Adventure Magazine Cover — page 148: what you’re looking at

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

142 ‘all? Niver mind answerin’; ye have none at all.”’ The major threw his lather brush on the tiny camp-table and began to pace the floor. It was time for his morning storm and soon he was holding forth on the army in general and on ‘‘Privit Morey, the pair o’ thim,”’ in particular. The roar from the company street was all that was necessary to set his hair-trigger temper flashing in the pan. s their sowls, Pll give thim somethin’ to howl about before the sun sits, and Morey’ll git the jackin’ up of his young life when he comes a-trailin’ into camp like the - young jackass he is, the pair o’ thim. An’ which of the divils is ‘absint, this marn- ing? Yis, yis, Mr. Miles, I know it’s Morey, Sicond, but which wan? Ve know I can niver rimimber if ’tis Pete thot’s first, and Ray, sicond, or Ray sicond, and = ver eyes, cut thot silly grin from yer ugly face and till me immejutly is it Pete thot’s.disgracin’ his good Oirish name, or is it—Niver mind, now, niver mind, I know ‘twas that—niver mind, I told ye, I know *twas Pete. He askid me fora pass yister- day an’ me not givin’ him it, he goes off on his own. I'll show him, the pair o’ thim.” The major picked up the discarded brush, made a sweeping white splash of lather down - one side of his stubbly old face and began coaxing his recalcitrant razor to open action against the enemy. All of a sudden a new idea percolated through his gray thatched head, and he started for the win- dow before his hand had finished guiding the razor to its first deploying position. The razor turned traitor. The result was disastrous. There was a clatter of steel on the floor and the major stood balancing the heel of a regulation shoe on the offend- ing blade, his head stuck inquiringly out of the window. ‘There was no one insight, but the ‘‘one, two, three, four, hep—hep—,, left, right, left, right,” of a drill sergeant counting the cadence for an awkward squad, pre- saged the arrival of some detachment of newly joined recruits. “Column left, March!” The squad turned the corner under the major’s window. “Squad, halt!”’ The sergeant had spied the major even before the major had begun his Bashan bull bellow of “‘Sargint!”’ “He saluted and his ‘Did the major call?”’ was all that could be desired in military courtesy. If he saw Adventure = the tiny stream of blood which was trickling down the major’s lean jaws he was too wise to let even the flicker of an eyelash betray it. A smothered giggle came from one of the recruits not so well posted. “Did the major call” the old boy mim- icked in a languishing voice. He was getting warmed up and the recruit had flicked him on the raw. “Did the major call? ‘Ye know well he did, but he wasn’t calling to ye, Sergeant Weeks. Take thot bunch of scum yer pretendin’ to be drillin’ out o’ my sight and, on yer way, till thot squarehid of a Luttge to report to me at wance!” The major. turned from the window, stuck a piece of paper over the gash in his cheek and began hacking away at his beard with the safety Lieutenant Miles had quietly laid close to his hand, the force of his muttered objurgations blowing a spray of lather from his pursed-up lips. Another idea—and another rush to the window. “Sargint, Sargint. SARGINT!”’ His last crescendo call caught the ear of Ser- geant Weeks just as his squad was swinging into the company street. It brought him double-timing back. ‘“Sargint, ye didn’t salute whin ye lift. Mind yer eye now. I want no more 0’ yer foolishness. Ye double-timed to git here, now just double-time back again and till Sargint Luttge to bring Privit Morey, First or Sicond, whichever it is of him, to me. Niver mind thot salutin’! Git |? a hump on ye! <}] WHEN Sergeant Luttge and Pri- Bx vate Morey, First, reported a few bs minutes later, the major had passed from his roaring mood to the quieter, seemingly injured, one, which generally heralded a rift in the storms that some- times hid the real sunshine in the old vet- eran’s character. The Morey twins, despite their continual disregard of Army regulations, had been the delight and despair of the major’s heart ever since they had joined the company at San Francisco before its voyage to the Philippines at the outbreak of the Spanish War. He had forgiven them many axslip, but at last he felt that he must turn the screws a bit after this apparent defiance. “Morey, where’s yer brither?” Quiet, but with.a menace that stabbed, <S) Gomichboo (C@)