brightening the landscape in its mellow glow. There upon the door- step he beheld Ellen Darrach, sobbing piteously. MacKay knew that evil had come before she spoke. Placing his arms around the little girl he drew her softly to him. “Grandpa was killed,” she sobbed. ‘““ Something happened to the Valkyrie. She tumbled off the ways and got all smashed and broken.” Tears trickled down MacKay’s rugged cheeks, not at the shattering of his handi- work, but at the sorrow of the child. What was to have been Newburyport’s great day dawned a day of gloom. In the breathless morning the very flags hung limp, and mournful. All along the waterfront, silent groups pointed with sympathy to Donald MacKay, as he drove by with white head bowed. Inside the shipyards a vast crowd had 491 gathered. As the chief drove up, Captain Iorbes met him. Together they repaired to the model room. ‘“ What happened, Forbes?”’ - “ The wedging gave, and she settled back on the blocks till she rolled them over.” ‘“ How was Darrach killed?” “The poor fellow must have gotten sus- picious, and climbed underneath, to see what was the trouble. While there, a block evidently rolled over and crushed hin.” “Terrible! A good faithful fellow was Darrach. ‘And what was the extent of the dam- age?” “Her hull is intact, but her gear aloft is completely wrecked. This delay will be trying, to say the least.” ‘It’s the loss of Darrach that I deplore most. Of course it’s hard to see the work of your hands spoiled, but we can begin again.” CHAPTER VIII. “ wHO’S THE BOY?” AT GERTRIDGE, JR., had called with his dog-cart to take Mary Wil- liston for a drive. He was son of one of the first families, becoming incredibly rich through the rising fortunes of the clipper. Was it any wonder that a pros- pective mother-in-law beamed upon him? “Oh, but you are a stranger! There’s no one we would rather see. Won’t you come right in, Mr. Gertridge?” “No, Mrs. Williston, I think I must wait here, thanks. My horse is a bit restless. Just tell Mary to hurry, will you: ‘“ Hurry, indeed!” said Mary to herself. “TY like your nerve.” Mary had been ready for sometime, but overhearing Nat’s peremptory remark, she kept that young gentleman cooling his heels. Mrs. Williston bobbed in and out of the house in fine frenzy. Finally, she ex- claimed: ‘‘ What on earth is the matter, Mary? I never saw you so provokingly slow. You know you shouldn’t keep Mr. Gertridge waiting iike that.” ‘“ And why shouldn’t I?” inquired Mary Gomichdooks-co