Argosy All-Story Weekly — "Sea Marauders" — page 76: what you’re looking at

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

=> = ; 5. = ~ » oy a, » 7 ~ _—~ ; +. t 4 — f.«08* —). ‘e ; a > ee , y af Tay sits AG x RESP Ne WY OASS tN ee eee Dev ba ie oa ee tak PV AL a AOA teh SN vs i i pad. gt PS BOO aa ep ay 498 able for her. Let me go along on this dangerous mission with you. I’m a crack shot. You'll need somebody husky along—”’ “Get off this ship! Why, you young coward! Leavin’ that poor ate girl back there, unprotected. it!” “T won't!” roared Gerry. He was conscious that the dock was fast reced- ing. Uncle Jethro joined Uncle Ham. “Gerry,” he ordered, “git off this boat afore I kick you off. Your duty’s back there, pertectin’ that poor, de- fenseless gal. Git!” “No!” cried Gerry. The palm of an ancient hand was violently placed under Gerry’s nose. Its owner gave a mighty push. Gerry, clawing for a handhold, felt himself flying through space. Then warm brine surrounded him. He came up to hear a harsh old voice saying: “Fend him away with that boat- hook if he tries sneakin’ aboard!” Gerry treaded water and softly cursed. The Lottie Lee, a. ghost on the darkling water, leaving a ghostlier wake of phosphorescence, slid off to- ward the south. He started to swim to shore. An unseen wave entered his mouth as he was inhaling. He gagged. He choked. He inhaled more water. “Are you drowning?” a sweet solicitous voice inquired. A blubbering sound answered her. “Hfphfl!” stated Gerald. “I’m coming in and save you!” cried the invisible girl on the pier. “I can’t see you! Don’t drown until I get there! Where are you, Mr. Amadon?” Gerald discharged a quart, more or less, of Gulf Stream from his lungs and throat passages and uttered a sound that resembled the mating call of the blackfish. The girl on the pier dove, and she dove with deathly accuracy. She struck Gerald fairly amidships, and down ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. they went, in a burst of phosphorescent bubbles, together. CHAPTER VIII. THE STORM. HE sensations that ensued were bewildering ones for Gerald Amadon, and he would look back upon them later with shame and fitting humiliation. He indistinctly recalled, some time afterward, his attempt at swallowing the Eastern Atlantic at one gulp when a great weight struck him violently in the small of the back. Then his nose was rubbed into the sand of the ocean bottom. There were, still later, other recollections, cruel and debasing, of being rolled on a barrel, or being somehow resuscitated by his fair, unwelcome visitor. When he once again became fully cognizant of his surroundings, he was seated, swathed in blankets, before a crackling fire in his living room fire- place with Aunt Becky squatting im- ploringly on one side of him and Cousin Susan squatting on the other side, her beautiful large brown eyes bright with a patronizing kind of pity, and her white sailor suit beginning to steam in the process of drying. He looked blinkingly from the round black face to the slender lovely white one. “Rum toddy,” he managed to say. “You see?” said Susan promptly to Aunt Becky with an I-told-you-so air. “IT knew it the minute I laid eyes on him.” “Give me—a hot—rutn—toddy,” Gerald gasped, “or I will freeze to death !” “You must not drink rum,” said Susan severely. “ Alcohol destroys the brain tissues, eats out the stomach, undermines the liver and ruins one’s moral fiber.” “ IT — want — hot -— rum!” Gerald chanted. “ ['m very sorry,” said Susan firmly. com