Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 7, 1922 — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

DIRTY WEATHER. He glanced at the man at the wheel—a sturdy, honest-eyed youngster, the light from the binnacle casting queer, upward glows upon his face much, MacDonald thought, like footlights on the faces of actors ina play. That was it exactly. The whole thing was like a play, with the differ- ence that he knew the actors in it, that he was an actor in it himself Then just what did the old man want down in number three hold, and—why? Leaning on the dodger, he stood staring out into the distant places of the night. CHAPTER VII. A BOX MARKED ‘“ BROKEN MACHINERY.” UTLEDGE and Sparks were seated with Hendriks in his cabin. The or- derly stillness of the ship, the confi- dent tremor of vibration from her engines— assurance of stability and power—her steady rise and fall at each successive swell, the thorough naturalness of their surround- ings, all combined to make each one of the three doubt that the events of which they were now the center were real. “‘ Sparks ”—Hendriks spoke at last— “did you find out what’s the damage to the set?” “ Ruined, or aenaa ruined.” " Everything? ° “ Not everything, no, sir. He’s no mad- man, that guy. He hadn’t time to smash everything. He’s one clever devil. Knows just what can’t be replaced or substituted. Smashed every condenser, including the spares; burned out the motor fields; burned out the tuner; smashed the audion, and pocketed every bit of crystal in sight. If the ship was sinking I couldn’t let out a yelp.” ‘“‘ What about the auxiliary?” “Spark coil smashed to bits—batteries emptied—ruined—ruined—”’ Even Rutledge was moved by this tragic recital to a burst of sympathy—a wild burst for him. “Hard luck, kid,” he growled. ‘It’s the devil,” Sparks answered gloom- ily. ‘Tt zs the devil!” 177 Hendriks spoke with extraordinary con- viction. They looked at him.. “There are things about this business that aren’t natural, that aren’t ’—his voice struck a distinctly hollow note—“ human.” He paused, to let his meaning sink in. It didn’t. There had been nothing even faintly approaching the phantasmal in the solid thump that Rutledge had received on the back of his head. Sparks also failed to remember any transparencies in the dirk that had been slung at him. Hendriks continued into their plainly incredulous faces: “ Things, I say, that aren’t human. Things we will talk about when Mr. Hopper gets here.” He felt him- self heading against strong currents of skepticism. He altered his course. “ Mr. Rutledge, what has Mr. Harris to say about the steward?” ‘““He’s waiting outside with him, sir. Wants you to question him. Says it’s queer.” ‘What is queer?” . ‘“‘ About the steward and those two boys, sir.” Hendriks crossed to the door and opened it. “Come in!” Harris, followed by Hong Wing, came into the cabin. “Shut that door, steward.” “Fes, sair.” “‘ Now, then, Mr. Harris, what about it?” Harris made a gesture almost Oriental in its delicacy and expressiveness. “You know how hard it is to get any- thing out of them, sir.” Harris shot a truculent look at Hong Wing. “ They leave it up to you to explain things, to put words into their mouths, rather than explaining anything themselves—like a Christian.”’ “Steward, speak up!” “No know, sair.” “You see?” Harris spread out his hands. ‘What happened to you, steward?” “ Hit, sair.” “Some one hit you?” ‘‘°Ees, sair. Allee samee honorable mate, sair.” ‘“Never mind the honorable mate. Who hit you?” comiclbooolx C©