Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 73: what you’re looking at

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

WAR figure of the skipper through the door, and down the long corridor. Everything seemed unreal to her, and she felt as if she were walking upon air. She passed open doors that revealed en- chanting glimpses of beautiful salons, a library, the suite Stephen was occupying; luxury such as she had never dreamed of even in her most opulent moments. This feeling grew as the captain flung wide a door and bade her enter. “Here you are!” he said cheerily. “ Now make yourself comfortable. Here is a bell. If you need anything you don’t find, ring it. And there is the telephone.”’ He thrust a key into the girl’s.-hand and vanished. Judith stood in the center of the room and stared bewilderedly about her, the key grasped tightly in her hand. The captain stopped upon the other side of the closed door, and gazed at it for a moment somewhat fretfully. Having a young girl on board his ship vastly compli- cated the business of navigation, he felt, and there were enough things for him to worry about without having more anxiety thrust upon him. He felt distinctly peev- ish. He wished that she were safely upon land. The added reflection, as he returned to his cabin, that she had not appeared to be especially safe upon land, comforted the fatherly old captain considerably; and as he poured himself a modest drink from the bottle he had taken from the convenient cellarette he was further reassured by an- other thought. “ Thank Heaven, she doesn’t happen to be pretty!” he said as he raised his glass. In the stateroom where the captain had left her, beginning to study her environ- ment, Judith, waking from her trance, was concentrating upon her relation to it. The apartment had been designed by a firm of famous interior decorators. There was a clever mingling of white, pale blue, and warm rose-pink, with touches of black here and there to lend character to the dainty colors. There were myriad mirrors arranged art- fully, that the fair occupant of the suite might view herself from every angle. These same mirrors had never been required be- I SPAWN. 383 fore to perform so cruel an office. Dilated, horrified eyes gazed into them at the figure reflected there. \ Its hair hung in straight strings far be- low the waist. The head was tied in a bandage. An old gingham dress, none the fresher for having been slept in, hung de- jectedly about the slender limbs. The west- ering sun pouring in at the open port holes cruelly illumined it. Judith dragged herself over to one of the mirrors to make sure that she saw aright. She peered intently into its depths. When she was fully convinced that the weird reflection was really her own she breathed a dry sob of utter disgust. The ultimate in sulphuric comparison leaped to her mind. She breathed it fierce- ly, her face close to the mirrored one: “You look like hell!” Then she dropped upon the soft blue carpet and buried her face in her hands. A wave of black despair rushed over her. She endeavored to push it back, but on it came engulfing her utterly. She was brought face to face with the terrible contrasts of life. How could she ever hope to rid herself of the taint of her birth, her environment? There seemed no foundation for a i Heles to which she had consistently clung, that somehow her life was going to emerge flowerlike from the dark ooze of her en- vironment, blossoming with all the ideals, enthusiasms, and beauty engendered in her mind as she had watched the stately bridge develop. She raised her face from her hands. It was pale and drawn and quivering with sudden resolve. She had determined to seek rest from these dark memories this horrible realiza- tion, this utter despair, in the kindly bosom of old ocean. Judith rose from the carpet where she had crouched. She started toward the door. Just then a knock sounded, followed by a slight scraping sound. A piece of paper was being slowly thrust under the door of her room. Judith picked up the piece of paper. It is even by such slight means that fate diverts the course of a human destiny. She EOPMICLOOOKS (E@)