Adventure Magazine Cover — page 137: what you’re looking at

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

The Weak Spot from the ropes. McCrady made an_in- credibly swift motion with his right arm and his fist cut through an opening in Lynn’s guard and smashed resoundingly against Lynn’s chest directly over the heart. Lynn uttered a choking gasp, pawed wildly at the air a moment, then tumbled headlong. McCrady himself wilted and staggered against the ropes for support. A roar that’ shook the building to its foundations drowned out the spoken de- cision of the referee as Lynn’s handlers jumped into the ring and bore his uncon- sclous form away. But the result was too plainly evident to make a spoken decision necessary. The Calumet Club boys stormed the ring and carried McCrady away to his dressing-room on their shoulders. Half an hour later he was more himself and had dressed to go home. Aside from one or two slight cuts on the face, bruised knuckles and a throbbing pain in his chest he was little damaged. “Come on, Kid; Ill take you down home in my flivver,” said Ward when they were ready to go. “We'll find Trimble out here somewhere and get what’s coming to us.” They went out to the main entrance where a crowd of two or three hundred fans had- tarrted to see the victor come out. Trimble saw them and hurried up with a huge stack of bills in one hand. With a rather hang-dog air he handed the money to MecCrady. “Over twelve thousand there,” he said sourly. “You're a lucky stiff, McCrady. I'll say you’re a lucky stiff.” McCrady took the bills, then smashed Trimble on the point of the chin. Trimble flopped over and struck the hard floor with the back of his head. McCrady and Ward fought their way through the press and leaped into Ward’s waiting automobile. aes NOT a word passed between the two men On the way back to Mercer. In fifteen minutes or so the machine drew up*to the curb before McCrady’s home in Shelby Place and McCrady got out. He counted off two thousand dollars from his pile of bills and handed the two thousand to Ward. In silence they shook hands and Ward drove on. 131 McCrady stood for a few moments on the sidewalk looking at the darkened house he called home. Home! ‘The word was a travesty. An acute sense of loneliness swept through him, and surged up within him a longing for Kitty McCrady. That longing had obsessed him constantly during the past month, but it had been somewhat neutralized by an attention to training. Now that it was all over he seemed to real- ize in full for the first time exactly what he had lost. Too, now that he had avenged Kitty he felt no satisfaction. taste, an empty sort of feeling. What a fool he had been! If he had only told Kitty everything! Surely she would have sympathized with him, understood him, given him good counsel. But now it was too late for all that. He had burned his bridge when he fought without Kitty’s consent. With drooping shoulders and _ lifeless steps he climbed to the front veranda and unlocked the front door and went in. He groped his way to the sitting room and stood there in the darkness a few moments before he gave a despairing sigh and switched on the electric light. And there stood Kitty McCrady with her wraps on. He stared at her unbeliey- ingly. He tried to speak but could not. “T have come home again, Charlie—to stay,” she said with a smile. “‘Mrs. Ward came to me at father’s a little while ago and told me all. She told me against her hus- band’s wishes. Charlie, I didn’t under- stand. Why didn’t you tell me?” McCrady could not meet her eyes. “Kitty, there are some things that a man thinks he can’t say even to his wife,” he answered. ‘That was one of them. I whipped Lynn, and I suppose this money is clean enough; it’s part of our revenge. It will start us even with. the world again, with something over.”’ He tossed the money on the table and she nodded. “T would have let you fight, Charlie, if you had told me why you wanted to fight that man,” she said. Then she noted his raw knuckles and added: “Those poor hands! Come back to the kitchen and let me fix you a poultice, boy.” eonnicbooks It had left a bitter con