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T ^ WUfCTfOM MIDSUMMER FICTION EDITION—TALES FOR EVERY TASTE AND MOOD. VOLUME XLII—NUMBER TWENTY-ONE. -5* w. X5he Fate of a Voice Clifford Smyth Written for CAo Sunny South US. OAKLEY was proud of her latesT social acquisition. "Has ho not a superb voice?'* she asked one of her guests whose gold- ■■■QPMM chased, pearl-encrusted lor- <ff) gnette, held !n Imperial fashion before the steel- /BnKwaTwk gray eyes, seemed aceus- lla.E3 Jfit tomed to jweig'n jn the hal- I'rtafHr* anoe and find wauling such I W hapless denizens of gilded | H drawing rooms as chanced to pass within its critical range. "Yes, his voice is good. But beware;! Gold in the voice does not mean gold in the pocket. Your genius may garnish the banquet table of his betters with the truffle and aspic of his wit. but he is compelled to sit down to a plain mess of oread and porridge himself. The artistic talent bears no aifinity to the talent or shekels." "But. my dear to.s. Faulkland, I assure you this young man is quite an excep tion. The gold of art can be mined, you know. These things do have their com mercial value.’’ "Yes, J dare> say; and it is the miner who profits by it.’” "Besides. ] know all about him." con tinued Mrs. Oaktey. “Professor Fulmer tells me his father is a. wealthy planter in the southwest who has given his son a thorough college education." "But you don't really know this plant er, and your knowledge of the son's ante cedents is limited to the gossip of an old professor." Bertram Ganse, the subject of this col loquy, had just finished his fourth encore. Schubert's “Serenade” in its thrilling Spanish version. He had carried his audi tors with him on a tide if subtle emotion produced by the sympathetic versatility of a voice whose clear, swelling tones seemed at one moment to touch the ;'ihim- mering southern sky of which he sang, only to be cast down in the next to a hopeless Abandon of pain and despond ency. In addition to the power and caliber of his voice, Bertram Ganse was endowed with the physical presence and youthful grace that would arouse the critical spleen of the ever-censoriov.* Mrs. Faulk land. Tall and broadly built, his finely shaped head with Its c<-ear-cut features and wealth of raven hair poised above a full-throated, muscular neck; the mass- lveness of the athlote was chastened by Fne sprightlinoss of an Indwelling, aspir ing spirit Flushed from the triumph of his vocal sirt. he stood talking witli Myra Oak ley, a stately girl whose habitually calm reserve was rarely ruffled Jo an expre-. sion of more than casual interest in what passed around her. hut whose intercourse with Bertram was distinguishe’d by a gra cious unbending of her customary de meanor that evidently marked a bond of friendly Intimacy between them. "You are an idealist!”’ declared Myra after listening to an enthusiastic word- picture of the music of the future. "Say, rather, I try to he. Idealism is the breath of life that has created every human masterpiece.” "Yet. today there is no room for ideal ism in art.” “On the contrary, all art. whether of tot ay or yestejday, is idealism. The ideal ist merely views £iie concrete in its just relation to the essential being that sur rounds and creates it.” "Perhaps that ,• why your singing puts me in an attitude that recognizes ,-ome- thing above and beyond the common place. Indeed. 1 can never thank you enough for the joy your ait has given me, Bertram.” “To hear you say so is a recompense, an inspiration that lifts me above the bitterest disappointments." “You have disappointments?” "Yes, so that hope becomes despair.” "The opera?" "The manager can find no place for me. He gives no encouragement.” The interest that Myra Oakley and her mother took in him, their confidence in his ability and success, was a stimulus without which Bertram Ganse would have succumbed before the disheartening fail ures he had encountered in his effort to find an opening in the musical world. A year ago, when he left Corby, his native Texan village, he had anticipated an immediate recognition for the talent that his friend. Professor Fulmer, had praised so enthusiastically. IBs father, a hard working farmer, had been unable to help him financially except in the most spar ing manner. The report of his wealth that had reached Mrs. Oakley was with out foundation. Farmer Ganse. tiiinougu he had given his son a college education, had done so through the most parsimo nious management of the family expenses in Ta&as. Bad luck had overtaken him in the cattle business. A blight had de stroyed his last cotton crop. Owing to these successive failures Bertram's remit- As He Sang—His Notes Louder Clearer Free, Rollicking Sailor Life Than at First—Something of the Crept Into the Melody. tances had slowly decreased until they reached a