Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 168: what you’re looking at

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

162 how well I can perform my duty absent from here. But remember! One leetle sip of wine—and one cigaret'”’ So, the center of a grinning, jostling, exultant crowd of bluejackets, the chief was escorted to a place at the end wicker table. “Yes—eet ees poseeble—this will do very well—for a moment,” he remarked, as he settled himself in the ample wicker chair— “of very fine quality,’’ as Tackline had remarked. Tackline glanced at the clock in the steeple of the church of the Holy Virgin. It stood at nine-thirty. He hastily ordered wine—and~-more wine, opening another sack of makin’s, which he laid near the chief’s elbow. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. The chief was amazed at the rapidity with which his glass was refilled with this delicious wine. It seemed he could never empty it. At ten minutes to ten, however, he began to realize that Sefior Brady’s voice was growing faint and far away. The chairs, the tables, the pavement under his feet, even the worm-eaten pillars of the café began to undulate like waves of Summer heat. Sefior Brady’s face looked strangely out of proportion. First it was too long, and the litile hat on top seemed a perpen- dicular streak of white. Then it was too wide, and the hat stuck out like an emaci- ated pancake. Suddenly the chief began , weeping quietly. Slowly, very slowly, he began to realize what was wrong. In fact, he could already see himself being carried from the floor of José’s cafe the following morning. He knew that he should leave at once. He ‘wavered to his feet. ““Senores, you have been ver’ kind; wine ver’ fine; ver’ warm evening,” he acknowl- edged, mopping his forehead. - Tackline realized that at all costs he must delay the chief’s attempted departure. But with what subject could he divert his attention for a moment? “TI say, chief—have you ever—did you ever—just a minute, chief, before you go— did you ever see—-a fellow roll a cigaret with one hand?”’ Here was a subject of interest to the chief. Also he felt tremendously drowsy. So he settled slowly back into his chair. Limply his body glided downward from the wicker chair of very fine quality. Adventure The hands of the clock marked ten. Even as the chief settled to the sidewalk, Tackline lifted to his shoulders the table which would have sheltered the descending form. And a grotesque, unshapely proces- sion started rapidly and silently for the un- guarded town gate and for neutral ground not far beyond. Leading the parade was a _ swaying, pitching, animated wicker table—Tack- line’s sparse five feet surmounted by his excelsior hair, his hair by his round, white hat, and the hat by a champagne-drenched table-top. Four wicker legs, projecting downward, rasped painfully against bony knock-knees. : Bringing up the rear was grinning Timmy Rafferty, who had paused long enough to add to fiis already bulky collection a chair just vacated by the chief of the Algeciras Gendarmerie. In reality Timmy was not bringing up the rear. For far behind, waddled perspiring José Toredo, followed by a gesticulating serpentine of waiters—both shifts. Neutral ground, a sandy beach, the friend- ly depths of the whale-boat, a gasoline- choked putt-puii-putt of the engine, a final, powerful shove by the trailing Timmy, and the animated café departed Spain. At the water-front in Gibraltar there is the mouth of a dark, slippery alley that runs up the face of the Rock. It was here that Tackline secured the whale-boat to an iron ring in the cement wall and the party clambered ashore. There was much groaning on the part of a few of the less vigorous of the party. Tackline encouraged them, assuring them that “they ought to be glad this was such fine quality wicker and not solid oak.”” Up the alley they struggled to the Garden of the Gobs. Finally the party paused to rest in the shadow of the hawthorn hedge. Very distinctly on the night air they could hear voices. “Why so distant, little one? Come, kiss vour Jerry.” Then mocking laughter. “My Jerry! My Jerry! I laugh till the weepings come to my eye. You are so— what you say—‘t’ick’—if you think I ever love you. I make for you just one leetle joke.” “A joke on me?” “Oh, yes! Does sefor think he would COmiclbook CO