Adventure, November 1915 — page 8: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

li ae < tr st Fo. ra Ss - ws ee aml af BAG SS * r Nadir ge wate ase | \ FES Ar Piee Took Ree BS ody ve wt prong . im! ‘ , * ra : Say, 4) ve: oe ey Tae Be oe t ~ > i ¥ "Pot eal A) a eA As wee * ob . Ah os EN ie Tee 1 2° See AV Ss le eee ty EATS) nema! ny ’ ‘ ys i 1 ; 6 3 Adventure - dollars’ worth of dust and nuggets, at six- teen dollars to the ounce and twelve ounces to the pound, Troy weight, close to two tons of virgin gold—taken from the river- beds of California sixty-five years ago, buried, and waiting for some one to dig it up and put it into circulation!” ‘Has he handed you the usual bunk, Archer?” asked Jim with lazy sarcasm. ‘‘A sunken galleon full of tarnished gold, a map, skulls and crossbones, and a dying curse?” Archer flushed. “T’ll admit the average buried treasure stunt is more or less of a joke,” he said, “and usually ends in a fizzle. But I think you'll admit I’m not over gullible, and he tells a story this afternoon of a treasure, tarnished by a curse, that seems to me to hold the elements at least of truth.” “T suppose,’ he went on, “‘it’s different, this matter of treasure-trove, when one is personally interested. But you shall hear the story as it was told to me by this old man of eighty-five, sane and clear-headed, from his own lips, and judge for your- selves.” “But I don’t see where Peggy and I come in on it, Archer?” said Jim Winton. ‘He’s your pirate!” Then he shrugged his shoulders, admit- ting his interest in the tale, looking a little like a boy discovered stealing jam. ““Haven’t we all been pals before and since our respective fathers went up in the same smash? And wasn’t the entire unfortunate speculation made on the advice of my poor old pater?”’ asked Archer. “This is another speculation to be entered into on the advice of his son, with at least nothing to lose and a chance of recouping heavily. Of course we share alike. Jim, you’re ridiculous.” “TJ understand, Archer,” said the girl softly. “Thanks, Peggy,” he said. “I’m sure you do. So does Jim, really. Then it’s all right if I bring the old boy ’round about eight o’clock?” “Sure! We’ve nothing doing,” answered Jim. “But honestly, Archer, didn’t your pirate dream it? Do you really mean there’s a chance of our putting hands on a ‘real chunk of coinr It sounds too good to be true. If you knew how sick I am of this eternal grind of turning out cheap bunga- lows and punk garages——”’ “Me too, Jim,” answered Addams. ‘“The practise of the law, what little I get of it, is neither attractive or lucrative. But I hon- estly believe this is true and that the money’s there for the finding. We may have to fight for it, though.” Winton took his hands from his pockets and stood up. “Fight! Why didn’t you say so, long ago. That sounds more reasonable and in- teresting at the same time. You must ad- mit that to quietly walk in on us and start talking about three-quarters of a million dollars as if it were thirty cents was some- what staggering?” “‘Well, we'll see,’’ said Addams. ‘‘I’ve got to go now. No, I can’t stay to dinner, Peggy, thank you. I’ve got to get some charts and things together that I left at the office. I'll have dinner downtown some- where, but Pll be here at eight o’clock with the pirate.” CHAPTER II THE GOLD PIRATES eEHE knocking at the back door contin- ued vigorously as Jim Winton tugged at the tardy bolts. “Bring a light, will you, Peggy?” he call- ed. “It’s black as ink in the passage.” Peggy -Winton appeared at the door of the studio. The apartment ran the full length of the building from Washington Square to an alley used partly as mews, partly for converted studios by the painters, sculptors and artists who had made that quarter of New York their own. The door at which Winton was struggling was pri- vate one practically unused in favor of the entrance from the square. “‘Here’s the electric torch, Jim,’ said the girl, directing its beam on the stubborn door which opened suddenly as the last screech- ing bolt reluctantly left its socket. A rush of Wintry night air brought with it a few flakes of snow, and Archer Addams appeared, steadying the arm of an old man, muffled in an ulster that fell from beneath his long white beard to his feet. The ray of the torch fell full upon the aged face, vigorous yet in spite of the tell- tale traces of years. The cheeks, tanned long since to leather, held a glow where the — blood still ran rather than crawled through the veins. The gray eyes beneath the hoary penthouse brows were clear though in GEomichooks Eom: TS Me |