complete standstill, and in their place camp the paternal advice to return to Corby and help recuperate the agricul tural losses. To this Bertram had not responded. ITe moved to another part of the city in or der that he might we out of reach of this restraining Texan influence. With the so cial fascinations that surrounded him. the adulation that Ills musical talents won him, and the romantic sympathy of so beautiful tf girl as Myra Oakley, he could not think seriously of a return to his father's farm, which meant the aban donment of a brilliant career that seemed to be before him. Yet, the alternative, to remain in New York, penniless, await ing the decision of some operatic man ager and occupying a false position among his fashionable friends who might discover his indigene"; this seemed repug nant enough, although it was the course upon which Bertram had entered. How he lived from day to day he hardly knew. His attic room in a -wviglug house was denuded of every portable bit of furniture, lie had parvr.ru everythin*, that was available, practiced every kind of ingenuity that abject penury suggests, and he knew that the end, for good ox bad, qould not lie far off. To the physical sufferings entailed by his privations was added the bitterness of the insincere role that circumstances had thrust upon him. The daily deception was at first intolerable to Bertram. Custom, however, was commencing to blunt his sensibilities. The knowledge that the doors of the woman he loved would close on him should his poverty be known, ter rified and then fascinated him. Would her love be great enough to bridge the gulf that loomed between them, he asl.ed himself. The trial would come and ne was eager and fearful of the aft. He could not .help contrasting his per plexity regarding this beautiful ereatrre and the perfect V-ertainty with which joe could count on the sympathy of the girl he had left in Texas a year ago. But, then, Lucy's was such a primitive, uncul tivated nature'. She was the turquoise, perfect, beautiful, changeless in Its frank opacity; while Myra was the diamond, many-faced, brilliant, perpetually radiat ing new combinations of light and color. When Bertram i'i-st reached New York there had been an active correspondence between himself and Lucy, who strove to soften the bitterness of his disappoint ments and entertained him with quaint descriptions of the homely Texan life. Then the letters became less frequent. shorter, more formal, and finally ceased altogether. Often, in his struggle with adversity Bertram was tempted to renew tills sweet old intimacy, longing for the sympathy he knew was his whatever be- fel him. But the thought of Myra in voked silence. The quiet past of his own people was far .otiiud him. Surrounded and beset by the dark pitfalls of his pov erty anil self-accusing hypocrisy, there glittered before him the one absorbing image of this beautiful woman for- whom his life was cast gi a game of hazard. It was a clear, evening in thre early spring. The city square under the rays of its lofty corona of electric lamps gieamed like an unpolished jewel set in the matrix of its native rock. Straight and stark stood the variegated tulips in their beds of forma] pattern. The carefully, trimmed grass plots emitted an odor of newly awakened vegetation; while the fountain, lazily scattering its sheen of rounded crystals, soothed the eye and aroused an indolent gratitude for these benefits of an artificial nature. Along tlie asphalt walks. the iron benches were crowded with people, some listless and sullen as ^though from an enforced idleness, some,.chatting to gether in the enjoyment of a well- earned siesta, and others joining the romps of the children in their eager pur suit of ball or hoop. Occasionally, a party of stylishly dressed men and women sauntered down the shaded paths, glancing curiously at the .ani mated scene; or a beggar, with doffed hat, mumbling his misfortunes to the indifferent benches, would pass back and forth, gleaning a scanty harvest of pennies. Among the latter class halted an old- man. ragged cap in hand, his white hair falling over his shoulders, his fleecy heard hiding a frayed and torn coat. Apparently■ unaccustomed to- the> usages of the professionr-l beggar, for a long time ,h.- stood irresolute at the head of the Walks radiating from tine fountain. Finally, a slight shiver passing over his bent frame, and striving to conceal his repugnance, he approached the nearest bench, silently holding his hat before its occupants. Down the line he slowly shambled, scarcely noticed by those to whom he dumbly appealed for-alms, and gathering, as a result of his efforts, a pitiful tribute of two pennies. Returning to the fountain, he gazed at these tokens of a scant charity, sti fling a passionate outcry that, seemed CONTINUED ON LAST PAGE. • • u. •• .t. *o s e ® o • -;- • -;- • • -r • -i- • -r • -!