Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 11, 1925 — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

184 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “What!” Every fiber in the martinet’s body sprang to attention. ‘‘ Not curiosity? Then what was it?” Cyrus looked to Ensign Tenflair. This officer had been the first to whom he had told his ambition the day he rode from Linkersport to Brookiyn. Why did he not speak up and exonerate him? Then he noted the sneer on Tenflair’s lips, and he was filled with a sudden pride that re- sented either ridicule or accusation. For the moment he made no reply. “What was it?” demanded the judge. “For a private reason!” Cyrus at length replied grimly. ‘“‘ A private reason!” snapped the execu- tive officer. “‘ That is enough, yeoman. If you were frank with me I might help you. But ‘a private reason’ may be malicious; it may, even be treasonable. You are of course conscious that you have given an oath of loyalty to the flag of the United States.” The blood mounted to Cyrus’s temples. He clenched his hands instinctively at the veiled insult, but his teeth were tightly closed. “ Twenty-four hours in the brig!” The judge—and jury—concluded tersely: “ And think it over! Marine, see to your pris- oner!”’ The marine who stepped forward to touch Cyrus on the shoulder and escort him away was—Serpel. His eyes closed in mo- mentary anguish as he performed his duty. Cyrus walked obediently ahead of him as he indicated the way along the starboard rail, down the nearest companion ladder, across the main deck, down three ladders on the port side, along the port hull, until they reached the brig. As they were safe from all sight and ears —along the port hull of the turbine deck—_ Marine Serpel walked abreast of his pris- oner and said, sotto voce: “I’m sure daft with misery for you, yeoman.” Cyrus looked up and saw the unmistak- able hurt in the other’s eyes. No one more than an honor man could realize the degradation in a sentence to the brig. Then Cyrus smiled for the first time. “It’s all in the day’s work, I suppose,” he depre- cated; but his voice was dry. “?Tain’t right,” Serpel insisted. “ Old Stotten Bottle suspended sentences on ev’body but you, an’ you wuz sure the least guilty of the lot. They’s somethin’ mean about this, yeoman. Tell me, has Ensign Tenflair got it in for you?” Cyrus thought quickly and decided to hold his own counsel. He shook his head. He was too downhearted to trust himself to further speech. They had arrived before a clear space on the deck. Through open hatches the blue sky could be seen, and the resultant daylight illumined the brig—two steel- locked cells against the hull, and a space in front railed off with chains linked to steel posts counter sunk in the deck. Cyrus saw only the cells. He blanched and recoiled. The marine saw his fear and its cause, but was quick to reassure him. “Not the cells,” said he; “ that’s soli- tary. Just inside the chains—that’s all, and that’s enough.” Neither cell was occupied, as no serious offender was in duress at the moment. In- side the chains, squatted on the deck, or lying down, were ten or twelve bluejack- ets. All but two had been incarcerated for drinking liquor. Of the others one was a dope suspect, and the other a chronic sleeper at post. None seemed to mind _ the Sees for retention in the brig could hardly be called more than that. Except that they were obliged to sleep on the bare deck, with only a blanket, when accustomed to ham- mocks, and that their rations were cut to two sparse meals a day, these convicts were no worse off than their mates on the ship. Yet Cyrus seemed to shrivel at the pros- pect. All his spiritual forces dried within him. The space beyond that chain, appar- ently so like all other space on the hulk of steel, would be for him a Gethsemane. Something of his suffering was conveyed to Serpel, though unintentionally. The marine led him with brotherly tenderness to a place inside the chain, but far re- moved from all other occupants, and said that he would come back immediately with a blanket. Returning with this necessity and as he Comicbooks (E(o)