Motion Picture Story Magazine (Aug 1911-Jan 1912)

The Bo'sun's Watch (Edison .11-22-11) By PETER WADE Captain Horace O'Meara fixed a pair of menacing eyes on Bo 'sun Patrick McBride as he bent over the straining hawser. Bo 'sun McBride would have liked nothing better than to return with accrued interest said unloving stare, only that duty fastened his own orbs to the aforesaid cable. The trim schooner Evening Star was putting the finishing touches to a long voyage, by berthing gracefully at the public wharf of Mulchester. On the high seas the Captain's little maritime family dwelt peaceably enough, were it not for the unsuppressible argument as to the relative historical importance of the Macs and the 0 's, but on tying up to a dock the ordinary rules of the sea were reversed, and the 0 's, in the person of Captain Horace, were wont to come into unreasonable pre-eminence. Hence the domineering look in his usually mild eyes. The skipper's blithesome daughter stood atop of the companionway, and searched the wharf with limpid eyes that had never been hardened by controversy. A young man, on the wharf, in holiday attire, beamed a large smile on the bent shoulders of the elderly Bo 'sun, which did not seem to hearten him in the least. His heart was beating steadily enough, against a tender letter in his peajacket, from a certain vivacious Widow McCann, dwelling in Mulchester. While the skipper's eye was upon him, however, he preferred to be the downtrodden mariner. The young man continued to beam onto the Bo 'sun's back, on the theory possibly, that a refracted smile would end somewhere near the companionway. It would have, maybe, had the schooner's side not been moving slowly into the wharf. As it was, its powerful ray fell aslant the formi 120 dable features of Captain O'Meara. That worthy commander, hardened to tropic suns, did not move from its path, but took full note of its intended direction. With the slightest rubbing of her paint, the Evening Star nestled against the wharf, and, like two freed spirits, the Bo 'sun climbed over her bows, as she of the companionway stepped upon the rail. The eyes of the skipper were not afflicted with strabismus, but they almost crossed in their effort to follow the divergent paths of the deserters. Making the best of it, they followed the rolling gait of the corpulent Bo 'sun, while their experience told him that his daughter would not stray far from the path of that misdirected smile. As, beseeming his dignity, he slowly mounted the wharf, the sense of sound abetted his flagging eyes. The space of the landing was quite clear of frequenters, except for the hurrying figure of the Bo 'sun. From behind a bulkhead of pilings, however, a most unequivocal smack cut the air sharply, and the Captain strode toward the source of the telltale explosion. Altho he came upon his daughter, May, safe in the arms of the dressy young man, he persisted in acting as if a fatality had happened. "Young woman," he blustered, "what will ye be doing here?" She was tempted to suggest that she was resting up after the weariness of the cruise, but, on second thought, she hung her head and blushed prettily. His anger switched to her restful companion. "As for you," he continued in high voice, "ye young wharf -rat, be off with ye, an' dont be nibbling again at the likes of mine." He shook a big brown fist very close under the nose of the dressy experi