The Silver Menace
Murray Leinster
[Transcriber's Note: This etext produced from The Thrill Book,September 1, 1919 and September 15, 1919]
The yacht was plowing through the calm waters with a steady throbbingof the engines. The soft washing of the waves along the sides, themurmur of the wind through the light rigging aloft, and the occasionallight footstep of the navigating officer on the bridge were the onlysounds.
The long white vessel swept on through the night in silence. Here andthere a light showed from some port-hole or window, but for the mostpart the whole boat was dark and silent. For once the yacht containedno merry party of guests to one-step on the wide decks and fill all theobscurer corners with accurately paired couples.
Alexander Morrison, millionaire steamship magnate, and his daughterNita had the ship to themselves. They were sitting in two of the bigwicker chairs on the after deck, and the glow of Morrison's cigar wasthe only light.
"Getting chilly, Nita," he remarked casually. "Are you warm enough?"
"Yes, indeed." Nita was silent for a moment, gazing off into thedarkness. "It's nice," she said reflectively, "to be by one's self fora while. I'm glad you didn't invite a lot of people to come back withus."
Her father smiled.
"Judging by the way you behaved along the Riviera," he reminded her,"you didn't mind company. I never saw any one quite so run after asyou were."
Nita shook her head.
"They were running after you, daddy," she said lightly. "I was just ameans of approach."
Her father puffed on his cigar for a moment in silence.
"It is a disadvantage, having a millionaire for a father," he admitted."It's hard to tell who is in love with you, and who is in love withyour father's money."
"So the thing to do, I suppose," said Nita amusedly, "is just to fallin love with some one yourself, and pay no attention to his motives."
"Where do you get your notions?" asked her father. "That's cynicism.You haven't been practicing on that theory, have you?"
"Not I," said Nita with a little silvery laugh. "But you know, daddy,it isn't nice to feel like a money bag with a lot of people looking atyou all the time, some of them enviously and some of them covetously,but none of them regarding you just like a human being."
"I don't see," declared her father, with real affection, "how anynormal young man who looked at you could stop thinking about you longenough to think about your money."
"I rise and bow," said Nita mischievously. "May I return thecompliment, substituting 'young woman' for 'young man'?"
"Don't try to fool your father," that gentleman said with a smile. Headded with something of conscious pride: "I don't suppose there are twoother men in America as homely as I am."
"Daddy!" protested Nita, laughing. "You're lovely to look at! Iwouldn't have you look a bit different for worlds."
"Neither would I have myself look different," her father admittedcheerfully. "I've gotten used to myself this way. I like to look atmyself this way. It's an acquired taste like olives, but once youlearn to like me this way—why, there you are."
Nita laughed and