Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 142: what you’re looking at

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

136 few minutes the Kid watched him. Then example was too strong. His arms went above his head, his mouth opened in a drowsy yawn. Limply he stretched himself across a pile of beer and whisky-cases. And he, too, slept. “Sacca bona, M’Lungu,” came sharply from the half-open doorway. In an instant Charlie and the Kid were on their feet and painfully opening their dry eyes. “‘Sacca bona, madoda.”’ “Eh, eh,” a mouth in a grinning face sent back. The Kid was the first to come to himself properly. “Ou funani?” he inquired pleas- antly. ‘What d’you want?” “Funa gutenga, M’Lungu. I want to buy.” The sun was behind the head peering over the lower half of the door, but the gleaming rows of teeth plainly showed them that the grin was still on the shadowy face. The eyes of the two men, now cleared, stared fixedly at the face. The eyes rose slowly to the top of the head. Then the two pairs of eyes came away and stared one into the other. Charlie was laughing. “First black Irishman I ever saw, Tim.” The Kid’s cheeks went red. ‘He is a bit Irish, isn’t he?” he said haltingly. “Of course he’s Irish. No man with that shock of red hair could be anything but Irish, no matter how black he may be.” “‘Well, if he’s Irish he’s all right. Let’s let him in.” The red head, not understanding, yet seemed to understand. ‘“‘Yehkbo, M’Lungu,”’ he agreed, and the grin came near to cutting his face in two. Lazily the Kid walked round the rough counter and slipped the bolt in the half door. With a succession of ‘‘A-a-ahs,”’ of pleasure the Kafir stepped in. And the door stayed open. (6 Instantly the Kid’s eyes turned from the flaring red head and came round to his pal. The sharp, puzzled exclamation sounded almost like a shot. “‘__|?? Charlie fairly shouted again. And as he shouted he pointed down to the ground. Hesitatingly the Kid backed away— backed the full length of the counter. “____!? he joined in. Then he added more thoughtfully. ‘Lord, Charlie, if only old Barnum were alive!” In a second Charlie was round the counter Adventure and together the two men stood in silent contemplation, silent admiration. And the happy grin never once left the Kafir’s face. The two pairs of eyes rose to the level of those of the Kafir. ‘‘Where in blazes d’you get those feet from, Rooikop?” Charlie asked queerly. Laughingly the Kafir lifted a foot high in the air in the direction of the whites and flexed the toes like a bird of prey gripping at its kill. And as if in fear of some unknown horror each man stepped quickly back. Each man felt a kind of funny sensation in his stomach. For both feet were split far up and had only two crooked great toes apiece. SHAKILY Charlie went round to the back of the counter and felt for the bottle. Just as shakily he poured out a couple of stiff jolts. “Here, Tim. It’s only a malformation— a kind of a monstrosity. But the combina- tion of that and the red hair gave me a bit of a scrick for a moment or so.” Gradually Charlie broke into a rasping laugh. His hand reached for a third glass. “Here, Rooikop. I know it’s against the law, but here’s a drink for you. Any man who has to put up with that head and those feet deserves all the sympathy he can get.” Willingly Charlie held out the glass with its huge dose. Coaxingly he reached it over to the still smiling Kafir. “That'll do you good, Rooikop. Help to make you forget your ugly self.”’ But as if understanding ‘“‘ugly self” the Kafir’s hand went up in fierce refusal and his face turned hard and cruel and old. “Tkona, M’Lungu. Ikona. Ifuna.” “Don’t want it?” Charlie fairly screamed as he almost dropped the glass in his utter amazement. ‘Don’t want it? You're not human. You’re the first Kafir I’ve ever seen who refused a drink. Timmie,” he said turning, “‘I’ll take it all back. This fellow’s no Irishman. He refuses duty.” The Kid looked serious. “There’s something wrong with him, right enough, Charlie. That’s far too much to be natural. Red hair, cloven feet and he won’t drink. He’s mad.” Quickly the Kafir recovered: himself and the smile came back. Ingratiatingly he moved closer to the counter. “Funa gutenga, M’Lungu,’ he said quietly. Commicloooks.com