The Clio messenger. (Clio, Mich.) 1907-current, 1915-12-31
CHAPTER VII.

At last, after three days Of variable
winds, we have caught the northeast
trades. | came on deck, after a good
nights rest in spite of my poor knee.
to find the Ghost foaming along, wing
and-wing. and every sail drawing ex-
cept the jibs, with a fresh breeze
astern. Ten knots, twelve knots, eleven
knots, varying from time to time
is the speed we are making. And
ever out Of the northeast the brave
wind blows, driving us on our course
$50 miles between the dawns
Each day grows perceptibly warmer.
In the second dog-watch the sailors
come on deck, stripped. and heave
| buckets of water upon one another
from oversize. Flying fish are begin
ming to be seen, and during the night
the watch above scrambles over the
! deck in pursuit of those that fall
aboard. In the morning Thomas Mug
ridge being duly bribed. the galley is
pleasantly areek with the odor of
their frying. while dolphin meat is
served fore and aft on such occasions
as Johnson catches the blazing beau
ties from the bowsprit end.
The days and nights are "all won.
der and a wild delight" and though
| ! have little time from my dreary
work. + steal odd moments to gaze and
gaze at the unending glory of what
never dreamed the world possessed.
do not forget one night when I should
| Ho, ell nf lxy;v he
castle head and gazing down at the
spectral ripple of foam thrust aside
| by the Ghosts forefoot II sounded
| like the gurging of a brook over
messy stones in some quiet dell. and
the grooming song Of it lured me away
! and out of myself till was no longer
Hump the cabin.boy, nor Van Wey-
den. the man who had dreamed away
| thirty-five years among books. But a
voice behind me, the unmistakable
voice of Wolf Larsen. strong with the
! invincible gertrude OF the man and
mellow with appreciation OF the words
he was quoting. aroused me.
20 the blazing trop,c night. when the
wakes a welt OF light
| That nOldS the not SKY tHffle.
| And the steady forefoot snores through
the planet powdered floors
Where the scared whale fiukes in flame.
Her plates are SCARED by the sun. dear
lass,
And her ropes are taut with the dew.
For we're booming down on the old trail.
our own trail. the out trail,
We're sagging south on the Long Trail
the trail that Is always new"
"Eh, Hump? How's it strike your"
he asked, after the due pause which
the words and setting demanded.
looked into his face. II was aglow
with light. as the sea itself, and the
eyes were flashing In the starshine.
1T strikes me as remarkable, to say
the least, that you should show enthu-
siasm," | answered coldly.
why, man. it's living! It's life"
he cried.
Which is a cheap thing and with
out value" flung his words at him.
He laughed. and 1t was the first time
/ had heard honest mirth in his voice.
"Ah, / cannot get you to understand,
cannot drive 1t into your head, what
thing this life is. or course life is
valueless, except to ITSELF And | can
tell you that my life is pretty valuable
just now-to myself. 1t is beyond
price. which you will acknowledge is
a terrific overrating, but which can.
not help, for IL Is the life that Is In
me that makes the rating"
He left me as suddenly as he had
come. springing to the deck with the
weight and softness of tiger. Some
times ! think him mad, or half mad at
least, what of his strange moods and
vagaries. At other times | take him
never arrived. He is certainly an in
dividualist Of the most pronounced
type. Not only that, but he is very
lonely. His tremendous virility and
mental strength wall him apart. Men
are more like children to him, even
the hunters, and as children he treats
them, descending perforce to their
plays with puppies. Or else he probes
them with the cruel hand of a vivisec-
ZIONIST. cropping about in their mental
processes as though to see of what
soul-stuff Is made.
While on the question of vagaries.
shall tell what befell Thomas Mug.
ridge in the cabin, and at the same
have already touched once or twice.
| The twelve o'clock dinner was over.