interests me. The thing is a sort of instinct. I run it down. If it's a
good story, I send it in. That's all there is to it." He laughed
slightly. "You see, I'm a sort of magazine writer in method, but my stuff
is newspaper stuff. Also the game suits me. That's why I play it. That's
why I'm here. I have to tell you about myself this way so you will
understand how I came to be mixed up in this _Laughing Lass_
matter."

"I remember," commented Barnett, "that when you came aboard the _South
Dakota_, you had a little trouble making Captain Arnold see it." He
turned to the others with a laugh. "He had all kinds of papers of ancient
date, but nothing modern--letter from the _Star_ dated five years
back, recommendations to everybody on earth, except Captain Arnold,
certificate of bravery in Apache campaign, bank identifications, and all
the rest. 'Maybe you're the _Star's_ correspondent, and maybe you're
not,' said the Captain, 'I don't see anything here to prove it.' Slade
argued an hour; no go. Remember how you caught him?" he inquired of
Slade.

The reporter grinned assent.

"After the old man had turned him down for good, Slade fished down in his
warbag and hauled out an old tattered document from an oilskin case.
'Hold on a minute,' said he, 'you old shellback. I've proved to you that
I can write; and I've proved to you that I have fought, and now here I'll
prove to you that I can sail. If writing, fighting, and sailing don't fit
me adequately to report any little disturbances your antiquated
washboiler may blunder into, I'll go to raising cabbages.' With that he
presented a master's certificate! Where did you get it, anyway? I never
found out."