Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1939-07-09

The young white man looked up at her:
Morag Brandon daughter of the Islands big
gest merchant; Morag on good horse, IN
clothes sent from South" talking to him.
Laurence Patterson Ames, who was little bet
ter than Thursday Island derelict.
Ames, young American wandering the world,
who had somehow become stranded in this last
outpost of Australian civilization, who was
growing shabby, but was far too good-looking
for derelict, with his smartly- brushed bronze
hair and the broad shoulders that showed we'll
in his coatless singlet-and- shorts. had made
deep scratch upon the heart of the young
Island heiress.
The cemetery of Thursday Island is quiet.
sheltered. far-removed from the continual tur
moil of the southeast trade" that day and
night tatters the decaying township. 1t is
secret spot. a perfect rendezvous for lovers.
Morag and Ames had met there before. Today,
the funeral of that tiny coffin carried by
silent procession of Japanese divers, had broken
into the peace of the lovers meeting. MOrag
was shaken.
Ames treasured her. 1T nothing at all. No
baby no one. They're just going to bury the
clothes and the photograph of the diver who
was lost last Saturday."
Il heard of it. They said nobody knew what
happened"
That's So He signalled, and when they
pulled up he wasn't there. Nothing but the
helmet and corselet. They hadn't another diver,
but probably no one could have done any good.
Something must have got him."
"And they're burying his clothes. and he's
lying somewhere at the bottom of the Straits?"
That's So" Ames did not mention his own
belief that the missing diver was much more
probably lying in the stomach of one of the
giant Torres sharks.
The girls lip quivered; not long home from
school, she was new to the risks of the pearling
world. Ames tried to console her. "A divers life
is bound to be uncertain"
"Oh, and you told me you we're divert'
Not 50 as you would notice it" he said.
somewhat drily. II had an idea was - till
struck this rubbish dump of place, where they
don't employ anyone but Japanese. was with
the Rockman Institute Deep Sea Expedition
for year, and when that finished up, took
my last dollar and went to the Philippines -
and swear could dive the head off any of
that Moro lot they use; but l wasn't given a
chance. Then got here; it was just the same.
Ames did not mention that he had been
educated at one of Americas best schools, not
very many years past; but Morag, with her own
school traditions trailing behind her like ban
ner, had easily guessed as much.
Morag said: Diving isn't gentlemans oc
cupation, is it,"
I'VE don't use that word much in America.
We find man good enough. It's mans job,
and like it. They taught me things on that
expedition that none of your ordinary divers
know"
But white divers aren't employed now
adays. The laps have it all"
Il know it. don't understand it. l suppose
I'm bitter - stranded here, with your family
ready to give me the X. o. if l 50 much as look
at you. Well, have looked, and can tell you:
you're the prettiest girl between this and San
Francisco, and if weren't sort of bum :.
"A what?"
"A dead beat, down and outer - but III not
be that for long can't be kept down. I'll take
anything, with anybody, any chance - and
work up. And some day I'll come back to this
rubbish heap and carry off something that's
worth the whole island!''
What is that?" Morag was leaning down
from her saddle; her eyes made him think of
the eyes of the Torres doves - large, dark and