"
The whaleback, an immense tube of steel plates, lay at her wharf,
sucking in entire harvests of wheat from the San Joaquin valley--
harvests that were to feed strangely clad skeletons on the
southern slopes of the Himalaya foot-hills. Travis and Condy
edged their way among piles of wheat-bags, dodging drays and
rumbling trucks, and finally brought up at the after gangplank,
where a sailor halted them. Condy exhibited his reporter's badge.
"I represent 'The Times,'" he said, with profound solemnity, "and
I want to see the officer in charge."
The sailor fell back upon the instant.
"Power of the press," whispered Condy to Travis as the two gained
the deck.
A second sailor directed them to the mate, whom they found in the
chart-room, engaged, singularly enough, in trimming the leaves of
a scraggly geranium.
Condy explained his mission with flattering allusions to the
whaleback and the novelty of the construction. The mate--an old
man with a patriarchal beard--softened at once, asked them into
his own cabin aft, and even brought out a camp-stool for Travis,
brushing it with his sleeve before setting it down.
While Condy was interviewing the old fellow, Travis was examining,
with the interest of a child, the details of the cabin: the rack-
like bunk, the washstand, ingeniously constructed so as to shut
into the bulkhead when not in use, the alarm-clock screwed to the
wall, and the array of photographs thrust into the mirror between
frame and glass.
Pages:
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47