Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 137: what you’re looking at

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

Ev’rybody Likes a Gunman would be expected to comport himself. The look that he turned upon the man in the gray overcoat was brimming with contentment. ‘Have one with me, mate,” he offered generously. “That’s all right,” returned the other, holding up an imperious left hand. “I’m blowin’. What ship you off?” “The Georgetown—in from the West Indies.” “You look like an old service man.”’ “Sure, I’m an ex-gob.” ‘Thought so,” went on the man in the gray coat. “I can ’most always tell a gob— been one myself. But—do you know who I am?” “Why, no,” replied the fireman with a wondering look. “Ever hear of ‘New York Roddy?’ ” The stranger’s voice was smooth and his smile was as clear and guileless as that of a cherub is supposed to be. “No,” lied the fireman. “Well, now I’m goin’ to see if you’re all right. I’m New York Roddy. Do you want me?” “Do I want you? Why should J want you, Jack?” queried the fireman with an assumption of great surprize. “Because if you want me, you're not goin’ to get me. You won't even get as far as that door!’ The smile on New York Roddy’s flushed face broadened into the full bloom of merri- ment; but the fireman was looking quite innocently and courageously into the laugh- ing eves of the gunman. “T’m not lookin’ for anybody. All I’m lookin’ for is a drink.” ‘All right. Have another, then. us a couple more shots, Joe.” The dark-skinned servitor complied at once with the gunman’s request, saving nothing and taking no apparent interest in the conversation. The barroom was emptv of customers except for the fireman and the gunman, but one or two habitués seemed to be stirring about in the back room. The bartender poured out two addi- tional glasses of fusel oil and the men drank, clinking glasses. The right hand of the gunman remained in his overcoat pocket. The fireman kept both his hands in plain view on the bar. He loathed the vile lijuor but he did not call for anything “soft.” Firemen do not usually go into Give * Never what it seems. 131 saloons to buy and to drink what they con- temptuously term “belly-wash.”’ Neither did he attempt to dispose of any of the cheap liquor via the convenient cus- pidor route. New York Roddy’s laughing eves held vision as subtly sure as a cat’s and the fireman sensed with unerring accuracy the nature of the potential destruction con- cealed in that gray overcoat pocket. “These subway suckers cert’nly make me lawf,”’ confided the gunman to the fireman with an amused wink. ‘Yesterday in a down-town ‘express some nifty operator nicked a dame for her hand-bag. When she got wise she let out an awful squawk. ““*Qo, mah bag!’ she yells like a sheep. ‘I had fifty dollahs in it!’ “As a matter of fact, Jack, lyin’ ain’t one of my accomplishments and vou can there- fore take it from me that there was only fifteen dollars in that hand-bag. That un- covers the female system of profiteerin’, eh? I suppose the simple lookin’ guy she had with her had to put up for it in order to save his reputation as a gallant escort. That dame made a cool thirty-five on that transaction on a fifteen principal. Don’t thev learn, eh? She ought to be in Wall Street. Pays to get robbed sometimes, eh? That’s why ev’rybody likes a gunman.” New York Roddy laughed joyously. “Maybe you think I’m sort of careless because I’m discussin’ my personal affairs with strangers so free and easy-like,” he went on in an amused tone. ‘‘Well, to tell you the truth, I’ve been drinkin’ for a day or two and I’m therefore kind of reckless. If the people back of me got wise to me drinkin’, they’d drop me. They want us operators to have clear heads. Why, sure, we've got bankers, you know—us guys— same as any other business. You'd be more surprized yet if you knew who was back of us guys. Funny world, eh? Just reminds me I’m gettin’ broke. Want to see how easy I can get fifty dollars? °Wait; I'll show you. Ev’rybody likes a gunman.” ha dently the proprietor of the “‘joint”’ LSJ had entered and walked behind the bar where, Midas-like, he was busily thumb- ing over the money he had mulcted in vari- ous ways from the public as well as from the Treasury of the United States. “T want fifty dollars,” said New York A TALL, dark-featured man—evi- cCOmicloolks C©