Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 25, 1924 — page 165: what you’re looking at

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

By ARTHUR masted schooner Osiris, strolled out of the cook shack with the air of a drum major. He was still in the first thrill of triumph, and as he tilted his white cap to a still more rakish, though perilous, angle on the brow of his vast and globular head, there was a glow in his little pig-like eyes and a jack o’ lantern smile on his countenance. The carpenter, a wizened and rusty faced little man with a poisonous scowl habitually screwing up his face was com- ing forward. When his eye fell upon Rufus looking like the personification of earthly well-being, his scowl deepened perceptibly. The miracle was that such bitter enemies as this pair could meet and come out of it alive. The carpenter resisted the mighty im- pulse within him to leap at Rufus’s fleshy throat, and Rufus was in a much too bea- tific state to step on the carpenter and crush him as he would any other obnoxious worm. The carpenter noted Rufus’s smile and the signal that its wearer was happy, with acute R: US WOGGLE, cook of the three LOCKWOOD dismay. He hated to see Rufus otherwise than suffering tortures. “Ha,” he said sarcastically. “ Ye’re feelin’ purty good, ain’t ye? Wot ye grin- nin’ at?” His tones were hateful and venomous. Rufus favored him with a look of vast contempt. “Run along bout yer tinker- in’,” he answered loftily. A gleam came into the carpenter’s eyes, and he did a strange thing—he smiled. There was no mirth in it, however. It was rancorous and sardonic. “A hell of a cook you are!” he jeered. ‘“* Can’t make soup!” Rufus for a moment looked as though he had just been mortally wounded. What was the good of being triumphant if no one knew you were, especially your enemies? ‘Say, listen here, you, you think you gotta laugh on me, don’t ye? You think I had to make that soup over because the mate kicked, eh, and said they was soap in it? Well, jest put this under yer hat, that soup I gave him the second time, that he said was all right, was the same soup, 155 COmiclool (C@)