Adventure Magazine Cover — page 129: what you’re looking at

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

The Weak Spot the ring. You’re a fine lil go-getter, you are.. Well, I guess you see where you stand, Tommy. You’ll tarry right where you are with the would-be’s.” “T ain’t tarryin’ nowhere, Ike,” rejoined Lynn warmly. “I gotta have that match with McCrady an’ it’s up to you to get it for me.” “How’ll I get it for you, that’s what I’m askin’ youe”’ “That’s your business; you’re my man- ager, ain’t your) McCrady’s got a weak spot somewhere an’ it’s up to you to locate it. Go on an’ get busy with your bean, Mister Trimble.” Trimble said nothing more, but shifted - his unlighted cigar to a new angle in his mouth and again took up his striding the floor, his head applied to the task of finding ways and means of forcing Kid McCrady to fight. Some time later he brought the fist of one hand smashing down into the palm of the other. “McCrady fights, boys!” he cried trium- phantly. “I'll say he fights, else he ain’t the kinda manIthinksheis. Listen to uncle.” He talked rapidly and enthusiastically for ten or fifteen minutes, and as he un- folded his plan for forcing McCrady to fight Tommy Lynn’s face brightened hope- fully. On the other hand Chick Ward’s face showed a deep disgust. “Now whadda you think of that, lads?” concluded Trimble. “You got that bird sized up just about right, Ike,” approved Lynn without hesi- tation. ‘He'll fall for that like a ton of brick.” “How about you, young fella?” Trimble addressed Ward. “That’s about the rottenest trick I ever heard of in the fight game,” replied Ward acidly. “Whadda you mean, rotten trick?” bristled Lynn. “You know what I mean,” answered Ward. “We gotta get that match, ain’t we?” demanded Trimble. “That ain’t no way to get it.” “Aw, you make me sick! If Kid Mc- Crady turns down a straight, honest offer we gotta get him any way we can. We ain’t gonna let him stand in our way gettin’ on with Nixon. I'll say we ain’t, eh. Tommy?” 123 “All right, go ahead; but I’m not travel- ing that road myself,” Ward said. “Ton’t be a baby, Chick,” put in Lynn palhatinely. ‘You’ll get yours, won’t you?” “T won’t get it that way!” cried Ward hotly. “I’ve got a wife of my own and I know how I’d feel about it. You’re both dirty curs!”’ Lynn was across the room at a bound and thrust his tensely drawn face within an inch of Ward’s. “Lemme tell you somethin’, you!” he jerked out. “If you wanna play a kid’s game go play with kids, an’ if you wanna play with men you gotta play men’s games. Seer” “Men!” Ward slurred the word; flung it at them from between clenched teeth and made it the equivalent of an oath. Lynn swung for his jaw. He ducked the blow, then they went at it hammer and tongs all over the office. ‘Trimble swore and plunged between them. “None of that in my shop!” he bellowed. “Break, you pups!” At the cost of several stiff jolts on his own person he got them parted and they stood panting and glowering fiercely at each other. ‘“‘Whadda you say, sonny?” said Trimble, confronting Ward. ‘You for or against us?” “T’m against you heart and soul when you try to pull a stunt like that you propose, Trimble,’ Ward promptly replied. The fat promoter’s lip curled and he jerked a thumb toward the door. “But lemme have my five hundred before you go,” he said. Ward took the five bills from his pocket and hurled them at Trimble. ‘““Now mooch!” snapped Lynn. Ward made no reply, but the glance he gave them was eloquent enough. He went out and banged the door behind him. a CHICK WARD’S first impulse was ine vy to return to Mercer and warn Kid SS McCrady of the plot Trimble and Lynn were hatching against him, and which was due to come to a head that evening at a basket-ball game at the Calumet Club. As McCrady played on the Calumet team he was certain to be there. On second thought, however, Ward decided to = hands off; it was none of his affair. VOOLKS COnnic com