- • -i- • -!* • *i* • *1* • *5* • •!* ° *5* • *1- • *i- • -I- • • -i- • -i- • q- • o Calling' of Captain Bwamirez By Frank T. Sullen Seventh of the Outdoor Series *r • *1* • *r • *j* •-i* • ••£•••!•• *2* *s* • •S* • *i-• *1* • v »r *5* ••i**-i*«*!-«*S* -I-•-I-•-I-•-q-• *1-• %-e-i HEN two whaleships meet during a cruise, if there are no signs of whales near, an exchange of visits al ways takes place. The two captains foregather on board one ship, the tw T o chief mates on hoard tlie other. While the officers are thus enjoying them selves, it is usual for the boats’ crews to go forward and while away the time as host they can, such visitors being always welcome. This prac tice is called “gamming." and is fruitful of some of the queerest yarns imaginable, as these sea wanderers ransack their memories for tales wherewith to make the time pass pleasantly. Dn the occasion of which I am writing, our ship had met the Cora of Martha’s Vineyard, off Nieuwe, and gamming had set in immediately. One of the group among whom 1 sat was a sturdy little native of Guam, in the Ladrnne islands, tlie picture of good humor, but as ugly as a joss Being called unon for a song, he laughingly excused himself on the ground that iTis songs were caiculativl to give a white man collywobbles; but if we didn’t mind he would spin a "ruffor" (yarn) instead. Carried unanimously— and we lit fresh pipes as we composed ourselves to hear of "The Calling of Cap tain Ramirez." I reproduce the story in a slightly more intelligible form than I hoard it, the mixture of Spanish, Kanaka, etc., being a gibberish not to be under stood by any but those who have lived among the polyglot crowd in a whaler. "About fiften years ago now, as near as I can reckon (for we don't keep much a . c ount of time except we’re on monthly wage). I was cruising the Kingsmills in the old Salem, Captain Ramirez. They t,,i,j me her name meant ‘Peace,’ and that may be; but if so, all I can say is that never was a ship worse named. Why, there wasn’t ever any peace aboard of her. Quiet there was, when the old man was asleep, for nobody wanted birr, wakened; but peace—well, I tell ye. boys, she was Jest hell afloat. I‘ve been Ashing now a good many years in yankee spout- ers, and there's some blood boats among 'em, but never wag I so unlucky as when I first set foot aboard the Salem. Skipper was a Portugee from Flores, comes o\er to the states as a nipper and brung up In Rhode Island. Don’t know and don't care how he got to ba a skipper, hut I guess Jemmy Squarefoot was his schoolmaster, for some of his tricks wouldn’t, couldn't have been thought of anywheres elese but down be low. I ain't a-going to make ve all miser able by telling you how he hazed us round and starved us and tortured us, but you can let your imagination loose if you want to, and then you won't overhaul the facts of his daily amusements. "Well, I'd been with him about a year when, as 1 said at first, we was cruising the Kingsmills, never going too close in because at that time the natives were very savage, always fighting with each other, but very glad of a chance to go for a ship and kill and eat all hands. Then again we had some Kanakas aboard, and the skipper knew if they got half a chance they would he over board and off to the shore. "Sperm whales wer? very plentiful, in fact, they had been so all the cruise, which was another proof to all of us who the skipper was m on. with, for in nearly every ship we gammed the crowd were heart broken at their bad luck. However, we'd only been a few days on the ground when one morning we lowered for a thundering big school or middling size whales. We sailed in ful] butt and all boats got fast. But no sooner was a strain put on the lines than they all parted like as if they were burnt. No body there ever seen or heard of such a tiling before. It fairly scared us all. for we thought it was witchcraft, and some of 'em said the skipper’s time was up and his boss was rounding on him. Well, we bent on again, seeond irons, as the whales were all running anyhow, not trying to get. away, and we all got fast again. ’Twns no good at all; all parted just the same as before. Well, we was about the worse gallied lot of men you ever sec We was that close to the ship tiiat we knew the old man could see with ills glasses everything that was going on. Every one of us knew just about how he was bearing it. but what could we do? Well, boys, we didn't have much time to serlilerquise, for uefore you could say 'knife' here he comes. Jumping, howling mad. Right in among us he busted, and oh! he did look like his old father Satan on the rampage. He was in the bow of his boat and he let drive at the first whale he ran up against. Down went the fish and pop went the line same as before. Well, I've seen folks get r,tad more'n a little, but never in all my fish ing did ever I see anything like he showed us then. I thought he’d a spiodeil all into little pieces. Ho snatched off his hat and tore It into ribbons with his teeth; the rattle of Portugee hlasphemion was like our old mincing-machine going full keltcr, and the foam flew from between his teeth like soapsuds. "Suddenly he cooled down, all in a min ute like, and said very quiet, ‘All aboard.’ We were all pretty well prepared for the worst by this time, but I do think we liked him less now than we did when he was ramping around-—he looked a sight more dangerous. However, we obeyed or ders smart, as usual, but he was aboard first My! how that boat of his just flew. ’Twas like a. race for life. "We were no sooner on board than we hoisted boats and made them fast. Then the skipper yelled, 'All hands lay aft.' Aft we come profhpt, and ranged ourselves across the quarter deck in front of where he was prowling rack and forth like a breeding tigress. -<s soon as we were a I! aft he stopped, facing us, and spoke, 'Somebody aboard this ship's been trying to work a jolt off on me by pisonin’ my lines. Now I wgnt that man. so’s I can kill him. slow; ’n J'm going to have him, too, ’tliout waiting too long. Now I think this ship's been too easy a berth for all of you, but from this out until 1 have my rights on the man J want she's a-going to be a patent hell. Make up yer minds quick, for J tell yer no ship's crew ever suffered what you're agoin' to suffer till 1 get that man under my hands. Now go.’ "When we got forrard we found the fo'c's’le scuttle screwed up so's we couldn’t get below. There was no shel ter on deck from the blazing sun, the hatches was battened so we couldn’t get into the fore-hold, so we had to just bear it. One man went aft to the scut tle butt for a drink of water, and found the spigot gone. The skipper saw him, and says to him, 'You'll find plenty to drink in the bar'l forrard,’ and you know tile sort of liquor that's full of. Some of us flung ourselves down on deck, being dog tired as well as hungry and thirsty, but he was forrard in a mitiuto with both his shooting irons cocked. ‘I'p, ye spawn, ’n git some exercise; yer’ gettin’ too fat 'n lazy,’ says lie. So we trudged about praying that lie might drop dead, but none of us willing as yet to Tace certain death by defying him. The blessed night came at last, and we were able to get a little rest, he having gone below, and the officers, though willing enough to keep in with him at our ex pense, not being had enough to drive us ail night unless he was around to see it done. Along 'about eight bells came the steward, with a biscuit apiece for us and a bucket of water—about half a pint each. Wo were so starved and thirsty that the bite and sup was a godsend. What made things worse for us was the suspicion we hjul one of the other. As I said, we was, as usual, a mixed crowd and ready to sell one another for a trifle. He knew that, curse him. and reckoned with con siderable certainty on getting hold of the victim lie wanted. Well, the night passed somehow, and when morning came he was around again making us work, scouring iron work bright, holy stoning decks, scrubbing overside, as if our very lives depended on the jobs being done full pelt. "We was drawing in pretty close to a small group of islands, closer than we had been yet in those waters, and we all wondered what «-as in the wind. Sud denly he gave orders to back the main- yard and have .the dinghy lowered. She was a tiny tuo of a craft, such as I never saw carried i,. ont*ci a-.are, oni> about big enough for three. A little Scotchman and myself was ordered into her, then to our amazement the old man got in, shoved off. and headed her for the opening Qjroug'h the reef surrounding the biggest island of the group, i- t;*s fairly well wooded with cocoanut trees and low bushes, while, unlike any of the oth er islets, there were several big rocks Showing up through the vegetation in the middle of it. We wem’t long getting to the beach, where we Jumped out and ran her up a piece so’s he could step out dry. We waited for a minute or two while he sat think.eg and looking straight ahead of him at nothing. Presently he jumped out and said to me. ‘Come,’ and to Sandy, 'Stay here.’ OfT he went up the beach and straight into the little wood, just as if somebody was calling him and he had to go. Apparently there wasn't a living si jl on the whole island except just us three. We had only got a few yards into the bush when we came to a little dip In \he ground, a sort of valley. Just as we got to the bottom, we suddenly found ourselves in the grip ol' two Kanakas, the one that had hold of the skipper being the biggest man I ever saw. I made one wriggle, but my man, who was holding my two arms be hind my back, gave them a twist that nearly wrenched them out of their sockets and quieted me good. "As for the skipper, he was trying to call or speak, but although his moutn worked no word came, and he looked like death. The giant that had him flung him on his face and lashed his wrists behind him with a bit ol native fishline, thin served his ankles the same. I was tied next, but not so cruel as the skip per, indeed, they didn’t seem to want to hurt me. The two Kanakas now had a sort of consultation by signs, neither or them speaking a word. While they was at it I noticed the big one was horribly scarred all over his back and loins (they was both naked except for a bit of a grass belt) as well as crippled in his gait. Presently they ceased their dumb motions and came over to me. The big one opened his mouth and pointed to where his tongue had been, also to his right eye socket, which was empty. Then he touch ed the big white scars on his body, and finally pointed to the skipper. Whole books couldn't have explained his mean ing better than l understood it then. But what was coming? I declare I didn't feel glad a bit at the thought that Cap tain Ramirez was going to get his deserts at last. "Suddenly the giant lusted the skipper on his shoulders as if he had been a baby, and strode off across the valley toward the massive heap of rocks, followed by his comrade and myself. We turn- d sharply round a sort of gate, composed of three or four huge coral blocks bal anced upon each other, and entered a grotto or cave with a descending floor. Over the pieces of rock with which the ground was str< wed we stumbled onward ni the dim light until we entered water and splashed on through it for some dis tance. Then, our eyes being by this time used to the darkness, the general features of the place could he made out. "Communication with the sea was evi dent, for the signs of the high water mark could be seen on the walls of the cave just above our heads. For a min ute or so we remained perfectly still in the midst of that dead silence so deep that 1 fancied 1 could hear the shell fish crawling on the bottom. Then I was brought a few paces nearer the captain, as he hung upon the gnat Kanaka’s shoulder. Taking my eyes frotn his death like face, I cast them down, and there, almost at my feet, was one of those enormous clams such as you see the shells of thrown up on all these beaches big as a child’s bath. Hardly had the horrible truth dawned on me of what was going to happen than it took place. Lifting the skipper into an upright po sition, the giant dropped him. feet first, between the gaping shells of the big clam, which, the moment It felt the touch, shut them with a smash that must have broken the skipper's legs. An awful waii burst from him. the first sound he had yet made. I have said he was brave, and he was. too. although such a cruel vil lain, but no,w he broke down and begged hard for life. It may have been that the Kanakas were deaf as well as dumb; at any rate, for all sign of hearing they showed, they were. He appealed to me, hut 1 was as helpless as he, and my turn was apparently now to come. But evi dently the Kanakas were only carrying out what they considered- to be payment of a due debt, for after looking at him fixedly for a while, during which 1 telt tin- water rising round my knees, they turned their backs on him and led me away, l was glad to go, for his shrieks and prayers were awful to hear, and 1 couldn't do anything. “They led me to where they had first caught us, made me fast to a tree and left me. Overcome with fatigue and hunger, T must have fainted, for when I come to 1 found myself loose. lying on the sand, and two or three of my shipmates attended to me. As soon as I was able to speak they asked me what had be come of the skipper. Then it all rushed back on me at once, and I told them the dreadful story. They heard me in utter silence, the mate saying at last; ‘Wall, sonny, it's a good job fer yew the Kanakers made ye fast, or vew'd have had a job ter clear yersef of murder.' And so I thought now. However, as soon as I was a hit rested and had something to eat, I led them to the cave, keeping a bright lookout meanwhile for a possible attack by the Kanakas. Nonp appeared, though, and the tide having fallen again we had no difficulty in finding the skip per. All that was left of him. that is, for the sea scavengers had been busy with him, so that he was a sight to re member with a crawling at your stomach till your dying day. He was still fast in the grip of the clam, so it was decided to leave him there and get on board again at once. “We did so unmolested, getting sail on the ship as soon as we reached her, so as to~ lose sight of that internal spot. But TTs no use denying the fact that we all felt glad the shipper was dead; some CONTINUED ON LAST PAGE.