autopsy!”
Captain Narveson nodded toward him and then turned back toward the light-sprinkled waterfront. It was evident that the captain had something pressing on his mind.
He caught George’s elbow. “Yust look,” he ordered. His thick brown finger indicated a dark hulk which rose and fell in the moonlight, about halfway between shore and fog. Riding lights shone faintly at the masthead.
“Young faller,” he confided, “there lies my City of Saunders, the neatest little whale-killer ship in the Pacific. Out there waits my son Axel, and he’s all ready to go a-whaling down in Mexican waters. The whales are moving south toward the Antarctic, and Ay have to send word to Axel he’s got to wait another day before we can start. And the whales are going past, big blue whales and hooked finbacks and all—what do you think Ay care about your autopsy?”
“It’s not my autopsy,” protested George. Then he wandered disconsolately out into the night.
Phyllis and the director finished another dance. “Come on over this way,” she pleaded. “The newlyweds are here and I want to say hello.”
“Can’t you say it from here?” Tate wanted to know. But he followed her.
“So you turned out after all?” inquired Phyllis cheerily as they came upon the rapt young couple. “Swell music, isn’t it?”
Young Mr. Deving beamed upon her, and young Mrs. Deving beamed also. His was naturally the warmer beam, but Phyllis was used to that. “Mr. Tompkins wouldn’t take no for an answer,” explained Marvin Deving.
“So we just came over for a little while,” finished Kay, with a flash of her red curls.
“Might as well be gay,” said Phyllis philosophically. “You can make anything into a party if you try hard enough.” She had an idea.
“Suppose we be really informal and trade this dance?” she asked brightly. “I don’t think it’s quite decent of you two kids to be so engrossed in each other.”
Marvin Deving smoothed back his slick hair with a little red pocket comb. His face wore an expression of eagerness.
“Sure, let’s trade—that is if—”
There was a long moment while Tate surveyed Kay from toes to the top of her red head. His glance was as piercing, as penetrating, and as sexless as an X-ray.
“Sure,” he offered, finally.
Phyllis held out her arms to Marvin Deving, but his young wife drew him back protectively.
“I’d just love to dance with Mr. Tate,” she said. “But it’s getting late. We didn’t intend to stay so long, did we, Marvy? We want to get up early in the morning—”
“Oh,” said Phyllis. She dropped her arms. “I suppose you’re going down bright and early to see the autopsy performed on our recent shipmate?”
Kay Deving’s milk-white skin became whiter still.
“You’ve heard about that, haven’t you?” asked Phyllis.
“Oh, yes,” Kay answered. “The poor, poor man! But what makes you think I’d want to see a thing like that, even if they’d let us? It makes me sick even to think of it. Marvy, let’s go home!”
At once the young bride contrived to lean upon her husband’s arm and to drag him away from Phyllis, toward the door.
“I was only being nasty,” confessed Phyllis. “I’m sorry I broke the baby’s heart.”
Ralph O. Tate shrugged his shoulders. “Beautiful and dumb,” was his verdict. “Too bad she’s married. That carrot-top ought to go well in pictures. She’s simple enough for me to make an actress out of, given time.”
“I don’t think she’s so beautiful,” Phyllis told him shortly. She paused and stared after the disappearing couple. “And I don’t think she’s so dumb. She’s found her man and she’s clinging to him like a leech. I think they’re both sweet.”
Tate was whistling “Hearts and Flowers” softly to himself. Then he broke in upon Phyllis’s reverie. “Let’s get back to the hotel.”
But Phyllis didn’t want to go. “I’m for a walk,” she said. “In the moonlight.”
Walks in
Captain Narveson nodded toward him and then turned back toward the light-sprinkled waterfront. It was evident that the captain had something pressing on his mind.
He caught George’s elbow. “Yust look,” he ordered. His thick brown finger indicated a dark hulk which rose and fell in the moonlight, about halfway between shore and fog. Riding lights shone faintly at the masthead.
“Young faller,” he confided, “there lies my City of Saunders, the neatest little whale-killer ship in the Pacific. Out there waits my son Axel, and he’s all ready to go a-whaling down in Mexican waters. The whales are moving south toward the Antarctic, and Ay have to send word to Axel he’s got to wait another day before we can start. And the whales are going past, big blue whales and hooked finbacks and all—what do you think Ay care about your autopsy?”
“It’s not my autopsy,” protested George. Then he wandered disconsolately out into the night.
Phyllis and the director finished another dance. “Come on over this way,” she pleaded. “The newlyweds are here and I want to say hello.”
“Can’t you say it from here?” Tate wanted to know. But he followed her.
“So you turned out after all?” inquired Phyllis cheerily as they came upon the rapt young couple. “Swell music, isn’t it?”
Young Mr. Deving beamed upon her, and young Mrs. Deving beamed also. His was naturally the warmer beam, but Phyllis was used to that. “Mr. Tompkins wouldn’t take no for an answer,” explained Marvin Deving.
“So we just came over for a little while,” finished Kay, with a flash of her red curls.
“Might as well be gay,” said Phyllis philosophically. “You can make anything into a party if you try hard enough.” She had an idea.
“Suppose we be really informal and trade this dance?” she asked brightly. “I don’t think it’s quite decent of you two kids to be so engrossed in each other.”
Marvin Deving smoothed back his slick hair with a little red pocket comb. His face wore an expression of eagerness.
“Sure, let’s trade—that is if—”
There was a long moment while Tate surveyed Kay from toes to the top of her red head. His glance was as piercing, as penetrating, and as sexless as an X-ray.
“Sure,” he offered, finally.
Phyllis held out her arms to Marvin Deving, but his young wife drew him back protectively.
“I’d just love to dance with Mr. Tate,” she said. “But it’s getting late. We didn’t intend to stay so long, did we, Marvy? We want to get up early in the morning—”
“Oh,” said Phyllis. She dropped her arms. “I suppose you’re going down bright and early to see the autopsy performed on our recent shipmate?”
Kay Deving’s milk-white skin became whiter still.
“You’ve heard about that, haven’t you?” asked Phyllis.
“Oh, yes,” Kay answered. “The poor, poor man! But what makes you think I’d want to see a thing like that, even if they’d let us? It makes me sick even to think of it. Marvy, let’s go home!”
At once the young bride contrived to lean upon her husband’s arm and to drag him away from Phyllis, toward the door.
“I was only being nasty,” confessed Phyllis. “I’m sorry I broke the baby’s heart.”
Ralph O. Tate shrugged his shoulders. “Beautiful and dumb,” was his verdict. “Too bad she’s married. That carrot-top ought to go well in pictures. She’s simple enough for me to make an actress out of, given time.”
“I don’t think she’s so beautiful,” Phyllis told him shortly. She paused and stared after the disappearing couple. “And I don’t think she’s so dumb. She’s found her man and she’s clinging to him like a leech. I think they’re both sweet.”
Tate was whistling “Hearts and Flowers” softly to himself. Then he broke in upon Phyllis’s reverie. “Let’s get back to the hotel.”
But Phyllis didn’t want to go. “I’m for a walk,” she said. “In the moonlight.”
Walks in
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